Bright Young Things

by Thomas, Scarlett

  ‘We can if she stops asking me to kill it,’ says Paul.

  ‘What are we going to do about matey upstairs?’ asks Bryn.

  ‘Exactly,’ says Jamie. ‘That’s rather closer to the point.’

  ‘If you don’t kill that spider,’ declares Thea, ‘I’m going to throw myself off the cliffs.’

  ‘Be my guest,’ says Jamie. ‘Just do it calmly.’

  There’s a sudden silence.

  Emily starts to wail; a low, howling sound, like she’s giving birth.

  Thea’s gone bright red. She looks at everyone, waiting for them to do or say something. After a few moments, she unlocks the back door and runs out into the dark, crying.

  ‘Now look what you’ve done,’ says Anne.

  ‘She’ll be all right,’ says Jamie.

  ‘Are you sure?’ says Paul.

  ‘Do something,’ wails Emily.

  ‘I’ll go,’ says Anne.

  She walks out of the door after Thea.

  ‘Right,’ says Jamie. ‘What are we going to do about you-know-what?’

  ‘You tell me,’ says Paul. ‘I don’t know what to do with a dead body.’

  ‘Did you cover it over?’ Jamie asks Bryn.

  ‘No,’ he replies. ‘It was too creepy. Do you think Thea will be all right?’

  ‘She’ll be fine,’ says Jamie. ‘Go after her if you’re worried.’

  ‘No thanks,’ says Bryn. ‘It’s all too mental for me.’

  ‘I didn’t mean what I said,’ says Jamie. ‘I just wanted to shut her up.’

  ‘As long as she’s all right,’ says Bryn.

  Bryn looks tired. Paul finds it weird that he’s not gone after her; weirder that Anne has. It’s that sort of night, though, and no one’s behaving normally any more.

  ‘So he’s still lying there like he was?’ asks Paul. ‘The guy upstairs, I mean.’

  ‘Yeah,’ says Bryn. ‘So?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ says Jamie. ‘I don’t know what you’re supposed to do.’

  ‘In a film,’ says Bryn, ‘they’d just chuck him over the cliffs or something.’

  ‘I can really see us doing that,’ says Paul.

  ‘Did he bring us here?’ asks Jamie.

  ‘He must have done,’ says Paul. ‘He was definitely the job-interview guy.’

  ‘Strange,’ says Jamie, sounding slightly boy-detective. ‘Why?’

  ‘I guess we’ll never know,’ says Paul.

  ‘What, we’ll never know why?’ asks Bryn.

  ‘If he’s dead, and he’s the one that knows,’ says Paul.

  ‘Yeah, but there’d be something written down surely,’ says Jamie.

  ‘Probably,’ says Paul. ‘What do you think he died of?’

  ‘Heart attack?’ suggests Jamie. ‘I’ve never seen anyone die before,’ he adds.

  ‘Me neither,’ says Paul. ‘Looked like the heart attacks on TV, though.’

  ‘So what are we going to do now?’ asks Bryn. ‘I feel like we have to do something.’

  ‘I wish Emily would snap out of it,’ says Jamie. ‘She’d know what to do.’

  ‘Emily?’ says Bryn, looking into her eyes.

  Nothing happens.

  ‘What’s wrong with her?’ asks Paul.

  ‘Shock,’ says Bryn. ‘I’ve seen people in shock before. It’s like this.’

  ‘Why aren’t we like that then?’ asks Paul.

  ‘Happens to everyone differently,’ says Bryn.

  ‘I don’t feel anything,’ says Paul. ‘Not really.’

  ‘Do you feel scared?’ asks Bryn.

  ‘Not really,’ says Paul. ‘I wish I did – it would be a bit more normal.’

  ‘It doesn’t feel real to me,’ says Jamie. ‘Nothing like this has ever happened to me.’

  ‘Do you think he was just going to carry on hiding up there?’ asks Bryn.

  ‘Who knows?’ says Paul. ‘Bit of a weird thing to do.’

  Jamie’s up now and pacing around the table.

  ‘Maybe now’s a good time to think about escape,’ he says.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  It doesn’t take long for Anne to find Thea. She’s sitting up against the back of the house around the corner from the kitchen. It’s not that dark, with the light from the hall window.

