Paul doesn’t have a problem with sex in theory, he just doesn’t want to actually put his penis inside people like that. It’s so false: the moans, the positions. Why do they all do that? It’s not because they enjoy it. Usually it’s because it hurts, and they enjoy that in a low self-esteem kind of way.
Anne looks up from her book.
Paul smiles. She smiles back.
‘What?’ he asks.
‘What?’ she repeats.
She goes back to the book.
He knows there are women out there who are different, but he’s never met any. It makes him angry that he only ever meets the fucked up ones. Why make love to someone who hates their body? What the hell is the point of that? Why share an intimate experience with someone you can never get close to, who is shielded by dyed hair and false, painted nails and horrible make-up that stains your pillow? Why share an experience with someone for whom that very experience is their essential hang-up? Why share an act of love with someone who’s just going to cry afterwards, or want to get married, or talk about all the pain in their life? That’s why Paul thinks that sex must really hurt for these women; they always end up in so much pain afterwards.
This is why he doesn’t have sex. He is never going to have children, never going to have a ‘partner’. He can watch other people do all that stuff, but he can’t do it himself. The only woman he’s ever been in love with was a character in a videogame: Aeris. And now she’s in the Life Stream. Paul’s interested in various things: dada; the number 23 (Anne’s twenty-three, he heard her telling Emily); games; communication networks; animals; the environment. But so far he’s never been interested in love, because, honestly, it just hasn’t seemed that relevant.
He’s tinkering with a resistor and a small LED bulb as he thinks, making a miniature circuit. Anne looks up from what she’s reading. She smiles at him. This time she holds his gaze a bit longer than usual.
‘Paul,’ she begins.
The kitchen door opens and Emily walks in.
‘What are you two doing?’ she asks.
‘It’s funny,’ says Anne. ‘Jamie asked us the exact same thing, but it’s quite obvious that I’m reading and Paul’s building a plane to get us out of here.’
Paul smiles at Anne.
‘Calm down,’ says Emily. ‘I didn’t suggest you were having sex or anything.’
Anne goes pink. Paul feels himself get a little hot.
‘You’re both going red,’ says Emily. ‘Kinky.’
‘Shut up,’ says Paul.
‘Coffee?’ asks Emily, fiddling with the kettle.
‘Whatever,’ says Paul.
‘Yuck,’ says Anne. ‘I’ll have some milkshake.’
‘Where’s Bryn?’ asks Emily.
‘Don’t know,’ says Anne. ‘Still outside, I think.’
‘Jamie and Thea have gone to—’ begins Paul. At that moment things start to whir and the kitchen light comes on.
‘—sort out the electricity,’ finishes Anne.
‘Cool,’ says Emily. She finishes making the coffee on the electric stove.
‘Thanks,’ says Paul, when she gives it to him.
Emily sits down, looking thoughtful. No one says anything.
The back door opens and Bryn comes in, carrying logs.
‘Don’t put yourselves out,’ he says, panting and sweating.
‘What?’ says Paul.
‘I think he means we’ve got to help,’ says Emily. ‘I’ll go and give him a hand.’
She gets up and hurries out of the back door. Bryn staggers through towards the sitting room. Paul and Anne stay where they are.
‘What?’ says Paul, responding to the funny look Anne’s giving him.
‘What?’ she replies.
Here we go again.
‘Aren’t you going to help with the logs?’ asks Paul.
‘No.’
‘Why not?’
‘I don’t do manual labour,’ she says.
‘What do you do?’ Paul asks.
‘Nothing,’ she replies.
Probably realising that she’s going to get sucked into helping with something if she stays around here, Anne disappears upstairs.
Paul brings in the apples.
Gradually the day disappears and the orange glow from the electric lights in the house becomes more and more comforting.
‘Right. Apple pie.’
Emily’s in the kitchen, looking homely.
‘Apple pie,’ says Paul. ‘Yum.’
‘You can help if you want,’ says Emily, smiling at him.
‘I think I’ll just watch, thanks.’
‘Suit yourself. Where are the others?’
Paul shrugs. ‘I think Jamie and Bryn are lighting the fire.’
It’s dark outside now.
‘Is everyone inside?’ she asks.
‘I think so,’ says Paul. ‘Anne’s upstairs. I don’t know what Thea’s doing.’
‘What are you doing?’ Emily asks.
‘Watching you.’
‘Oh.’ The word is fluttery, like she’s embarrassed. ‘I’m not that interesting.’
‘You beat the whole Sacred Manhood thing going on in the other room.’
‘Thanks.’
‘You’re welcome.’
‘What about Anne?’ asks Emily playfully.
‘What about her?’
‘Everyone knows you’ve got the hots for her.’
‘Do they? How?’
‘I think it’s just a vibe people are getting.’
‘Which people?’ he asks.
‘The rest of us.’
‘You’re so clever,’ he says.
‘Fuck off,’ says Emily.
He laughs. ‘I fancy you much more than I fancy Anne.’
‘No you don’t.’ She’s obviously not going to be taken in by that.
‘Maybe not.’
‘Why did you say it then?’
