Skippy Dies: A Novel

by Paul Murray

  How long have you been walking in this mist?!! It’s got so thick that everything else has been blotted out, all you can see is this endless pearly-grey sea. Crap, maybe when you came to that fork in the path you should’ve gone the other direction. Now there is no path. You turn round, head back the way you came but it does not seem to make any difference. East, south-east, south. Nothing but mist. You start to wonder if maybe the game has crashed, leaving you stuck in some corner at the edge of the map, and you’re just leaning forward to press the reset button on the console when you catch sight of something, a way off in the distance.

  At first it hardly looks like anything – just a speck, almost too small to see. But the speck quickly grows into a dot, and the dot into a tiny patch of dark-grey against the background of silvery fog. As you hurry towards it you realize that whatever-it-is is also making its way towards you. Thud, thud, goes your heart. Your hands on the controller are slippery with sweat. You know it’s the Demon, even from this distance, you can tell from the way the hairs on your arm stand up, the room thumps with your heartbeats, the night-colours drain and pulse in rhythm. And now it steps at last out of the mist.

  Reality lurches left then right.

  Because you know its face.

  You rub your eyes. You pinch your arm, glance around you. The room is still here; you are still cross-legged on the floor, your floor. Behind you, Ruprecht’s SETI scan bleeps quietly to itself. In the window, the usual stars and the far-off sound of Casey Ellington chasing Cormac Ryan around the car park with a shaken-up can of Dr Pepper.

  But when you look back at the screen nothing has changed. On one side, Djed, with his golden hair, his Sword of Songs, the princess’s amulet. On the other –

  On the other is Coach.

  He looks just like he always looks, in his hoodie with the Seabrook crest, a whistle on a string around his neck. His body listing slightly to one side, his hands hanging empty at his sides. He looks back out at you.

  You don’t know what to do. Is this supposed to be happening? Is this still the game? You laugh, because it’s so ridiculous. But there’s no one there to hear your laugh. You wish Coach would stop looking at you, out of the screen. But he doesn’t stop. And now he says, ‘Swim meet.’

  Your whole body jolts. The walls of the room churn round like a fairground ride.

  Maybe you imagined it. But then he speaks again. ‘Swim meet,’ he says.

  Is this really happening?

  ‘Swim meet.’

  ‘Coach?’ you say to the screen.

  But he just says it again, ‘Swim meet,’ and again, louder, ‘swim meet.’

  ‘Stop!’ you shout back.

  Now he’s coming towards you. ‘Swim meet.’

  ‘This is impossible, you’re in a game –’

  ‘SWIM MEET.’

  You pick up the controller where you’ve dropped it at your feet. Maybe you can just run past him? But without appearing to move he blocks your way. You try another direction. There he is again, standing in front of you. It’s getting harder and harder to think. Mist rolls around the two of you, like a ring of ghosts watching a schoolyard fight. And now he advances towards you – you-you, like he’s going to come through the screen. ‘SWIM MEET,’ he says.

  You let out a cry, lunge at him with the sword. You slash at his arms and neck. The blows have no effect, he keeps coming forward. ‘SWIM MEET.’

  You run backwards, take out the bow and release four arrows into his chest. They stick out, shafts wobbling, as he advances towards the screen. ‘SWIM MEET.’

  ‘Shut UP!’ You take out the Axe of Invincibility and run towards him, you hack at him, hew at his face and body. You cast spells, Fire Storm, Reversal, Banishment.

  ‘SWIM MEET SWIM MEET SWIM MEET.’

  Now you start to cry. ‘Shut up?’ you plead.

  ‘SWIM MEET,’ he says.

  You yelp. You kick the monitor.

  ‘SWIM MEET.’