  Anne laughs. ‘When I used to run away from home,’ she begins, sitting down next to Thea, ‘I never used to go further than the end of the driveway. I used to sit there like this, waiting for someone to come out and find me. The one time my parents called my bluff and refused to come after me, I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know what extra thing I could do to get their attention. It was the first time I thought about suicide. I must have been about ten.’

  ‘Did you really think about it?’ asks Thea.

  ‘No,’ says Anne. ‘Not really. I just wanted to turn myself inside out or something. It was like I’d done the worst thing I knew to get their attention and it hadn’t worked. I was just stuck I suppose.’

  ‘Are you saying I’m doing this to get attention?’

  ‘Yeah. But not in a nasty way. You needed to get their attention.’

  ‘Didn’t exactly work, though.’

  ‘Well, not everyone’s scared of spiders. Not everyone understands what it feels like.’

  ‘And you do understand, I suppose?’

  ‘I’m terrified of wasps,’ says Anne. ‘I act the same way.’

  ‘But not when there’s a dead body around, I bet,’ says Thea.

  ‘I wouldn’t know,’ says Anne. ‘I don’t know how I’d react.’

  ‘You don’t seem very freaked out,’ Thea observes.

  Anne thinks for a moment. ‘I don’t know why that is,’ she admits. ‘I’ve always been pretty good at blocking things out. People say I’m cold. Maybe I am.’

  ‘Maybe.’ Thea picks up a stone from the ground and starts turning it over in her hands. ‘Anne, why are you being nice to me?’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Why are you being nice to me? I’ve been horrible to you ever since we got here.’

  Anne shrugs. ‘When you put it like that I guess I don’t really know.’

  ‘Well, thanks anyway,’ says Thea. ‘It’s nice.’

  ‘So are you going to throw yourself off the cliffs then?’ says Anne.

  ‘Probably not,’ says Thea. ‘You could go in and say I had, though.’

  ‘I could,’ laughs Anne. ‘But they would believe me. I’m very believable.’

  ‘Serve them right,’ says Thea. ‘Fucking men.’

  ‘I can see why Paul wouldn’t want to kill the spider,’ says Anne diplomatically.

  ‘Hmm,’ says Thea. ‘Maybe.’

  ‘I mean, if it was a wasp . . . But I couldn’t kill an animal I liked, could you?’

  Thea shakes her head. ‘I suppose not. But to spare someone’s feelings . . . ?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ says Anne. ‘But it can’t get you now, though. It’s in the tank’

  ‘That’s not how it feels,’ says Thea with a shudder.

  ‘What about the dead guy?’ says Anne. ‘What do you think happened to him?’

  ‘Heart attack?’ suggests Thea. ‘I’ve only ever seen people die of old age,’ she adds.

  ‘He was up there all that time. What do you think he was going to do?’

  ‘Murder us? Who knows? Good job he’s dead, really.’

  ‘Don’t you feel sorry for him?’

  ‘Not if he’s our kidnapper, no. Why, do you?’

  Anne shrugs. ‘Not really, but I thought that was just me.’

  ‘It’s not that weird,’ says Thea. ‘We didn’t know him.’

  Anne reaches down beside her. ‘Do you want a fag?’ she asks Thea. ‘I brought you some.’

  ‘Cheers,’ says Thea, taking one. ‘Thanks again for coming out here. I am sorry about all the things I said about you.’

  ‘It doesn’t really matter, does it?’ says Anne. ‘I mean, we’d hardly be friends outside of
here anyway. We didn’t ask to be here together, did we?’

  ‘Maybe we would have become friends outside,’ suggests Thea.

  ‘You hated me on sight,’ laughs Anne. ‘So I don’t think so.’

  Thea laughs too. ‘You’ve got a point.’

  ‘I’m used to people hating me,’ says Anne. ‘It’s no big deal.’

  ‘People shouldn’t hate you. You’re nice.’

  ‘You hated me.’

  ‘Yeah, but only because I was jealous of you.’

  This has gone all weird. They’re bonding because of some dead guy and a spider.

  ‘Jealous of me?’ says Anne incredulously. ‘Please.’

  ‘You always manage to be centre of attention.’

  ‘Me? That’s rich coming from Miss I’m-Going-To-Throw-Myself-Off-The-Cliffs.’

  Thea laughs. ‘Well, you manage to be so blasé about everything. The guys adore you.’

  ‘I wish I wasn’t so blasé about things. And guys do not usually adore me.’

  ‘They must do. You’re all girly and innocent.’