‘Just wanted to see how fast you’d get your knickers off,’ he says.
‘What?’
‘Well, you’re obviously pretty easy.’
‘Why are you being so mean?’ she asks, in a much smaller voice this time.
He looks down at the table.
‘Sorry,’ he says. ‘I just don’t like it when people make assumptions.’
She looks really pissed off. ‘Obviously.’
‘Sorry,’ he says again.
‘I was only teasing you.’
Paul smiles. ‘I’ve never been very good at being teased.’
She smiles too. ‘I bet you were a fucking annoying child.’
‘I was, actually.’
‘Did you dissect animals and pull the wings off things?’
She’s found various ingredients now and is mixing them in a bowl.
‘No,’ says Paul. ‘Never animals. Only technology.’
‘Very tame.’
‘Not really. And I was against dissecting animals, in fact.’ He laughs.
She raises an eyebrow. ‘What’s funny?’
‘I just remembered something. Sonia.’ He’s laughing more now.
‘Who’s Sonia?’
‘One of the school lab mice.’
‘What happened?’
‘He was already dead when I did this, but—’
‘He? I thought you said it was called Sonia.’
‘Yeah. I named him after this girl in my class. He looked just like her.’
‘Uh huh. So what did you do to this dead mouse?’
‘I animated him.’
‘You animated him?’
‘Yeah. I made him a little circuit, and put a small battery in his stomach. When the teacher made the first incision into him and completed the circuit I’d set up, Sonia started moving his legs about like mad, you know, as if he was alive and was in pain being cut up like that.’
‘What did the teacher do?’
‘She was quite cool. She pulled out the circuit, said something like “very clever”, and then got on with th
e dissection. They did actually ban dissection in the school a while after that – I mean, not as a result of my terrorist tactics, but a couple of years later when the Vegetarian Society did a petition.’
‘Did your classmates freak out when they saw the mouse move?’
‘One boy – Wesley – he sort of screamed. That’s it, really.’
‘Oh.’ She looks disappointed.
Paul knows he shouldn’t really have bothered telling her anything about himself. She’s the kind of girl who takes part in those ridiculous discussions where you have to provide a punchline at the end of everything you say, every anecdote you tell. If anything ordinary happens, or sad, or tame, it’s just not good enough. The end always has to be funny. Paul wonders if the end of all this will be funny, or if, like most things in life, it’ll just be disappointing.
Chapter Thirteen
The house seems a bit friendlier now all the lights work. Anne knows all the lights work, because in the couple of hours since the electricity was turned on, all the lights have been switched on – and left on. Everyone’s dads would be furious. Anne wonders how long the wind-and solar-powered batteries will last.
Her bedroom is bare like the others’, except for all the Utopia books she’s been taking out of the library all day. They’re made very interesting reading, but now she’s got that feeling like she’s tired, but not. This means she’s turned on, and once the idea to masturbate comes to her, it’s something she can’t leave alone. She’s been reading on the bed, so she slips under the covers and turns off the bright overhead light.
It’s over in about two minutes. Maybe this island thing is quite sexy after all.
Anne’s fingers smell like plasticine afterwards. She likes it. Humming something by Another Level, she wanders downstairs.
‘Hi,’ she says, walking into the kitchen. ‘What’s happening?’
‘Emily’s baking cakes,’ says Paul.
‘Apple pie,’ Emily corrects.
‘Where’s everyone else?’
‘In the sitting room, I think,’ says Emily.
There is smoke coming from the sitting room.
‘For fuck’s sake!’ Bryn’s voice.
‘Just . . . hang on . . . don’t!’ Jamie’s voice, urgent and a bit panicked.
Anne walks in and coughs.
‘Jesus,’ she says. ‘What’s going on in here?’
The room is full of smoke.
‘We’re trying to light this fire,’ says Jamie.
‘But the wind keeps blowing the smoke back into the room,’ says Bryn.
‘It’s because it’s not lit properly,’ Jamie says, this time to Bryn.
Anne gets the impression they’ve already had this conversation.
There’s a bottle of vodka by the fire. Bryn pours some of it over the logs.
‘Why are you doing that?’ asks Anne.
‘Alcohol burns. It’s like a barbecue,’ he explains.
Jamie sighs. ‘It’s just making the logs wet.’
‘Now I see why you have smoke,’ says Anne, coughing some more.
‘Fucking hell,’ says Emily, coming in through the door.
The boys look pissed off.
‘Are you trying to light a fire?’ she asks.
‘What do you reckon?’ says Bryn sarcastically.
‘All right,’ she says. ‘Me and Anne are going to take over now.’
‘You what?’ says Bryn.
Jamie starts protesting as well, but Emily shoos him and Bryn out of the room. She makes them take their wet logs with them.
‘Bring in some dry ones,’ she says. ‘And then don’t bother us.’
‘Fine,’ sighs Jamie.
‘Right,’ says Emily. ‘I think I know how to do this.’
‘I thought you definitely knew,’ says Anne.
‘I know how to set fire to things.’
‘Does that include logs?’
Emily wrinkles her nose.
‘Hi,’ says Thea, peering in through the door. ‘Has Bryn gone?’