  You go for the console but something has gone wrong because it won’t switch off, you flick the button back and forth but nothing happens and now Coach’s face is right up against the screen going over and over and over

  SWIM MEET SWIM MEET SWIM MEET SWIM MEET

  and there is a sound like a door opening and you reel back from the screen as like it’s been summoned it appears there right in front of you, the Door, its gold number, and you see yourself walking inside

  into a hotel bedroom

  Hey there, Daniel, what’s up? He’s rising from the chair, on the dresser the pills and a glass of wrong-tasting Coke, and you know what’s going to happen but it’s like you’re locked into the movements, like you’re watching yourself –

  You just relax there, don’t worry about a thing, he says, his hand reaches out for you

  Yes, you remember now don’t you

  Into your hair gritty with chlorine

  while Mum lies on her back with tubes going into her

  And your soul slides down a slippery slope your body is black-magic encased in ice never again to escape or change or grow

  And tomorrow it will happen all over again.

  BUS LEAVES FOR BALLINASLOE 8 A.M. SEE YOU THERE!

  Do you understand now, Skippy? You cannot run any longer. You’ve come fifteen trillion light years to the very place you started from. That’s the shape of the universe, that’s called the Way It Is, it’s a door that pulls you like a black hole into the future: and everything that promises to take you away from it, a girl, a game, a portal, these are no more than stray gleams and sparkles of light, shining at you from somewhere you will never be able to go.

  On the monitor the Third Demon turns expressionlessly and walks back into the mist.

  Now you’re lying with your head on the carpet. Somewhere above you a clock ticks. Your body feels like lead, it feels like you’re already dead. But then you notice something.

  On the game-over screen, from his mist-shrouded body, you see Djed’s soul fluttering upwards. Up and up it goes, a dancing ball of light, till it’s reached the title screen, to bob around the princess where she waits in her glittering cage of ice. Around and around her it dances. And suddenly you think:

  His soul.

  You sit up.

  A soul doesn’t weigh anything, it doesn’t have a size.

  On the screen the princess’s eyes twinkle at you.

  The dimensions are there at every point, too small to be perceived by clunky human bodies. But if you were just a soul –

  That’s when you see them! As if a veil’s been pulled away, suddenly you see the air is full of little doors! All around the room, they’re floating there everywhere, and when you scramble up to peep through them, you can see what’s on the other side! Each one leads to a different time and place! Through this one you see you and Ruprecht, in the basement, working on the Invisibility Gun –

  And here’s the Hallowe’en Hop, when the things she said on her doorstep tonight do not exist yet, and you’re realizing that Lori is the exact shape of what’s been missing from your arms –

  Here’s tomorrow morning, 8 a.m., the sulky sky denim-blue, shivering boys with otter-like morning eyes, Siddartha and Garret and Antony Taylor, climbing one by one up the steps of the bus, fighting each other for the back seat, as Coach checks his watch, his clipboard, his watch again, studies the school door, which does not open –

  (Faster, Skippy! a voice, the princess’s voice, urges you, as the room swims, the particles break apart, the strings unweave like an old school jumper)

  And here’s summer, years ago, before any of this started, and Mum’s in the back garden giving Dogley his first bath, he’s still a pup, he doesn’t know what water is, suds are flying everywhere, he yaps and wriggles, nipping at anyone in reach, and Mum goes, If you just hold him so I can scrub his – when he squeezes out of her arms and shoots up in the air like a bar of soap, then landing on the grass turns and barks at you, shaking off the water so it flies all over you, and Mum laugh
s so hard she has to lie down on the grass, her hair is gold, her tummy round with Nina, the rainbow bubbles bob over the garden like perfect brand-new universes, the sound of her laughter is like music, it is music, and it guides you towards the door, against the rushing tide of time, swimming with all your strength, up and up –

  ‘What are you doing?’

  You open your eyes. Ruprecht towers over you with a baffled expression.

  ‘Must’ve fallen asleep…’ You haul your head off the carpet. ‘I was playing the game,’ you say, gesturing at the monitor. But it’s not switched on. You drag yourself onto the bed and sit up.

  ‘What’s this?’ Ruprecht has picked up an empty amber tube from the floor.

  ‘Nothing,’ you say, ‘just getting rid of some stuff.’ Sleep sizzles into your thoughts like radio static. The little doors have disappeared. ‘Did you get your pod back?’

  Ruprecht looks grimly out the window. ‘That damn dog,’ he says. A growl issues from his stomach. ‘You don’t have any food, do you?’

  ‘No,’ you say. Was it all a dream then? Disappointment burns within you, beads in your eyes, almost too much to bear.

