Going Out

by Scarlett Thomas

  ‘Fuck this,’ David says. ‘Someone else can map-read now.’

  ‘I’ll do it,’ Chantel says, sighing. ‘Sorry about this, Julie.’

  David points at the map. ‘If her glowing is correct, we’re going there.’

  Chantel looks up. ‘Why are we going back the way we came?’

  Julie sighs. ‘Because no one’ll tell me where I’m going.’

  ‘Oh. OK. You want to turn left whenever you can.’

  The next left has a sign to some places Julie’s heard of, but never been to.

  ‘Here?’ Julie asks.

  ‘Yeah, perfect.’

  In a few minutes, Julie’s on a tiny country road. It’s very wet, very muddy and only really big enough for one car at a time. She didn’t even know there were roads like this in Essex. As the streetlights fade in the rearview mirror, she feels scared, then happy. You can’t go too fast on roads like this and no one else can either.

  Chapter 33

  ‘It’s going to be so flooded down here,’ Leanne says.

  ‘I didn’t know there was real countryside around here,’ says David.

  ‘What do you mean, real countryside?’ asks Charlotte.

  ‘You know, that you can actually go into. Footpaths and stuff.’

  ‘As opposed to what?’

  ‘I dunno. Rape fields next to the A12. Bleak yellow squares.’

  ‘Very poetic.’

  ‘Cheers.’

  ‘I bet people ride horses around here,’ Leanne says.

  ‘It’s pretty spooky, isn’t it?’ says Charlotte.

  ‘It’s only because it’s dark,’ Chantel says. ‘I bet it’s lovely in the day.’

  ‘Not as spooky as Epping Forest, though,’ David says. ‘I’ve heard all kinds of fucked-up shit about Epping. Like that road where cars roll uphill, and that headless ghost-woman – have you heard about her? Some of my mates from London got really stoned and went up there for a laugh but it wasn’t that much of a laugh, because one of them got lost, saw some kind of ghost, and hasn’t spoken since. It was like Blair Witch. No offence, Sophie.’

  ‘Not really, though,’ Leanne says. ‘You’re exaggerating, surely?’

  ‘No, I swear,’ David says.

  ‘There is lots of energy in the forest,’ Sophie agrees.

  ‘Can you all stop talking about headless women and ghosts?’ Charlotte says.

  ‘What time is it?’ Chantel asks.

  ‘About half-eight,’ says David.

  ‘It feels like midnight out here.’

  Luke tries to imagine what they’re all talking about. It sounds too weird to look at. He could sit up but he feels too sick. He doesn’t know if it’s something to do with the motion, or the mouldy smell, or the fact that the outside has got in through his space-suit and he’s dying. He can’t think properly – this feeling of the ground moving underneath him is too peculiar for his thoughts to stay still. At first it was like a rush – a totally new sensation and he couldn’t work out why all the people he’s met in his life haven’t raved constantly about the delights of moving in an object on wheels. For the first five minutes of the journey the movement was delicious and tingly but now it’s making him feel sick. As well as that – who the hell is Sophie and why is she here? Maybe Luke’ll sit up when she goes. Maybe then the sick feeling will go.

  The movement gets slower and slower.

  ‘Next left, then second right,’ Chantel’s saying.

  ‘I can’t see the turnings,’ Julie says. ‘There’s too much rain.’

  Poor Julie, she must be hating this. She hates travelling. Luke wishes they were alone together. If they were, he could make her feel better. He could open his eyes and sit up front with her and tell her she can drive as slow as she wants on whichever roads she wants and he could read the map for her and she could tell him what all the things outside were. But at the moment, Luke doesn’t want to know what’s outside. It just doesn’t feel like his brain will take it – it’s still processing the experience of seeing his house from outside. He feels unplugged. He feels weird. He keeps thinking he’s left something behind. Then he realises that the thing he left behind is his whole life. All he can do is lie there, hope for the best and listen to the voices in the van.

  ‘Left, I said.’

  ‘Oh, shit.’

  ‘You’ll have to turn around.’

  ‘I can’t. The road’s too small.’

  ‘OK. Just take the next . . . uh, left, then left again.’

  ‘All right.’ Julie’s voice sounds wobbly. ‘OK.’

  ‘You OK, Jules?’ Charlotte asks.

  ‘I’m fine. I just feel a bit claustrophobic.’

  ‘That’s B-roads for you,’ says David.

  ‘These aren’t even B-roads, though, are they? They’re too small.’

  ‘You’re like Goldilocks.’

