by David Owen
Adrenaline surged through her veins, foxtrotted with the panic, a comingling that made her giddy. She could get used to this. Not driving a car – twenty or thirty more lessons were required there – but delivering vigilante justice, using the power of the fade to make the world a better place. Tomorrow, TrumourPixel would arrive at the garage and find it empty. Kat wished she could be there to see his face. Just the thought of it made her—
‘Red light!’
Kat snapped out of it in time to see the red traffic light and the rear lights of another car stopped there flare through the windscreen. She stamped on the brakes. Their wheels screeched, and Kat braced herself as the car skidded irrepressibly onward.
BANG.
The impact threw them forwards, seatbelts crushing their chests. Metal crumpled and glass broke, tinkling onto the tarmac.
‘Are you okay?’ said Kat.
Beside her, Safa was slouched back in her seat, hair plastered to her face. ‘I think I shit a lung.’
Ahead of them, the driver door of the other car was flung open.
‘Okay, now I definitely did.’
An older guy got out, glowering over the top of a heavy beard and rubbing his neck, before stomping to the back of his car.
‘Do you think he’s going to be angry?’ asked Safa.
The guy took one look at the car’s crumpled rear and threw his hands in the air.
Kat gulped. ‘I think there’s a very good chance.’
Finally he turned to them, face set with rage. He took one purposeful step closer, the advance of a one-man army. And all at once he forgot them. His anger softened into confusion, and he stopped short of his next stride, glass scraping under his feet. Their car – and most importantly the two terrified girls sitting inside it – had ceased to exist for him. He took out his phone and began making a call, turning away from them completely.
Safa cleared her throat. ‘Will it still go?’
When Kat tried the ignition it stuttered for a long moment, and they both looked up, expecting it to bring the wrath they deserved down upon their heads. The guy didn’t hear, and the engine caught, allowing her to reverse away from the crash. ‘We should—’
‘Get out of here? I couldn’t agree more.’
They gave the guy – now swearing explosively into his phone – as wide a berth as possible, and Kat guided them away at a crawl.
‘Ha!’ Safa slapped the dashboard. ‘We can actually do anything.’
Every molecule in her body was shaking, but Kat couldn’t keep the smile from her face. Oh, it would be so easy to get carried away, to lose herself to the powerful transience of the fade. And she wanted to, if only for the night.
She put her foot down, and sent them roaring away into town.
*
Wesley had always felt the simmering threat of violence with Luke and Justin, as if they might decide to turn on him if he made a single wrong move. Until now he’d thought of it as something to overcome, a challenge to be surmounted before they accepted him. Until now, it had never frightened him.
They smiled and, cornered against the shop shutter, he saw in their eyes how they wanted to hurt him.
‘Leave me alone,’ he said, for all the good it would do.
‘You made us look like idiots,’ said Luke.
‘I didn’t mean to.’
‘You don’t understand the risk we were taking to introduce you like that. We were trying to do you a favour.’ He looked rattled. ‘You don’t know what he’s capable of.’
Even though they were just a few feet from McDonald’s there was nobody else around, and even if there were Wesley knew they probably wouldn’t help him anyway.
‘I didn’t mean anything by it,’ he said. Maybe he could flatter them, talk his way out of this. ‘It was just such a big step up that I needed to think about it.’
Luke kicked the shutter, sending metallic thunder rolling through Wesley’s bones, pain throbbing in his injured ribs. ‘Needed to think about it? This isn’t your university application, you do it because you believe it’s right.’
‘I’m not going to university,’ said Wesley. Not enough money. Not good enough grades.
Another kick of the shutter. ‘Don’t you want anything in your pathetic little life?’
‘The fight never stops,’ added Justin.
TrumourPixel’s words, coming out of his mouth. It was clear now that they believed it. Whether they always had, or whether prolonged exposure had drawn them deeper into the ideology behind the catchphrase than they knew, Wesley couldn’t tell.
‘He’s going to drive that car into a crowd of people just to get to her,’ he said.
‘You think that’s what he’s planning? Why would he need us for that?’
‘The car is so we can get her away—’ Justin was cut short by a sharp look from Luke.
‘I don’t want to hurt anybody,’ Wesley said, trying to get his back off the shutter.
Luke shoved him against it again. ‘You already did! It’s too late to act like you’re too good for us.’
‘I’m not, I—’
‘You’re a cuck,’ said Luke, as if the idea had just dawned on him. ‘You’ve been trying to hide it all this time, but you’re just like all the others.’
Again, Wesley tried to pull away, and Luke grabbed his arms, swinging him around and throwing him into the empty road. Wesley tripped and sprawled onto his front, pain jangling through his ribs. He curled himself into a protective ball, knowing he couldn’t fight, and waited for the blows to rain down.
‘Hey!’
Wesley looked up to find somebody striding towards them. It was enough to make Luke and Justin back away a step. He could hardly believe it when he saw his brother, marching across the street, a crust of dried blood on his eyebrow.