  ‘Hmm.’ Ruprecht checks his watch. ‘Ed’s is still open…’

  He turns away to count coins from his penny jar. You’re looking at SEE YOU THERE! just trying not to cry. And then you realize you’re floating six inches off the ground.

  Holy shit! What’s going on? Ruprecht has his back to you, he’s saying something about making a new pod, meanwhile you are slowly rising up towards the ceiling! You try not to laugh – it’s like invisible hands have slipped under your feet and are lifting you, higher and higher –

  Ruprecht turns round. Instantly you’re back on the floor. ‘What happened to Frisbee Girl?’ he says. He can’t see them, but quarks and electrons are shooting through the air, sparking from his body like a million miniature multicoloured lightning bolts.

  You shrug. ‘Some other time.’

  ‘Oh.’ Another ferocious rumble issues from his stomach. ‘I don’t seem to have enough change,’ he says.

  ‘I’ll pay for both of us,’ you say. ‘We can have a race.’

  ‘A race?’

  ‘Why not?’ Your atoms are pulling upwards again. Every second you feel yourself lighter and lighter! Say if we started going back in time tonight, could we keep going back for as long as we wanted?

  Ruprecht does one of his scoffing laughs. ‘My dear Skippy, no one’s beaten me in fifteen consecutive races. And those times I wasn’t even hungry.’

  ‘Well…’ You zip up your coat. Through the window the neon doughnut sign shines in at you, the door of doors, the gateway to everything beyond, today and yesterday and the day before, all the times and people you have ever loved. ‘Maybe it’s my lucky day,’ you say.

  III

  Ghostland

  For where there are Irish there’s memory undying,

  And when we forget, it is Ireland no more!

  Rudyard Kipling

  ‘SERVICE: Smile; Efficiency; Reliability; Volunteering product information; Instant attention to new customers; Courtesy; Excellence.

  ‘Smile. The Smile is your personal storefront. It is the first point of contact between the Customer and the Café-restaurant, and so should be as carefully maintained as the espresso machine or the counter display.

  ‘Efficiency. Ed’s Doughnut House is dedicated to offering the Customer the two Q’s: Quality, Quickly…’

  The boy isn’t even pretending to listen; he is chewing gum, which is banned on the very first page of the Employee Manual, and gazing off at the upper reaches of the kitchen walls, which Lynsey notes are discoloured by grease. She keeps going anyway, and the more he sighs and shrugs the slower she gets, just to remind him who’s in charge.

  ‘These are the absolute basics,’ she concludes. ‘Any Level One employee is expected to know them off by heart, before he or she even begins to think about Level Two. Now, let’s proceed to the espresso machine. Why don’t you make me a skinny mochaccino.’

  Off he goes, slouch slouch scowl scowl, as if she’d just asked him for a pint of blood.

  In ordinary circumstances, someone like Zhang would not have even a snowball’s chance of making Level Two. But of course these aren’t ordinary circumstances. We need to tread carefully here, Lynsey, Senan told her. This business has caused enough trouble for us already. An employee claiming trauma is the last thing we want. Have a chat with him, take his pulse. If he seems disgruntled maybe a promotion would sweeten him up a bit.

