‘Sounds amazing,’ says Paul.
‘Totally,’ says Emily.
‘Why didn’t you become addicted?’ says Jamie.
‘Oh, I did,’ says Bryn. ‘Imagine feeling like I just described. You’d get addicted to it after just one puff. But I didn’t make it into what you’d call a habit, because I was lucky, and circumstances got in the way.’
‘How?’ asks Emily.
‘I was hanging around with these two blokes in Westcliff at the time. They were brothers. One of them was really into the whole reggae scene, like I was at the time. The other one was a coke dealer, a real hardcore bloke. They had five other brothers – no sisters – and all of them were in prison. My mate, Winston, he was pretty straight compared to the rest of them. His brother Steve was a nutter, and had just got out of prison. I’d never met him before, but I’d heard all about him. Anyway, we all went through a bit of a charlie phase, which was pretty easy with Steve being a dealer. We used to sit around Steve’s house before going out on a Friday night and just really cane it, doing line after line, while Steve saw all his Friday night customers. Then after that we’d usually go out to this club in Chelmsford that Steve’s mate owned. Steve always kept a bottle of ammonia in the cupboard for what he called ‘special occasions’, although at first I didn’t know what that meant.
‘We were round his all the time, like I say, and as well as all the customers, he had a couple of flatmates and some friends who used to hang around there as well. It was a really nice little scene – it wasn’t seedy or anything. It was pretty glamorous, in fact. We used to get really nice girls hanging about, although Steve always refused to sell them charlie. I don’t know why, he just always refused to sell to women. Anyway, one time he got his bottle of ammonia out and started making rocks. I asked what he was doing and he invited me upstairs and we had a smoke together. Then later, Winston came up and joined in. It was our first time doing it. Steve always wanted to keep it a secret between us three, and we only really smoked with him at first.’
‘Wow,’ says Emily. ‘So then what happened?’
Bryn shifts on the sofa. ‘I’d been doing it for two weeks straight, and I could tell it was fucking with my head. I’d always just sold weed, but I was contemplating going into business sorting people out with charlie. There was a lot of money in it, and as I seemed to have all these contacts through Steve, it looked like it could be a good business venture. When I say contacts, though, I don’t really mean blokes I could do business with, I just mean blokes who wouldn’t shoot me for doing a bit of business on their patch. That whole scene is fucking mental, but I understood it pretty well, and I thought I wouldn’t get into any trouble. So I’d already put in an order with Steve for half an ounce of charlie, which is a lot, and I was waiting for him to sort it out for me. But when he was on his way to see his man in London, him and Winston got picked up driving through Dagenham. When the police searched the car they found a load of charlie, plus some rocks that Steve had been dealing on the side, plus three firearms. They both got sent down.’
‘What did you do?’ asks Emily.
‘Nothing. Everyone knew I was mates with Winston and Steve, and for a while no one would even sell me any weed because they were sure the police were on to me as well and were just waiting to pick me up. When the police get hold of someone like me, they’re always trying to find the next bloke up in the chain. Since everyone thought I was going to get busted any minute, no one was prepared to be the next bloke up. I couldn’t score any drugs for weeks. As far as charlie went, I didn’t know any of the local blokes well enough to go to them direct for it. And in my heart I knew I wasn’t going to sell any of it. I knew I would have just rocked it all up and then smoked it myself. So in the end, it wasn’t my conscience that stopped me, or my common sense, just simple lack of availability.’
‘You were so lucky,’ says Thea. ‘You could be an addict right now.’
‘I know,’ says Bryn. ‘I’d probably be dead.’
‘Were you actually a drug dealer, then?’ says Jamie.
‘Yeah, mate,’ says Bryn. ‘Although it’s not such a big deal in Essex.’
‘Why?’
‘Everyone’s a dealer there.’
‘But it was just weed?’ says Emily.
‘Yeah. I hardly sold solid at all.’
‘Why not?’ asks Emily.
‘I was on the reggae scene,’ says Bryn, as if that explained it.
Emily stretches and pours another glass of wine.
‘Looks like it’s your turn then,’ she says to Bryn.
‘Right,’ he says. ‘Emily.’
‘Truth,’ she says.
‘What’s your biggest regret?’
