Going Out

by Scarlett Thomas

  ‘What about the floods?’ Leanne says.

  ‘We’ll be OK,’ Charlotte says. ‘It’s only water.’

  ‘What about her?’ Chantel says, pointing at Leanne.

  ‘What?’ Leanne says. ‘What about me?’

  ‘We’re going to have to take her with us,’ Chantel says. ‘We can’t leave someone behind who knows where we’re going, especially if it’s this big secret and Luke’s mum can’t know.’

  ‘Yeah, that’s true,’ says Charlotte. ‘Jean’ll interrogate her.’

  ‘I’m coming anyway,’ Leanne says. ‘I have some issues to resolve. I could do with some time away. I’ll take a couple of days’ holiday. Lloyd won’t mind.’

  ‘Issues?’ says Charlotte. ‘Oh, never mind. Right. What else?’

  ‘The route?’ suggests Chantel.

  ‘Down the A12, round the M25 and then shoot up the M4,’ says David. ‘Easy.’

  ‘It’s going to be a bit more complicated than that,’ Julie says.

  Chapter 31

  ‘The yellow roads?’ says David, looking at the map Julie’s given him.

  ‘Yeah. The B-roads,’ Julie confirms. ‘We’re going on B-roads.’

  ‘Is there any reason for that? It’ll take fucking weeks.’

  ‘It’ll be fun,’ Chantel says. ‘Lighten up, David.’

  It’s Saturday night. Everyone’s preparing to go. David gives the map back to Julie, shaking his head, then he and Chantel get out of the van to do something with oil. Julie, Leanne and Luke are in the van, sheltering from the rain, waiting for Charlotte. Luke’s sitting on the bed at the back, Julie’s sitting on the chair behind the passenger seat, and Leanne’s sitting primly on the little sofa. It’s smaller in here than Luke thought it would be, and his feet are getting caught up in everyone’s bags.

  ‘Where’s Charlotte?’ asks Julie, looking at her watch. ‘We’ve got to go in a minute.’

  ‘She’s probably taken too many drugs and forgotten,’ Leanne says.

  When Luke and Julie were about fifteen, they used to play a game called Trust. Julie would fall backwards and Luke would catch her, and vice versa, or one would blindfold the other, and then give the blindfolded person instructions on how to walk around some obstacles placed in Luke’s room.

  Leaving the house felt like the Trust game multiplied a thousand times. As Julie helped Luke towards the same back door through which he tried to escape all those years ago, he’d suddenly had a sensation of not being able to breathe; and he imagined collapsing again like he’d done when he was seven, like in a film, shot from every angle. As he walked towards the door, with Julie touching his arm, all he could think of was that day: the gravel, the cold air, and then waking up in bed.

  Once he could breathe again – they’d had to rest in the kitchen for several minutes while Luke mentally prepared himself – he found he wasn’t sure if he was more scared that he was just going to wake up in bed again like last time, or that he wasn’t. He never thought this would actually happen. Going out was unthinkable. Luke had spent years fantasising about what lay behind the kitchen door, and now he was finally going to see what was really there. He’d had that one glimpse of blue sky years ago and it had been like being able to feel a Christmas present but never open it.

  Luke’s mother always used to put his presents under the tree on Christmas Eve. Luke was never allowed to touch, shake or feel them. He was only allowed to look. But one time he couldn’t help himself. He crept up to the tree and squeezed a small, intriguingly shaped package. It was so soft. A toy! It had to be a toy. A soft, furry toy he could love and stroke and hold. He’d never had a soft toy for Christmas before. Usually his presents were electrical items or clothes. All night, Luke fantasised about unwrapping his toy. On Christmas morning he was allowed to open one present from his pile before breakfast. He chose the small soft package, of course. It was a pair of socks.

  So far, being outside is like socks. Socks, when Luke expected a soft toy.

  He walked out of the door with Julie sort of pushing him and there was no magic; no vast Technicolor world in which he could dance naked. There was just the sound of rain, the smell of someone’s dinner cooking and a greyness he could barely see. Then Julie hurried him into the van, which had been parked on the gravel driveway, almost right by the door. She had an umbrella. He didn’t even feel rain on his face. Not that he would have anyway, because of the helmet he’s wearing. It’s a shame. He always wanted to feel rain on his face.