  ‘Me? Girly and innocent? You must have the wrong person.’

  ‘All that virginity and stuff about soap operas. It’s girly and innocent.’

  ‘No,’ Anne corrects. ‘It’s weird. I’m not innocent, anyway.’

  ‘You’re a virgin.’

  ‘It’s not the same thing. Anyway, you’re more innocent than me. You’ve never . . .’

  ‘What, wanked?’ says Thea. She laughs. ‘Not till tonight.’

  ‘What?’ Anne giggles. ‘You mean . . . ?’

  ‘Well, I was in the middle of it when you all disturbed me.’

  ‘Whoops,’ says Anne. ‘Sorry.’

  The more relaxed Anne gets, the more she realises she’s freezing out here.

  ‘I’m cold,’ she says to Thea.

  ‘Me too,’ says Thea. ‘But it feels safe out here.’

  ‘Mmm. What are we going to do about Mr Dead?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘What would you do if this happened to you at home?’

  ‘I don’t keep guys in my attic at home.’

  ‘No, but . . . You know what I mean.’

  ‘I don’t know. Call an ambulance. Call my foster mum. I don’t know.’

  ‘We need a telephone,’ says Anne.

  ‘Yeah. And a council and the emergency services and everything, really.’

  They listen to the waves for a few minutes, while Thea finishes smoking.

  ‘I don’t want to sleep in there,’ admits Anne. ‘No, neither do I,’ says Thea. ‘Silly, isn’t it?’

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Everyone goes to sleep at dawn, just as the first light blue patches of sky are emerging outside. For some reason it feels safer this way, all going to sleep together in the sitting room again, with the light coming in and the birds starting to wake up. It’s as if daybreak marks the end of the horror-film setting; the end of danger and death and vampires and ghosts and all the other nightmare things. Jamie’s aware that they still have a nightmare thing upstairs in the attic, and that this problem is not going to get smaller, but by about six o’ clock he doesn’t care any more and drops off.

  Emily is the first up at about twelve, cooking breakfast for everyone as though nothing has happened. Jamie can hear her singing on his way to the kitchen; some old Smiths song he thought no one remembered.

  ‘Morning,’ he says, entering the kitchen and yawning.

  ‘Afternoon,’ she says. ‘Heavy night, huh?’ She hands him a cup of tea. ‘Breakfast won’t be long. Are the others up?’

  ‘They’re awake,’ says Jamie. He smiles. ‘You seem better this morning.’

  ‘Yeah, well, I bounce back,’ she says. ‘Sorry I freaked so badly.’

  ‘It was totally understandable,’ he says. ‘We all lost it a bit.’

  ‘It’s only a dead guy. Don’t know what all the drama was about, really.’

  ‘It is pretty major,’ Jamie points out. He can’t believe this transformation.

  ‘People die all the time, Jamie. It’s natural.’

  ‘Didn’t seem very natural last night,’ he says huffily.

  ‘Lighten up,’ she says. ‘Look, we’ll escape and it’ll be cool. OK?’

  He’s not convinced it’s going to be that simple. ‘OK,’ he says anyway.

  ‘I’m fucked,’ says Bryn, staggering into the kitchen. ‘Did I dream all that stuff?’

  ‘What stuff?’ says Emily brightly.

  ‘You didn’t dream it,’ says Jamie. ‘It’s real.’

  ‘Fuck. This hangover’s real,’ he says. ‘Any aspirin anywhere?’

  Super-efficient, Emily hands him a glass of water and two tablets.

  ‘Oh, cheers,’ he says.

  Bleary-eyed and unhealthy-looking, the others appear through the door.

  Emily serves breakfast, cheerfully informing everyone that lunch will be at three.

  ‘Are you OK?’ asks Anne, but Emily says nothing.

  ‘This is worse than last night, I think,’ whispers Paul.

  ‘Escape plans please everyone,’ says Emily. ‘To discuss at lunch.’

  No one seems sure what to do when breakfast’s over. It seems kind of obscene to behave normally with a dead body upstairs. On the other hand, no one offers to do anything about the dead body. There’s a group paralysis; no one has any idea of their next move. Eventually, Bryn and Thea decide to help Emily with the washing up, and Anne goes off outside with Paul to search for food for the spider, who’s now living in one of the cupboards in his (Paul’s sure it’s a he) tank. Thea hasn’t demanded its death again, and everyone seems to be keeping quiet about it.