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘Everything’s wrong. Too big, too small; too busy, too quiet . . .’

  ‘Yes, well, B-roads would be just right, thanks.’

  Everyone’s quiet for a few minutes, except for Chantel saying left, or right.

  ‘Is Epping flooded badly?’ Charlotte asks Sophie.

  ‘Not really,’ Sophie says. ‘It’s fine at the moment.’

  ‘Left,’ says Chantel. ‘And you can stay on this road for a while.’

  ‘Good,’ Julie says.

  Luke can feel the van lurch from side to side, and wonders what would make it do that. Everything’s slower now, though, and the rain has become comforting, and he’s almost enjoying the tapping on the roof, and the lazy slosh of the van tyres. There’s the steady whir of the car heater, and the cold, comforting smell of Charlotte, Julie and David smoking. Whenever the van goes through another big puddle, Luke thinks of soft drink commercials. Again, the van lurches, then seems to go down, then up very sharply.

  ‘The council should do something about this road,’ Julie says.

  ‘This isn’t a road,’ says David. ‘It’s a track.’

  ‘Don’t worry, Jules,’ says Charlotte. ‘We’ll be there soon.’

  ‘Thanks for doing this,’ Sophie says. ‘I know it’s a bit out of your way.’

  ‘It’s OK,’ says Julie.

  ‘So are all the witches in your coven girls?’ David asks Sophie.

  ‘Yeah,’ says Sophie. ‘Well, girls and women. The eldest is in her sixties, and the youngest has just turned seventeen. We don’t have any men. We’re a Dianic coven, so . . .’

  ‘What’s a Dianic coven?’ David asks.

  ‘All women. Goddess oriented . . .’

  ‘Are you all lesbians?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Do you run around naked?’

  ‘Sometimes.’

  ‘Pity I’m a man, then. Sounds good.’ He laughs, then Luke can hear Chantel saying something like, David! then the sound of her hitting him playfully.

  ‘You couldn’t join anyway,’ Sophie says. ‘Even if we did have men.’

  ‘Huh?’ David sounds put out. ‘Why not?’

  ‘You’re not a witch,’ Sophie explains.

  ‘Don’t you mean a warlock?’

  ‘No. A male witch is called a witch.’

  ‘Oh. And I’m not one?’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘Can you tell?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘And does that matter, then?’

  ‘Oh yes. You can’t join a coven if you’re not a witch.’

  Luke shifts in the little bed. The sick feeling isn’t so bad now that the van’s going so slowly. Inside, he just feels lost. He has no idea where he is, and would have no idea how to get home if he had to. No one ever taught him how to cross the road, or buy a bus ticket, or read a map. If there was an emergency, he wouldn’t have any idea how to find, or use, a public telephone. He’s a lot further from home than he ever thought he would be, so far away that it’s like he’s in another world and home doesn’t exist any more.

  Chapter 34

  ‘Just here
is great, thanks,’ Sophie says.

  For ages there’s just been forest. Now there’s a little carpark next to the remains of an old church and an old stump that might once have been a tree. Julie stops the van. There don’t seem to be any houses around here, just the forest.

  Sophie gets her bag from the pile. ‘I’ll bless the van, then,’ she says. Feeling around in her bag, she pulls out a small fabric object, like a pin-cushion. Everyone watches as she attaches a thread to it, then gets out of the van and holds it up to the sky. She turns to face north, then south, east and west, asking each element in turn to empower her charm. Finally, facing east once more, she says: ‘I have created this charm to protect this van against all harm. Its power has been created and now let its work be done.’ Then she gets back in the van and hangs the charm over the rearview mirror.

  ‘That’ll do the trick,’ she says. ‘Thanks for the lift.’

  ‘No problem,’ Julie says, looking at the charm suspiciously.

  ‘Leanne,’ says Sophie. ‘Can I speak to you outside?’

  ‘Uh, sure, whatever,’ Leanne says, picking up her little rucksack from the seat.

  They both step out of the van. Julie watches them walk over to the tree stump. She doesn’t want to get out of the van in this odd place. It’s too dark to see anything very much; anyone could be lurking in the forest, or that horrible old church. But still, she and Charlotte look at each other, then slowly climb out of the van. By the edge of the forest, Sophie has her hand on Leanne’s shoulder, and seems to be saying something fast and urgent to her. Leanne’s nodding. Then she notices Julie and Charlotte approaching.

  ‘I’m going with Sophie,’ Leanne says.

  ‘We thought you might,’ Charlotte says.

  ‘I . . .’ Leanne bites her lip. ‘I have to.’