‘Get the fuck away from him,’ said Jordan, shoving Luke hard and sending him staggering backwards. At first they both looked shocked; as far as they knew Jordan had been gone for two years, and when he was angry he was like an avenging demon. Still, Wesley could see Luke weighing up their chances: two of them against Jordan, Wesley still on the ground and too pathetic to factor into the equation. They stood in the middle of the road, facing each other down.
‘He had it coming,’ said Justin.
Jordan brandished his fists. ‘Maybe you’ve got this coming.’
Somewhere close by, Wesley heard an engine roar, growing louder. It was quickly lost to the sound of scraping feet as Luke lunged and threw a punch. It missed, and Jordan caught him in a headlock. The two of them stumbled towards Justin, who stood paralysed, the reality of a fight apparently wholly less appealing.
Behind them, Wesley heard the engine again, louder than before. He sat up, but couldn’t see anything approaching from either direction.
Jordan let the headlock go and tried to throw a punch, but they ended up tangled again, turning circles in the road and spitting insults.
‘You stay away from my brother!’
‘Or you’ll what, run away again?’
The engine sounded like it was practically on top of them now. Wesley scrambled to his feet, wondering how nobody else had heard it. ‘Jordan.’
They broke apart, panting, and his brother was saying, ‘You’ll regret it, trust me on that.’
‘Jordan!’
Headlights flared suddenly, right on top of them, as if the car had appeared out of thin air. Jordan whipped around and saw it bearing down on him, too late to move. Wesley was already running. He knocked into Jordan’s back, sending them both stumbling out of the path of the car as it came tearing through, wheels screeching out of control. Luke and Justin fell into the gutter on the other side of the road.
Wesley heard the car judder onto the kerb and come to a stop further down the street, but when he had recovered enough to look there was no sign of it at all.
‘Where the hell did it go?’ he said.
Across the road, Justin cried out and held his leg. ‘Call an ambulance!’
>
‘It doesn’t matter.’ Jordan pulled him to his feet. ‘Let’s get out of here.’
Kat thought her body might shake itself into pieces. She brought her hands slowly away from the wheel, as if it might explode if she made too sudden a move.
‘I almost hit them,’ she said.
Safa was wide-eyed, pressed back in her seat. ‘I have no more lungs left to shit.’
‘What if I’d . . .’
‘Hey, you didn’t, it’s okay,’ she said, leaning closer. ‘You’ve gotta admit . . . it was kind of exciting.’
The car was half on the pavement, half off, and Kat could do nothing but stare at her skewed view on the world.
‘That wasn’t me,’ she said. ‘I would never be that reckless.’
Safa reached across and put a hand on her arm. ‘I told you, the fade is a chance to be somebody new.’
For the first time, Kat didn’t relish the touch. She saw how, even laid on top of each other, their hands made an absence. Maybe the fade could make her who she wanted to be, but tonight it had made her foolhardy. It was luring her – daring her – to follow its dark path. Safa might already have gone ahead.
‘I just want to get rid of the car and go home,’ she said, pulling her arm away. That’s what they should have done in the first place. ‘Do we need to burn it or something?’
‘This isn’t Hollyoaks,’ said Safa. ‘Leave it like this and the police will tow it away soon enough.’
It couldn’t be traced back to Tru – Kat had heard him say that – but at least they would lose their car for good. They wiped down the steering wheel and dashboard, unsure if anybody would be able to see their fingerprints, and then left the car behind. The people they had almost hit were already gone.
Wesley wasn’t usually one to look for silver linings in bad situations, but at least nobody had punched him in the face. It meant he wouldn’t have to explain anything to Mum or Evie. Even so, he felt like home was the last place he wanted to go.
‘Where are you staying, anyway?’
‘With a mate,’ said Jordan.
They had stopped a few streets from the flat, and neither of them quite seemed able to look at the other.
‘You’ll be all right, yeah?’
Wesley nodded. ‘Thanks for stepping in.’
Jordan nodded back, shuffling his feet. ‘I’m sorry.’
There was no indication of how far the apology extended, but Wesley was more grateful for it than his brother would ever know.
They parted ways and, as soon as Jordan was out of sight, Wesley turned away from home. There was somewhere else he needed to be.
Kat’s hands shook the entire way home. They walked in silence, until they reached the corner that would send them their separate ways.
‘It was pretty fun,’ ventured Safa, smiling tentatively.
She could put this right. She had caught herself pretending to be somebody she wasn’t, playacting at being herself. It was time to remember what really mattered to her. The fade could still be a chance to do the things she had always wanted, but had been too scared. ‘There’s a march in London tomorrow,’ she said. ‘A protest for women’s rights.’
‘Sounds boring.’
‘I want to go. But not alone.’
‘Oh.’ Safa shrugged her lip. ‘Okay, I’ll go.’
Kat smiled. ‘Are you sure?’
‘If it’s important to you.’
It was, especially since seeing Niko Denton’s tweet about it. Before, Kat would never have had the courage to go. If the fade could give her this, she couldn’t waste it.
‘Text me the deets,’ said Safa, starting away down the road.
‘I can’t believe you just said deets,’ Kat called after her.
Safa stuck up her middle finger, and Kat turned towards home.