‘My biggest regret?’ She thinks for a moment. ‘I’m not sure I have any regrets.’
‘Everyone says that,’ says Paul. ‘But it’s always a lie.’
‘You must have something,’ says Jamie.
‘Everyone regrets something,’ agrees Thea.
‘I don’t,’ says Anne.
‘I’m not sure I do, either,’ says Emily. ‘Except . . .’
‘What?’ Jamie virtually pounces on her.
‘It’s a bit depressing,’ she says.
Chapter Eighteen
Paul’s on to his third glass of wine. Emily’s telling some story about sleeping with a guy on holiday when she was sixteen, and some AIDS scare as a result of it. She doesn’t seem thrilled to be talking about it, and quickly moves on.
‘Anyway, it’s my turn now,’ she says, ‘and I pick Thea.’
‘Oh,’ says Thea. ‘Are you sure? I don’t really want to—’
‘You’re in now, girl,’ says Emily. ‘Truth or dare?’
‘Truth, I guess,’ says Thea, looking completely uncertain.
‘Who is the love of your life?’ Emily asks.
‘The love of my life?’
‘Yeah. The One.’
‘Have we just fallen into one of those city girl novels?’ asks Thea.
‘What?’ says Emily.
‘You know, all that crap about The One.’
‘What’s a city girl novel?’ asks Jamie.
‘You know,’ says Anne. ‘Bridget Jones.’
‘Load of shit,’ declares Paul. ‘I hate all that stuff.’
‘Most people do have a love of their life by the time they’re in their twenties,’ says Emily. ‘They don’t just make up all that stuff. It’s pretty true to life.’
‘Is it?’ says Jamie. ‘I haven’t ever been in love. Oh, except once when I was eight.’
‘That so doesn’t count,’ says Emily.
‘I’ve been in love,’ says Anne. ‘But only with characters in plays.’
‘OK, that doesn’t count either.’
Emily looks at Bryn. He shrugs and shakes his head.
She looks at Paul. ‘You?’
‘No way,’ he says. ‘I don’t even know what love is.’
‘How do you know you don’t know what love is?’ says Jamie.
‘All my girlfriends have told me. It’s my biggest failing, apparently.’
‘So who’s the love of your life?’ Anne asks Emily.
‘I haven’t got one either,’ she says. ‘But I just thought I was weird.’
‘See,’ says Thea. ‘All that stuff’s a load of shit.’
‘So there’s no big romance in your past?’ says Emily.
‘Nope,’ says Thea
‘Nothing we should know about?’
‘No. A couple of blokes who didn’t mean anything. One guy I thought I was in love with who turned out to be a twat. That’s it.’
‘God, you’re boring,’ says Paul. But he smiles, so she knows he doesn’t mean it.
‘Is it my turn to choose?’ Thea asks.
‘Yeah,’ says Emily.
‘Jamie. Truth or dare?’
‘Truth,’ says Jamie.
‘Do you like it here?’ asks Thea.
‘Is that your question?’ asks Jamie.
‘Yeah. Do you like it here?’
‘Yes. I think I do,’ he says.
‘Seriously?’ says Thea.
‘Yeah. It’s quite nice. I’ve never been part of a group before.’
‘He’s got a point,’ says Emily, smiling. ‘It is quite nice to be in a gang like this.’
‘It’s like Dawson’s Creek,’ says Anne, giggling. ‘Except there’s no creek.’
The atmosphere in the room is changing. It’s incredibly warm, and everyone’s a bit drunk – except for Anne presumably, since she isn’t drinking at all. The fear thing seems to have gone, or if it’s still here it’s that sexy, kids’-ghost-story way. It’s McFear with fries, and it’s even making Paul tingle.
‘Anne,’ says Jamie. ‘Truth or dare?’
‘Truth,’ she says.
‘Are you really a virgin?’ he asks.
‘Of course,’ she says.
‘For real?’ says Thea.
‘Yes. God. It’s not that hard to believe, is it?’
‘Anne,’ says Emily, ‘you’re a babe.’
‘She’s right,’ says Bryn.
Jamie nods. ‘That’s why we find it so hard to believe.’
‘Well, it’s true,’ she says, looking flattered. ‘Anyway. My turn.’