  Julie’s not sure whether to laugh – Leanne’s sense of melodrama finally has a place – or hug her because she looks so small and scared and like she doesn’t fit in here. This place is weird, Julie can feel it. It’s weird and full of witches and headless ghosts and other stuff Julie doesn’t believe in but can still sense; and Leanne’s about to walk off into it with a woman who doesn’t seem all there, to somewhere no one knows about. Then again, she is annoying and she does think she’s a witch and the customers at Blockbuster will have a better rental experience without her. And she seems to want to do this. Julie realises she can’t affect this either way, so she stops worrying about it.

  Sophie looks at Charlotte. ‘Thanks,’ she says.

  ‘What for?’

  ‘Bringing her to me.’

  ‘Sorry?’ says Charlotte, but Sophie has already turned to walk into the forest.

  ‘Blessed be,’ she says over her shoulder, instead of goodbye.

  ‘See ya,’ says Leanne, following. ‘And thanks.’

  ‘Take care,’ says Julie.

  Leanne stops and turns around for a second. ‘I’m going to put everything right,’ she says. ‘The rain, and David, and everything . . . I’m going to help Luke, as well. I took a lock of his hair. I’m going to help heal him. And I’m going to help you, Julie, and you, Charlotte. I don’t know how yet but I will. I’m so grateful you did this for me.’

  ‘What the fuck was she going on about?’ Charlotte says, once Leanne’s gone.

  ‘Oh. I didn’t completely tell you the full story,’ Julie says.

  ‘I’m not sure I want to know.’

  ‘Charlotte?’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘What the hell are we doing here? I mean . . .’

  ‘What, why are we standing on the edge of Epping Forest with a Scooby Doo van, a Lottery winner, a guy with cancer and someone dressed in a space-suit – that we made – having just waved a tearful goodbye to a domineering retail-assistant who’s just gone into the woods to “fulfil her destiny” and learn how to channel her humungous witch powers?’

  ‘Yeah,’ says Julie.

  She catches Charlotte’s eye and then, suddenly, they’re both laughing so much they’re choking, until Julie can’t breathe and her stomach hurts. This place suddenly doesn’t seen frightening any more.

  ‘Oh God,’ Julie says. ‘Ow.’

  ‘What are we fucking like?’ Charlotte says. ‘Come on, we’d better tell the others.’

  David and Chantel look worried.

  ‘What was going on out there?’ David asks.

  ‘Where’s my cousin?’ asks Chantel.

  ‘You’re not going to believe this . . .’ Charlotte says.

  ‘Um . . . Leanne’s joined the coven,’ says Julie.

  ‘She said she had to be with her own sort,’ Charlotte says.

  There’s a snort from under the blanket on the bed.

  ‘Luke?’ says Julie. It sounds like he’s laughing.

  ‘Her own sort?’ says Chantel.

  ‘She thinks she’s a witch,’ Charlotte explains.

  ‘Jesus,’ says Chantel. ‘Will she be all right?’

  ‘Yeah, she’ll be fine,’ says Charlotte. ‘Come on, let’s go.’

  Julie goes to the back of the van and peers under the blanket at Luke. ‘You OK?’ she asks.

  ‘Is it true about Leanne?’ he says softly.

  ‘Yeah,’ Julie giggles. ‘I feel like I’ve just released an animal into the wild.’

  Luke giggles too. Then he stops and grips Julie’s arm.

  ‘Will I be all right?’ he asks.

  ‘Of course you will. You don’t have to stay under the blanket, you know.’

  ‘I know, it just feels less strange this way.’

  Julie returns to the driver’s seat and, after a couple of tries, successfully starts the engine.

  ‘Where now?’ she asks.

  ‘Wales!’ says David. ‘Onwards and upwards!’

  ‘Can someone read the map?’

  ‘I’ll do it,’ Charlotte says.

  Chantel passes it up to her.

  ‘Can you read maps?’ Julie asks.

  ‘Sure, babe. I’m looking for yellow roads, yeah?’

  ‘Yeah. B-roads.’

  ‘Through London or around it?’

  ‘Um . . .’

  ‘There aren’t any yellow roads going through London,’ says David. ‘I checked.’

  ‘Yeah, but those London roads aren’t, like, motorways or anything,’ Charlotte says. ‘It’ll be all right.’

  ‘What about London traffic?’ Chantel says.

  ‘I don’t mind London traffic so much,’ Julie says. The traffic slows everything down. She likes that.

  ‘What about the Old Bill?’ David says.