  Now he’s sitting in the van while the others come in and out, preparing things, arguing about the route and complaining about Charlotte being late. Luke’s looking through the steamy, smeared window at his house. It feels like an out-of-body experience; like he’s a snail looking at his shell. It’s the strangest sensation he’s ever experienced. He never ever thought he’d be here in this van, and that he’d be leaving his home and going somewhere else. He couldn’t picture it at all. Now he’s actually here his life seems pictureless, because there’s no storyboard in his head for what might come next. Luke’s scared. He shuts his eyes. The van smells mouldy inside; wet and sort of dying, like a cup of coffee you’d left under your bed for a week.

  In the back of the van, Leanne’s whispering to Julie. ‘You said you’d do something,’ she hisses.

  ‘I have done something,’ Julie hisses back.

  ‘What, exactly?’

  ‘I don’t know. I mean, I do know, but . . . Look, I had to tell Charlotte.’

  ‘You what?’

  ‘Only the bare facts, don’t worry.’

  ‘I can’t believe you’d betray me by telling Charlotte.’

  ‘Calm down, Leanne.’ Julie sighs. ‘It’s not a big deal.’

  ‘That’s easy for you to say. I’ll never live it down.’

  ‘She wasn’t like that. She knows it’s a secret. Don’t worry about it.’

  ‘She’ll laugh at me.’

  ‘She does anyway. Look, I think she thought it was pretty cool, to be honest.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes, really.’

  Luke hasn’t got any idea what they are talking about. He keeps his eyes shut. Everything sounds different. Maybe it’s the effect of the wind, the rain or the temperature, or maybe just the infinite space of outside. That could be it. It used to be that Luke’s whole world was carpeted and had walls and curtains. Now he doesn’t know what it is but he knows it goes on forever. Luke lies down on the little bed and covers himself with one of the huge fleece blankets that Chantel and Julie brought along. It’s probably better that he stays hidden. And maybe it’s best for him not to look out of the window at his house any more.

  David’s been doing something to the engine of the van, and the metal sounds that he’s generating – the squeaking and scraping of the bonnet opening, and a circular, twisting sound of things being unscrewed and screwed back again – are clean and crisp, even through Luke’s foil-covered crash helmet and the blanket. As well as David’s metal sounds, Julie’s whispering voice and Chantel’s occasional giggle, Luke can hear the echoey spatter of rain on the van roof and, faintly, the last part of the Coronation Street music, which, after the sound of a key being turned and a door being opened, suddenly becomes louder.

  There’s the crunchy sound of gravel.

  Then Julie’s dad’s voice: ‘What the hell are you doing now?’ It sounds like he’s laughing.

  Julie’s voice: ‘Nothing. Moving something from Luke’s.’

  ‘Who the hell owns this heap of junk?’

  Chantel’s voice: ‘It’s mine, Mr King.’

  More sounds of gravel. It sounds like Leanne’s getting out of the van.

  Julie’s dad’s voice: ‘You lot are doing something dodgy, aren’t you?’

  Chantel: ‘No, Mr King, we’re just moving some things Luke wants to sell and . . .’

  There’s the sound of Julie’s dad laughing. And his voice again: ‘Do I look like I care? It’s about time my daughter did something
interesting, anyway. Of course, knowing her, you’re all doing exactly what you say you’re doing. Boring, boring, boring.’

  There’s some more crunching, a slammed door, and then the TV is quieter again.

  Luke can’t open his eyes; he can’t move the blanket. He prefers to put images to sounds inside his head; they seem to make more sense that way. Also, he can add whole scenes. He can create an image of David chasing after Julie’s dad and pinning him up against the wall of his house and telling him not to ever speak to Julie like that again. He can see Julie’s dad slump to the ground like a man in a film, with his shirt all scrunched up and his tie coming undone. It’s a satisfying image. One of the reasons Luke can’t open his eyes is because he won’t see fiction if he does. He stays under the blanket.

  ‘Where the hell is Charlotte?’ Julie’s saying now.

  ‘Taking her time, isn’t she,’ says David.

  ‘We’ve got to get a move on. Luke’s sitting in there on his own.’

  ‘I’ll sit with him,’ says Chantel. ‘This rain’s getting worse.’