‘Who’s it going to be?’ asks Jamie.
‘Emily,’ she says. ‘Truth or dare?’
‘Truth,’ says Emily.
‘OK,’ says Anne. ‘Do you masturbate, and if so, how often?’
This is the kind of question Paul likes. He’s interested again now. Truth or Dare is supposed to really put people on the spot, not just encourage a group therapy session. And Emily strikes Paul as exactly the kind of girl who’s at it all the time, but who never ever admits it.
‘Do you?’ Emily says back to Anne.
‘She asked you,’ says Paul.
‘Um . . .’ Emily goes a bit pink. ‘Yeah.’
‘How often?’ asks Anne.
She cringes. ‘Um, about once a week if I haven’t got a boyfriend.’
‘What if you have?’
‘What? Got a boyfriend? I make him do it.’
‘Is it the same?’ asks Anne. ‘I mean, with someone else doing it?’
‘No,’ says Emily. ‘It’s different. If they’re good at it, it’s better. If they’re shit, then it’s much much worse and you usually end up having to do it yourself anyway.’
‘Do you masturbate?’ Jamie asks Anne.
‘Of course,’ she says. ‘Everyone does.’
‘But you’re a virgin,’ he says.
‘So?’ says Anne. ‘Doesn’t mean I can’t wank.’
‘I don’t masturbate,’ says Thea.
‘Yeah, right,’ says Emily. ‘Like we believe you.’
‘I don’t either,’ says Bryn.
‘You must,’ says Jamie. ‘I thought everyone . . . I mean, all blokes . . .’
‘Nah. Not me,’ says Bryn. ‘That’s what sex is for.’
‘I agree,’ says Thea.
‘Have you ever tried it?’ Emily asks Thea.
‘No,’ she says. ‘I wouldn’t know what to do.’
‘You could always show her,’ Paul says to Emily. ‘We’ll all help.’
Everyone’s definitely a bit tipsy now.
Jamie doesn’t seem as embarrassed as he usually appears to be.
‘Yeah,’ he giggles. ‘We’ll all help.’
‘I don’t think so,’ says Thea, also giggling. ‘But thanks for the offer.’
‘You should try it some day, though,’ says Anne. ‘It’s cool.’
‘Anyway,’ says Emily. ‘My turn. I pick Thea.’
‘Truth,’ she says immediately.
‘Are you sure you don’t want dare?’ says Emily playfully.
‘No way,’ she says. ‘Not now I know what you’d all choose.’
‘All right. How many people have you fucked?’ asks Emily.
‘What, how many different people?’
‘Yeah. Animal, vegetable or mineral.’
‘I’m going to have to add up,’ says Thea. ‘It’s a while since I last counted.’
‘Are there a lot?’ asks Jamie.
‘Quite a few,’ says Thea. She thinks for a minute. ‘Probably around seventy. Is that exact enough?’
‘Seventy!’ says Emily. ‘Fucking hell, girl.’
‘What’s wrong with that?’
‘I thought I was a slut.’
‘You are,’ says Paul.
‘Stop it,’ says Emily, hitting him on the arm. ‘You’re not funny.’
‘How many have you slept with then?’ Bryn asks Emily.
‘About thirty,’ she says. ‘I thought that was loads.’
‘Don’t,’ says Thea. ‘You’re making me feel bad.’
‘Sorry,’ says Emily. ‘I didn’t mean to. God. You’ve made me feel better.’
‘Why is it a bad thing to have had sex with loads of people?’ asks Jamie.
‘It just is,’ says Emily. ‘If you’re a girl.’
‘According to Cosmopolitan, we’re all freaks,’ says Anne.
‘Why?’ says Jamie.
‘We’re all outside the average. I’m a virgin, and therefore frigid. They’ve slept with a lot of men, so they’re automatically sluts. It’s unattractive to be unaverage, whatever anyone says. We’re freaks.’ She mock-sobs. ‘We’ll never find husbands.’
‘Is that really how it works?’ asks Jamie. ‘Are you all freaks?’
‘Yeah. You’re definitely not supposed to have slept with more than about five people by the time you’re our age,’ says Emily. ‘Apparently men don’t respect you if you’re easy.’