19
Whatever is Wrong with You, Is So Right For Me
Kat had never had any need to sneak into the house before, and although she should have been grateful she wouldn’t need to now, it was disappointing to simply open the door and step inside. She could slam the door and give an a cappella rendition of the Backwash theme song and Dad wouldn’t hear.
He was in the sitting room, the TV up loud, snoring on the sofa. An empty bottle of wine sat on the table beside him, and sweat patches were spreading wide from his armpits. ‘Dad,’ she said, standing over him.
He had always slept like it was the last chance he would ever get, and he didn’t stir now.
Tonight she had behaved like somebody she didn’t recognise. If Dad woke up, Kat wondered if he would see his daughter, another person entirely, or nothing at all. She didn’t know which would break her heart most.
‘I thought we were better off at a distance,’ she said. ‘After Mum, and Suzy, I was all you had left, and I couldn’t risk us getting driven apart too. But by keeping my distance, I made it happen anyway. And now I need you . . .’
Dad did not stir. Slowly, Kat reached towards him, feeling that same yearning pull that had tempted her on the high street. It might not be too late to reconnect with him, to make amends for turning them into strangers.
‘I’m still here,’ she said.
No response. Kat took her hand away and moved back to the hallway, sloping up the stairs, alone.
Wesley made his way upstairs and let himself into the quiet flat. A light had been left on for him. Mum was home for the night, magazines and dirty plates scattered across the front room, but she was in bed now. His phone vibrated as he reached his bedroom door. A message from Aoife.
Everybody’s up for it. The church has a morning service tomorrow, so we’ll probably find him there.
Soft snoring greeted him as he opened the door. Evie was bundled in blankets and drooling into her pillow. He wanted to kiss her on the forehead, something older brothers were supposed to do, but he knew it would wake her up.
Instead he took off his shoes and dirty jeans and climbed into bed. Aaron’s family portrait was under his pillow, and he peered at it in the street light that slanted through the window. He wondered if they dreamed of their lost son, if he came to them in their sleep, only to be forgotten all over again by morning.
A shape appeared at the window and blocked the light. Wesley opened it to let Buttnugget inside. The cat immediately found the bed, turned circles, and then collapsed purring against his side. His closeness was enough to lead Wesley quickly into sleep.
It was a crush. It had to be a crush.
Less than an hour after coming home, she received a video from Safa; kittens dressed up in tiny Backwash outfits and tottering about miniature replica sets.
This is highly relevant to my interests, she replied.
They spent half the night messaging back and forth, as if they had known each other for ever, and every time Kat saw the words Safa is typing her heart skipped a beat.
Definitely a crush. Or was this what it felt like to finally have a friend? She refused to let confusion hinder her enjoyment.
The think about Esme is that she’s a melon dramatic but whole.
Thankfully Kat had fast become an expert in translating Siri’s interpretations of Safa’s dictated messages.
You really should just type your messages like a normal person.
We live in a gilt earring future, replied Safa. It’s people like you that hold human itty back.
If you insult Esme again, I will find you and I will kill you.
They had spent the entire evening – and would spend most of tomorrow – together, but Kat didn’t want the conversation to end. This was something – someone – she had always wanted.
Messaging Safa took her mind off the fade. Focusing on the words made it easier to ignore the fingers typing them. Despite what brought them together, Safa made it easy to pretend everything was normal. No supernatural asterisk on their relationship. A crush always makes people feel like the only two in the world; for them it was almost true.
What time we meeting too moz?
&
nbsp; Did you actually say ‘2moz’ out loud?
And ‘’?!
WHAT TIME.
The march starts at midday, so I can come to yours for 9.30?
A minute later a photo arrived of Safa’s address on a crumpled ASOS invoice.
You really do hate typing, don’t you?
:) I’m typing this one just for you. C u 2moz my dude xxx
They might have been a joke, but the kisses made Kat’s heart gasp.
20
Good Memories are Bullshit
Google Maps guided Kat to the three residential streets that constituted the ‘good’ part of town, where the houses were a little bigger, the driveways a little longer, and the crime rate a little lower. Turning the corner, she almost walked into Safa as she leaned against a low garden wall. ‘Thought I’d save you the trouble of finding the place,’ she said, reaching over the garden wall. ‘I made a protest sign.’
It was the inside of a cereal box taped lopsidedly to a splintered bamboo cane. In handwritten block capitals it read: I AM PROTESTING.
‘You’re not so eloquent without Siri, are you?’
‘Nobody’s going to see it anyway,’ said Safa, leaning the placard against her shoulder. ‘But I thought I’d get into the spirit.’
They had enough time before the train for Safa to loudly lament their inability to purchase coffee. When it arrived they sat facing each other diagonally in a four-seater at the end of the carriage. The windows were fogged with cold. It was hard to tell, but she was sure Safa appeared a little more faded than the night before.
‘It’s getting worse,’ Kat said.
‘It’s progressing, the way it’s supposed to,’ corrected Safa. ‘Yours too.’
Kat examined her hand. There was no scale to judge it by. If she had faded further – and there was no reason to believe she wasn’t following Safa – it was subtle enough to be almost undetectable. Maybe that’s how it would be; a steady ebb, like the tide receding down a beach, noticed only when you no longer hear the crash of the waves.