  ‘Me too,’ says Leanne. ‘My hair’s going frizzy.’

  Inside the van it suddenly sounds as though someone’s throwing small hard objects on to the roof.

  ‘Fuck it, it’s hail,’ says David, and everyone gets in the back of the van with Luke.

  Chapter 32

  Charlotte arrives in a taxi with a woman who looks like a witch.

  ‘This is Sophie,’ Charlotte announces. ‘She’s a witch.’

  ‘Hi,’ says Sophie.

  ‘I said we could drop her off at Epping Forest,’ Charlotte says.

  Charlotte settles in the main passenger seat at the front of the van, next to Julie, and Sophie gets in the back with the others. ‘So where’s the guy in the spacesuit?’ she says. Luke’s still under his blanket; Julie doesn’t know why.

  Leanne’s looking confused and slightly pink. She’s looking backwards and forwards from Julie to Charlotte but neither of them says anything. Chantel looks slightly nervous and even David looks a bit freaked out. It could be because Sophie really does look like a witch. Dressed all in black, with a black shawl, black lace gloves and a pentagram-shaped pendant around her neck, she also has rather piercing black eyes and a large mole on her forehead. If it wasn’t for the facial features and the pentagram, she’d just look like a Goth. As it is, she looks like a witch. The only thing that’s remotely un-witchlike about her is the black Reebok holdall that she chucks on top of all the other bags in the back of the van before sitting down next to David and Chantel.

  Julie starts the engine and reverses out of Luke’s drive. ‘David?’ she says.

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Have you still got the map there?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Oh – hang on a sec . . .’ Julie puts the windscreen wipers up a notch and uses an old cloth from the dashboard to wipe the inside of the windscreen. All the windows are misting up with the rain and everyone’s breath. She can hardly see anything as she turns in the cul-de-sac and drives out of Windy Close towards the road into the town centre.

  ‘You OK?’ David asks, after they’ve been driving for a few minutes.

  ‘Yeah. I need you to find a route to Epping Forest.’

  ‘On B-roads?’

  ‘Yeah. On B-roads.’

  ‘For fuck’s sake.’

  ‘Just stop complaining, David,’ Chantel says. ‘Julie’s scared, OK? And since she’s the only one who can drive, we have to do it her way. It’ll be fine.’

  ‘You’re scared of roads?’ Sophie says to Julie. ‘And you’re going to Wales?’

  ‘Yes and yes,’ Julie says. ‘We have to go there for our friend. It’s important.’

  The road joins the High Street, and the van passes McDonald’s. Luke hasn’t said anything for ages, and when Julie looks at him in the rearview mirror, all she can see is a lump under a blanket in the back of the van. This must all be too much for him.

  ‘How do you know she’s scared?’ David asks Chantel.

  ‘She obviously is.’

  ‘I had a big car accident,’ Julie suddenly says. ‘On a motorway. That’s why.’

  ‘God, why didn’t you say?’ says David.

  ‘I didn’t know about that,’ Charlotte says. ‘Wow, babe, that’s rough.’

  ‘I don’t like to talk about it,’ says Julie. She hates lying but maybe the others will leave her alone now.

  ‘I could charm the van, if you like,’ Sophie says.

  ‘Cool,’ says Charlotte. ‘Can you do it now?’

  Sophie shakes her head. ‘When we stop at Epping. There’s no energy here.’

  David laughs and Chantel elbows him. ‘Just read the map,’ she says.

  He turns it upside down and around a few times. ‘There aren’t any B-roads going to Epping,’ he says eventually.

  ‘There must be,’ Julie says.

  ‘Nope. There are these non-roads that don’t even have a colour . . .’

  ‘Can you see a route to Epping, David?’ Julie asks. ‘On these non-roads.’

  He sighs. ‘Kind of.’

  ‘Good. Let’s go, then.’

  Julie’s heart is beating in a weird way. It would be really terrible to have a heart attack now with all these people in the van. Still, if she goes slowly on the B-roads, it’ll be all right. At least if she does crash it won’t be fatal.

  ‘So, what’s in Epping Forest?’ Chantel asks Sophie, as the van moves slowly down the High Street.

  ‘My coven,’ she says.

  ‘You have a coven?’ Chantel says.

  ‘Of course. You can’t be a witch without a coven. Well, actually, come to think of it, you can, but most witches are part of a coven.’