‘Five was the average number they said,’ says Anne.
‘I’ve slept with five people,’ says Jamie. ‘Does that mean I’m average?’
‘No,’ says Thea. ‘You’re a bloke. You’re a freak too.’
‘Yeah,’ says Emily. ‘Men are supposed to have slept with about twenty women by the time they’re twenty-five or something.’
‘That doesn’t add up,’ says Jamie, being mathematical.
‘What?’ says Emily.
‘Well, if every man is supposed to have had sex with twenty women by the time they’re in their mid-twenties, but all the women are supposed to have only slept with five men each, there wouldn’t be enough women to go around. So that means that a huge proportion of them would have to go over the “average”, at a ratio of three to one, with only one girl in every four actually sticking to the average. Which doesn’t make it an average if you ask me.’
‘So we’re not freaks, then?’ asks Emily.
‘Not unless all men are as well. In which case, I don’t know exactly who you would have been sleeping with at such a rate.’
‘So maths does have a practical application,’ says Emily.
‘Whose turn is it now?’ asks Jamie.
‘Thea’s,’ says Emily. ‘Go girl,’
‘OK,’ she says. ‘Um . . . Paul.’
‘Truth,’ he says.
‘You’re all so boring,’ says Emily. ‘No one’s choosing dare.’
‘Truth,’ Paul says again.
‘What’s the most important thing you own?’ asks Thea.
‘The most important thing I own?’ he says.
‘Yeah.’
‘Thing?’
‘Yeah.’
Paul thinks. What is it? Is it his computer? Paul mentally visits his flat and looks around at everything in it. There’s the computer, a new Pentium III looming large in his sitting room. Apart from that, there’s the pinball machine he bought for fifty quid and then customised; there’s his oldest Atari, by far the most precious of all his console collection, with the original ‘Space Invaders’ and ‘Pong’ catridges; but while these are important objects, he guesses they are probably not the most important. In his mind, he returns to his computer. There’s his modem, which is probably more important than the actual computer, but if he didn’t have it, he�
��d just get another one. With things like that, it’s not the object that’s really important, more what the object does. There are a few books on the shelves next to his computer, they’re pretty important. He’s got an original first edition translation of Seven Dada Manifestos by Tristan Tzara. Then, all of a sudden, he realises what the most important thing he owns actually is. It’s on the same shelf as his books. But should he tell the others about it?
‘Come on,’ says Thea. ‘It can’t be that hard.’
‘I can’t think of anything,’ he says, pouring another glass of wine.
‘There must be something,’ says Emily.
‘All right,’ he says. ‘It’s a picture. A photograph.’
‘A photograph?’ says Thea. ‘What of?’
‘My father. He, um . . .’
‘What?’ says Emily.
‘He died before I was born. It’s no big deal or anything.’
‘That is kind of a big deal,’ says Emily.
‘Do you want to talk about it?’ says Thea.
‘No,’ says Paul. ‘I think I want to pick who’s next.’
‘How did he die?’ asks Anne.
‘Anne!’ says Emily.
‘It’s all right,’ says Paul. ‘He overdosed on heroin.’
‘Shit,’ says Emily. ‘That’s pretty fucked up.’
‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ says Paul.
‘Sure,’ says Emily quickly. ‘Who are you going to pick?’
‘I think I’ll pick . . . you,’ says Paul.
‘Me?’ says Emily. ‘All right. Um . . . Truth.’
‘Who’s boring now?’ says Thea.
‘I’m not ready for a dare yet,’ she says. ‘Come on. Truth.’
‘Have you ever had anal sex?’ he asks.
‘Of course,’ she says. ‘Who hasn’t?’
Jamie looks a bit shocked.
‘Me,’ says Anne. ‘I haven’t.’
‘Not counting virgins,’ says Emily.
‘I haven’t done it,’ says Thea. ‘Well, I tried it once, but it hurt.’
‘Did it hurt when you did it?’ Anne asks Emily.
‘Yeah,’ she says. ‘But that’s part of the fun.’
Emily draws her knees up to her chin and grins naughtily.
‘Seriously?’ says Jamie. ‘Gosh.’
‘Do you actually like it?’ asks Thea.
Bright Young Things Page 18