‘Yeah,’ says Emily. ‘Why are you bothered about Bryn?’
‘No reason,’ says Thea defensively, walking in and sitting down.
There’s something going on here, but Anne’s not sure what.
‘Do you know how to light a fire?’ Anne asks Thea.
‘Yeah,’ she says. ‘Do you have any newspaper?’
Anne looks around. The boys had been using twigs for kindling. Maybe they already looked for newspaper and didn’t find any. After all, there aren’t too many newsagents around.
Emily’s poking around the room.
‘I don’t think there is any,’ she says.
‘There must be something to light the fire with,’ says Thea. ‘I mean, there’s all this other stuff lying around; all the food and wine and other supplies. And since there’s no central heating, whoever brought us here must have considered that we’d need to use the fire.’
‘Unless we’re supposed to freeze to death,’ says Anne.
Thea glares at her. ‘I’m so sick of—’
‘All right,’ Emily cuts in. ‘We need to think of where we’d find paper.’
‘What’s that smell?’ asks Thea.
‘Vodka,’ Anne and Emily say together.
‘It’s disgusting,’ says Thea. ‘Where did it come from?’
‘The boys poured it on the logs,’ explains Emily. ‘Like, duh.’
‘Books,’ says Thea suddenly.
‘What?’ says Emily.
‘We can use pages from the books to light the fire.’
‘You can’t do that!’ squeals Emily. ‘You can’t burn books.’
‘Well, what do you suggest?’
‘We could at least have a look around for something else first.’
Five minutes later the three girls come back with a box of firelighters from the kitchen store. There were about two hundred other boxes, so it doesn’t seem as if getting warm is going to be too much of a problem for a while. There were loads of boxes of candles as well, stacked behind the red wine.
‘Someone’s gone to a hell of a lot of trouble to set this up,’ says Thea.
The fire’s really catching now. Emily’s doing the pious Victorian child thing on her knees in front of it. Anne and Thea are sitting on opposite sofas, facing each other and at right angles to the fire. Anne notices for the first time that Thea has changed out of her original clothes and is now completely dressed in stuff from the house. She quite suits the long skirt look. Maybe the short hair helps. Anne doesn’t know what she’s going to do when she has to change clothes. All that floaty hippy stuff really isn’t her.
‘My foster mum’s going to be so worried,’ says Thea.
‘My parents won’t care,’ says Anne.
‘They will really, won’t they?’ says Emily.
Anne shrugs. ‘Maybe. Oh, I guess so. What about your parents?’
‘They won’t even know anything’s happened to me,’ says Emily. ‘I don’t talk to them much, maybe once a month or so. I’m just so busy all the time with work and going out and everything . . .’ She sighs. ‘You mean to call them every week, but you never do. I used to tell my mum when I had job interviews, but I don’t bother any more. I was going to tell them when I actually had a really good job, not when I was just going for one.’
‘Will anyone have reported you missing?’ asks Thea.
‘Maybe my flatmate Lucy,’ she says. ‘But she’d leave it a while longer. I’ve gone off to places before and not come home for a while. She’ll just assume I’ve met someone, or that I’m having a good time somewhere. She might get worried if she calls my mobile and can’t get through, I suppose. But then again, she might not. She might just think I’m in a tunnel, or out of range. Will anyone have reported you?’ Emily asks Anne.
‘Who knows?’ she says. ‘My parents think I’m a bit weird, so they might give it a couple of days before reporting me missing. They did know I was going for a job, though. I had to get them of
f my back somehow.’
‘So they have the address of the interview and everything?’ says Thea hopefully.
‘No,’ says Anne sheepishly. ‘I said the job was with a big PR firm.’
‘Great,’ hisses Thea.
‘But you told your folks where you were going, right?’ Emily asks Thea.
‘My foster mum knew I was going for a job, but not which one. I don’t live with her any more, so I don’t tend to give her details about exactly where I’m going. I just told her I had three interviews this week, which I did, and she wished me luck.’
There’s a pause while they consider this. Anne wonders how long it will be before the police take the disappearances seriously. Young people must go ‘missing’ all the time, and then turn up having just been out with mates, or having forgotten to phone or whatever. Anne knows from soap operas that people have to be missing for twenty-four hours before the police can even file a report, and then it takes them a while to actively look for the person. Anne wonders when they’ll make the job interview connection, and what kind of trail the bogus job people have left behind. They must have been bogus, surely? Unless they were targeted too, by whoever it really was. She wonders if they’ll be found before they’ve been killed, or afterwards.
‘Oh well,’ Emily says to Anne. ‘At least you’ll be able to get it on with Paul.’
‘What are you talking about?’ says Anne, feeling herself go red again.
‘Duh,’ says Emily. ‘Come on, girl. He fancies the fuck out of you.’
‘Me?’ says Anne.
Thea sighs. ‘Here comes the innocent act again.’
‘Seriously,’ says Anne. ‘I don’t think he does.’
‘He told me,’ says Emily. ‘Well, more or less.’
‘God,’ says Anne. She thinks for a minute. ‘No. You’re winding me up.’
Bright Young Things Page 14