  ‘What’s a coven?’ David asks.

  ‘It’s a group of witches, stupid,’ Leanne says. ‘Everyone knows that.’

  ‘How many witches are there in a coven?’ he asks Sophie.

  ‘Thirteen,’ she says. ‘But we’ve only got twelve.’

  In the back of the van, the conversation about covens continues loudly. In the front of the van, Julie’s still getting to grips with the gears and the brakes and the steering and her weird heartbeat. Charlotte has found a way to sit with her legs up on the dashboard, crossed lazily at the ankles. She’s smoking, and vaguely saying something about finding a radio station to listen to on the stereo that doesn’t really work.

  ‘Where did you find her?’ Julie half-whispers, half-mouths to Charlotte.

  ‘Sophie?’

  ‘Yes, Sophie.’

  ‘In The Rising Sun,’ Charlotte says.

  ‘Do you know her?’

  ‘Not really. Jesus does.’

  ‘The drug dealer?’

  ‘Yeah. They get their drugs from him.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Her coven.’

  ‘Witches use drugs?’

  ‘Of course they do. Well, herbs anyway. Jesus can get anything.’

  ‘And this is going to help Leanne how, exactly?’

  ‘Wait and see.’

  The car in front of Julie stops at a mini-roundabout even though the way ahead is clear. Julie wasn’t expecting that. She stamps on the brakes but nothing seems to happen. The tyres don’t seem to be connecting properly with the wet road. With only a few inches to spare, the van finally stops. Then the engine stalls and Julie has to turn the key to start it again.

  ‘Nice driving, babe,’ Charlotte says.

  ‘It’s this stupid van.’ Julie shoves it in first gear and drives across the mini-roundabout. She drops her voice back down to a whisper. ‘Anyway, she is a real witch, isn’t she?’ Julie asks. ‘She’s not just some kind of smackhead or anything?’

  ‘Witches don’t do smack, you idiot.’

  ‘No, but . . .’

  ‘She’s definitely a real witch. I could tell you stories that . . .’

  There’s another roundabout a few hundred yards up ahead. It’s a big one, signposted with various choi
ces: M25 East, M25 West, Colchester A12 and London A12. There’s no mention of Epping Forest.

  ‘Hang on,’ Julie says. ‘David? Where now? Which exit do I need?’

  ‘Round to the right,’ he says. ‘I think . . . Hang on.’ He asks Sophie to point to the location of the coven on the map.

  ‘I can’t do that,’ she says. ‘It’s secret.’

  ‘For fuck’s sake,’ he says.

  ‘We do need to know where to go,’ Julie says. ‘Now, if possible.’

  David thrusts the map under Sophie’s nose.

  ‘I can point out where to drop me off,’ she says.

  ‘Can you do it quickly?’ Julie says.

  There’s some kind of scuffle in the back. Julie glances in the rearview mirror and sees David trying to get away from Sophie, who’s smiling strangely at him and waving her finger in the air.

  ‘No fucking way,’ David’s saying. ‘That’s unnatural.’

  ‘What’s the matter?’ says Chantel.

  Julie’s driving around the roundabout for the second time. There still appear to be the same four choices of exit: two for the M25 and two for the A12. Since she can’t go on any of these roads, she heads back the way she came, towards the town centre again. Charlotte’s fiddling with the radio as if nothing’s happening. So far, all she’s picked up is static.

  ‘Get her away from me,’ David’s saying, almost falling on Leanne.

  ‘Be careful,’ Julie says. ‘What’s going on? What’s wrong?’

  ‘Yes, what’s wrong?’ Sophie asks innocently.

  ‘You know what’s fucking wrong. Jesus Christ.’

  ‘David?’ Chantel says.

  In the mirror, Julie can see Leanne and Sophie exchange a weird smile.

  ‘What the fuck’s going on?’ Charlotte asks finally, turning the radio off.

  ‘Sophie made the map . . .’ David starts. ‘She, uh . . . made it . . .’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It glowed.’

  ‘Don’t be so silly,’ says Sophie. ‘Why would I want to make a map glow?’

  ‘I fucking saw it, you freak!’

  ‘Must have been the streetlights,’ Sophie says.

  ‘Or the rain,’ says Leanne.