  Jamie’s in the kitchen obsessing about the attic room. He knows there must be some clue in there as to why everyone was brought here in the first place. There was some brief discussion about this last night and this morning. No one’s prepared to admit that the knowledge died with the man, but equally, no one’s prepared to actually go upstairs and look for evidence either way. Before long, Jamie’s in the middle of a fantasy about being the brave one who really does venture into the attic. In his fantasy, the others are all totally impressed because not only has he ventured up there alone, but he has also brought the secret down with him. In a few seconds he’s become Indiana Jones, searching for the Lost Arc. And the moment he sees it like that, he realises that all he has to do to make the fantasy real is to actually go up there.

  Swallowing his fear (Indiana wasn’t scared), Jamie excuses himself from the kitchen and starts running up the stairs, two at a time, in case he loses his nerve. By the time he reaches the very top he’s already covered in a thin layer of sweat. What he could really do with is a glass of cold lemonade and a nice breeze. What he actually gets is the smell of death, and several flies. This really is horrible. Before he does anything else, Jamie pulls a sheet off the bed and drapes it over the man. He finds a can of air freshener in the small toilet and sprays it around the room until it smells of spring meadows and death, rather than just death.

  He goes through the room like he imagines an FBI team might, ruthlessly sifting through piles of papers and documents, making as much mess as possible. Once he’s fully involved with his task, he doesn’t really notice the large lump on the floor. Instead of being afraid up here alone, Jamie finds himself feeling territorial and important, not wanting anyone to join him in case he is forced to share the victory when it comes. Not that it’s coming very easily. There are loads of documents in here, mainly obscure academic articles, but none which seem to relate to the kidnapping.

  Half an hour after Jamie begins his task, he finally finds something important – a folder containing all the application forms and interview letters corresponding to the six people here. Apart from these documents, there is only one other sheet of paper in the folder.

  It’s a letter, dated 10 August 1999. It is addressed to Mr Smith.

  It’s from a helicopter hire company and d
etails Mr Smith’s requirements for what is described as his ‘last trip’ with them. It confirms that he will be taking a ‘smaller cargo’ this time, that he will provide the container and that the container will carry ‘Fragile’ labels. It also mentions that Mr Smith will be liable for the container and for ensuring air holes for his ‘pets’. The company states that they understand the cargo to be more books (more books – so the contents of the library must have been brought here too) and supplies as well as the pets. This last journey will take place, the letter goes on to confirm, on Monday 6 September 1999. The day they came here. Jamie gulps. They must have been in that container. Fuck. He has to pause for a few moments and take some deep breaths before he realises the other unnerving implication of the letter – that the trip in the helicopter was to be the last, and that there were no arrangements made for the collection of ‘Mr Smith’ or his ‘pets’.

  So the man – ‘Mr Smith’ – is definitely the job-interview man, and he did indeed bring them here deliberately. Trouble is, there’s nothing in the folder or this room to suggest why. Why would he get a helicopter to drop them all off here? Why wouldn’t he arrange transport back? At least it seems that no terrorists are coming to murder them, which is something.

  Jamie almost overlooks the brown suitcase. It is only when he’s pulled the whole of the rest of the room apart that he decides to open it. He almost doesn’t even bother; it’s only a suitcase, after all. Jamie knows that whenever he travels he unpacks as soon as he reaches his destination. If this was Jamie’s suitcase, it would be empty, but the man is clearly not like Jamie. There are some items he didn’t unpack.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  ‘So you’re all right now, then?’ Thea asks Emily, who has insisted on washing, not drying.

  ‘Me? Oh yes. Fine. Why?’

  ‘You were virtually catatonic last night.’

  ‘Yes, well. Do you want tea?’

  Emily’s voice seems higher pitched today. Thea wonders if she’s on the verge of panicking again, and gets a strong urge to be gentle with her; to talk to her like she speaks to the elderly men and women at the residential home. She used to work nights occasionally, when the home was short-staffed. The home was a different place at night, with residents often ‘wandering’, haunting the corridors like almost-ghosts, sometimes making it as far as the road outside or the local park. Whenever a member of the local community returned a resident, it was like they were returning a stray dog. Matron even slapped one resident on the bottom after one such return, in front of the lady who’d returned him. Before they escaped, or went madder or attacked one another, the residents’ voices would always become more high pitched. And when she was about to abuse one of the residents, Matron was the same.