  Well, Lynsey’s not sure how she feels about that. Okay, fair enough, Zhang’s been through a traumatic experience, she doesn’t deny that. Having someone die on your shift, that’s pretty unlucky. At the same time, he hasn’t actually put in for a promotion, and Tragedy or not, in her opinion it’d be totally unfair on Ruby and every other Level One worker if Zhang got promoted and they didn’t. Because, like, when is he not disgruntled? He’s always like that. But Senan’s Regional Manager, so what he says goes – plus, he’s hinted there could be a promotion in store for Lynsey too if they ever manage to get this mess sorted out. And why wouldn’t there be? The stuff she’s had to do in the last week has been way outside of her job description! Management calling her from London every day for updates, the Food Safety people sniffing around, though the worst has got to be the newspapers – they will just not let up, those people. Someone once said there’s no such thing as bad publicity, well, in the Café-restaurant business there is!!! Unless you think that people are going to queue up to eat in a place someone’s died!!! So Lynsey’s been running around like a blue-arsed fly, barely getting a wink of sleep, doing her best to take the calls and field the questions, and as Senan said, just make it absolutely clear, as delicately as she can, obviously, given the circumstances, and with all due respect to the family, that the death of the boy in question, while tragic, was NOT caused by or resulting from or in any way related to any Ed’s Doughnut House product, in fact the police said he actually hadn’t eaten anything at all in the Café-restaurant, unlike his little porky friend who’d eaten about twenty-five doughnuts. She must have used the words ‘tragedy’ and ‘unrelated’ five million times this week – her dad is keeping a scrapbook with all her newspaper and magazine appearances, ten all told, although four spelled her name wrong and one said she was thirty!!! Excuse me??? And of course who gets his own headline except Spa-face – ZHANG: HEROIC EFFORTS. She supposes he was quite heroic doing the Heimlich manoeuvre and stuff, even though the kid Daniel didn’t actually choke, but still it seems a bit unfair on Ruby and the other staff members, like suggesting they’re not heroic just because they come in and do their job every day, when in fact if it wasn’t for everyday people like that the world would just grind to a halt and the economy would be ruined.

  Also, this is the worst mochaccino she has ever tasted in her entire life.

  The Principal of Seabrook College came in to speak to her too, a couple of days after it happened. He was a tall, dynamic man, in his late thirties maybe? Basically he was doing the same thing she was, trying to protect the school’s image and explain that while it was a tragedy it was just this one crazy kid, and not anyone else’s fault. Having said that – he put his hand on her arm – on behalf of the school I want to apologize for any distress this might have caused you or your employees. He shook his head. I’ve been teaching for nearly twenty years, he said, and I’m at a loss to understand this.

  Lynsey doesn’t understand it either. He’s fourteen, and he takes an overdose just because his girlfriend dumped him? Jesus, like, relax! That’s life! People get dumped! If Lynsey had killed herself over every fucking self-absorbed arsehole who’d dumped her, she’d… well, she’d be pretty dead at this stage. Anyway he should’ve known it would happen sooner or later, that girl was way out of his league, it’s obvious from the photographs – no shortage of those, needless to say, Ravishing this and Tragic Beauty that and Teen Heartbreaker the other, not
to mention Gorgeous Juliet in Real-life Romeo and Juliet Story, which, hello, a) that would only make sense if her name was Juliet but it’s not it’s Lori, and b) if the person had ever seen Romeo + Juliet they would know that is nothing like what happened in the Café-restaurant.

  Though at the same time… you can’t deny it’s romantic, writing her name with his last breath. Like in a way that girl is so lucky – most women won’t ever experience anything even close to as romantic as that. She wonders what he was like. Daniel Juster. She imagines the annoying Seabrook boys that crowd in here at lunchtime, and him standing apart, different, sort of quiet and wistful and melancholy… Life is so sad, and love is so unfair. She wonders if Zhang has a girl he’s in love with back in China. Maybe he’s saving up to go home and marry her. Maybe he misses her and that’s why he’s so grouchy. She temporarily feels sorry for him and she marks him as twelve out of twenty on the Product Information section even though he has actually scored a zero.

  ‘Zhang, let’s talk about the other night. How are you feeling? Are you feeling all right?’

  He looks back at her blankly.

  ‘I mean, after what happened. With that boy?’ Hallo, Earth to employee! Remember, he took about five hundred painkillers? Died just over there by the jukebox? You were holding him at the time? ‘We’re just wondering if you’re experiencing any after-effects. Trouble sleeping, flashbacks, anything like that? Perhaps you’re finding it difficult to fulfil your work duties, maybe you need some time off?’

  He draws a rasping breath, pulls his head back. ‘You wan’ cuh’ ma owas?’

  God, he’s so obnoxious. She releases a light, fluttering laugh. ‘No, we don’t want to cut your hours. We just want to make sure that, although the company holds no responsibility for the events of last week, you don’t feel yourself adversely affected such that continuing to carry out your responsibilities here as per your contract might now or at some future date result in anxiety, depression or similar conditions. Also that you’re satisfied that the company has made available to you such time and resources as you might need in the course of making a full recovery.’