  ‘What?’ says Chantel. ‘What Old Bill?’

  ‘They check cars going in and out of the City, don’t they? IRA, innit?’

  ‘Oh yeah,’ says Charlotte. ‘That could be bad.’

  ‘They might want to examine Luke or something,’ Chantel says.

  ‘We don’t have to go through the actual City, though, not from here,’ Charlotte says. ‘In fact, having said that, I don’t think I even know how we’d get into London coming from here. It wouldn’t be the normal A12 way, anyway. In fact . . .’ She looks at the map. ‘We’d come in much more north. Like, through Walthamstow, then through Islington, and then . . .’ She turns the page. ‘And then . . . Oh, shit, we’d either have to go through the City or cut down through there to get onto the Embankment so we could go out through West London, but hang on . . . There aren’t any actual yellow roads here, just the A4 or the M4.’

  ‘Could you manage the A4?’ David asks.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Julie says.

  ‘Oh. And – fuck – there’s only big A-roads going into London from here as well.’

  ‘Maybe London’s not such a great idea,’ Chantel says.

  ‘Also, what about the fumes?’ Julie says suddenly. ‘We shouldn’t expose Luke to the fumes, should we?’

  ‘So which way, then?’ asks Charlotte. ‘Under or over London?’

  ‘You don’t want to go under,’ David says. ‘
We’re already going in the wrong direction for that – aren’t we virtually in Hertfordshire or something? Plus there’s all the fucking tunnels.’

  ‘OK. Over, then?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Julie says. ‘Can you see a route?’

  ‘Sort of.’ Charlotte looks at the map some more. ‘Actually, no.’

  ‘Can I have a look?’ Julie asks, switching off the engine.

  Charlotte’s right. The only B-roads from Epping seem to lead towards Harlow. Oh – but hang on, one of them bypasses Harlow and goes off to the left. At least it’s the right direction.

  ‘Here.’ Julie shows Charlotte. ‘Up here, then along there, then . . .’

  ‘That’s a motorway,’ Charlotte says, pointing.

  ‘Yes, but the B-road continues underneath it. There must be a bridge or something. Just make sure we don’t accidentally end up on the motorway.’

  ‘I’ll try. I can’t actually see very well.’

  ‘You’ll be able to see more when we get going,’ David says. ‘In the . . . Oh, ignore that. I was going to say in the streetlamps, but there won’t be any, will there?’ He laughs.

  ‘We should stop at a garage and get a torch,’ Chantel says.

  ‘And some sandwiches,’ says Charlotte. ‘I’m starving.’

  ‘Can I have a look at the map again?’ David says.

  ‘Yeah.’ Charlotte gives it to him. ‘I think you’ll have to map-read anyway. My eyesight’s not good enough in this light.’

  ‘I see, so we’re going here, here, here and . . .’ David murmurs. ‘Fuck me. South Mimms.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘South Mimms. Best ravers’ garage ever. Come on, ladies – and spaceman – looks like we’re on our way to the greatest service station in the world.’

  ‘Isn’t South Mimms on the M25?’ Charlotte asks.

  ‘Yep, but there’s a little yellow road running right by it,’ says David happily. ‘And it just happens to be one of the ones we have to go on.’

  ‘And why are we excited about a service station?’ Julie asks.

  ‘I’ll tell you on the way.’

  Chapter 35

  David’s on his third South Mimms story and the van smells like skunk weed.

  ‘So this fucking amazing girl, right, the one I just told you about who kissed me by the arcade in South Mimms, she’d said she was going to this rave she knew was being organised the following week, right, somewhere off the M25, and that was the only way I reckoned I was ever going to see her again, even though it was a complete fucking long-shot, because how many raves are there that are “somewhere off the M25”? But I was obsessed, what can I say? So on the Saturday afternoon we’re in this pub in north London, and no one knows where the rave’s supposed to be. The pirate radio-station’s suddenly gone dead, and there’s this phone number but we try to phone it and there’s just nothing. It was like fucking dead ends everywhere. So we all decide to just fucking bomb it up the A10 and on to the M25 to South Mimms, because we reckoned everyone else in the same boat would just go up there. And we were so fucking right. As soon as we got to the roundabout there were Old Bill everywhere, and they weren’t letting anyone anywhere near the services, because by then – it must have been ’91 or something – they’d been stung so many times with semi-riots and looting at South Mimms that they weren’t taking any chances. So everyone congregated by the BP garage instead, and there were so many ravers there it was total chaos. So everyone’s stealing stuff from the garage, and no one can do fuck all about it, and . . .’