Bright Young Things Read online

  It’s impossible to see what’s down there. There’s a light switch at the bottom of the basement stairs, which Anne flicks up and down several times. The clicking sound echoes in the cold room. The light doesn’t come on.

  ‘It’s busted,’ says Bryn.

  ‘Must need a new bulb,’ says Jamie.

  ‘I don’t think it’s going to come on,’ Paul says to Anne, who’s still flicking the switch.

  ‘There must be some candles somewhere,’ says Anne.

  ‘Shall I go and have a look?’ offers Jamie.

  ‘Good idea,’ says Paul.

  Jamie doesn’t know where to find candles. He tries the kitchen first, assuming practical things would be kept in there. Then he goes through all the upstairs rooms. Emily and Thea are in one of the bathrooms. Jamie can hear them talking. He’s scared by the idea of two girls talking in a room, but he doesn’t know why. Eventually he finds a box of six candles in the bureau in the sitting room.

  Back in the dark basement, Anne is singing something. It’s some pop song Jamie recognises; something he thought was marketed at teens and gay men. He lights one of the candles. He can just see Anne wiggling her small hips, still humming the bassline of the song. What the hell is the name of it? It’s by that American girl, the one in a gymslip. Jamie’s masturbated over pictures of her for God’s sake; you’d think he’d remember her name.

  Anne’s voice echoes. Jamie holds up the candle.

  ‘Are there any more of those?’ asks Paul.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Candles.’

  ‘Yes. There are six.’ Jamie takes the box out of his pocket to show them.

  ‘Cool,’ says Anne. ‘Can I have one?’

  ‘I don’t think we should use them all up,’ he says. ‘We might need them.’

  ‘For what?’ asks Bryn, taking a candle from the box and lighting it.

  When Jamie was about twelve, he went through a phase of reading what he called ‘island books’. The story was always basically the same: via a plane crash or a boating accident, a group of people would end up on an uninhabited island, having to survive against the odds. Someone would make a play for the role of leader – usually the coarsest, brashest person – but the heroic, quiet guy whom everyone respected would challenge him and ultimately lead everyone to victory over whatever obstacle was in the way.

  Jamie wishes this was more like that.

  Bryn’s gone on ahead with candle number two.

  ‘Hey, look at this,’ he calls.

  The other three walk to where he is, by the far wall. The two candles illuminate a single bed. It’s rather more basic than the beds upstairs. It has a metal frame, a thin, dirty mattress, and no sheets or pillows.

  ‘Nice guest room,’ says Anne, wrinkling her nose.

  ‘This is horrible,’ agrees Paul. ‘Let’s go back upstairs.’

  ‘It stinks of piss down here. What are you doing?’

  Jamie jumps. Emily has emerged from the shadows like a ghost. She’s obviously back from the toilet.

  Paul’s walking away from the small bed.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Bryn asks him.

  ‘Going back up,’ he says.

  The kitchen has become like a base camp, which is good. Jamie wants to suggest sealing the door or something, and formulating a defence strategy for when the kidnappers appear. All everyone else seems to want to do is just sit here. Well, everyone except Anne. She’s gone outside and Jamie can see her through the window. She’s just picked an apple, bitten into it once and thrown it away. Now she’s wandering towards the cliffs.

  ‘I’m just popping outside,’ he says to the others.

  They ignore him. Emily’s giving Thea a pep talk on the importance of not behaving like a victim. Thea’s pointing out that for once she is a victim – specifically a kidnap victim – and therefore has every right to act like one. Jamie gets up and walks out of the back door, noticing that no one even looks up. This upsets him. His mother always told him not to worry about what other people think, but he always does.

  Anne is sitting cross-legged on the grass.

  ‘Hello,’ he says, walking towards her.

  ‘Hey,’ she replies, without looking round.

  He sits down next to her.

  ‘You like the company then?’ he says.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘That lot back there. Were they annoying you?’

  Anne shakes her head. ‘No. They’re all right.’

  ‘Are you feeling scared?’ he asks.

  ‘Yeah, terrified,’ says Anne sarcastically.

  ‘So . . . ?’

  She fiddles with her daisy chain. ‘What?’

  ‘What are you doing out here?’ Jamie asks.

  ‘Nothing. What about you?’

  ‘I’m, uh . . .’

  ‘They’re pissing you off, right?’

  ‘Not really,’ he says.

  ‘So you came out here to try to seduce me?’

  Jamie blushes. ‘Of course not! How can you say that?’

  Anne laughs. ‘I’m a virgin. We have special powers.’

  ‘You’re . . . Oh, never mind.’

  As if a girl like Anne would be a virgin.

  He pulls a packet of Marlboro out of his pocket. ‘Do you want a cigarette?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Do you smoke?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Do you hate me?’

  She looks at him with her big brown eyes. ‘Of course not. Why would I?’

  ‘Because I’m a geek.’

  She laughs. ‘A geek? What do you mean?’

  Jamie sighs. ‘Never mind.’

  ‘Seriously. Are you into computers and stuff?’

  ‘No. I did maths at university.’

  ‘That’s cool. But really that makes you a nerd rather than a geek.’

  ‘Thanks,’ he says.

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with being a nerd.’

  ‘Yeah, right.’

  ‘I love nerds.’

  ‘Do you?’

  She wrinkles her nose, as if giving the question a lot of thought. ‘Not really.’

  ‘Oh.’

  She smiles. ‘I suppose they’re OK.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  She studies him. ‘So, maths is pretty cool, right?’

  ‘Are you taking the—’

  ‘No.’ She shakes her head. ‘I love numbers,’ she explains.

  ‘I don’t.’

  ‘What?’ she asks.

  ‘Love numbers. I hate them.’

  ‘But you’re a mathematician.’

  ‘Yes, well, kind of.’

  ‘And you hate numbers?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Wow,’ she says. ‘That is the coolest thing I’ve heard all day.’

  ‘What, hating what you do?’

  ‘No, I guess . . . just working with something as abstract as numbers but secretly hating them. Or even having the capacity to hate something like a number. I bet all the other nerds love them.’

  ‘I suppose they do.’

  ‘It’s like being an astronomer and hating planets.’

  ‘Mmm.’ He’s not that sure where she’s coming from.

  They sit there for a few moments, watching the sea crash about below them.

  Jamie’s still trying to feel like he’s been kidnapped. The weird basement helped.

  ‘So do you think zero is a number?’ asks Anne suddenly.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Zero. Is it a number?’

  ‘Yes and no.’ Jamie rubs his legs. ‘You can say it is, because you use it as a number within number systems. Or at least, you use it in the same way as a number. For example, in the number 507, the zero acts like a number. It signifies that there aren’t any tens in the number, just hundreds and units. On the other hand, because the whole concept of zero is for it to indicate the absence of a number, it can’t really be one.’

  ‘Don’t you want to know what I think?’

  ‘Um, yea
h, OK, if you find it that interesting.’

  ‘I think that zero isn’t a number.’

  ‘Great.’ He’d rather talk about something else, like escaping.

  ‘Do you want to know why?’

  ‘OK.’

  Anne smiles. ‘People say that zero is the opposite of one, right?’

  Jamie nods. ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘Because one is presence and zero is absence.’

  ‘That’s the idea,’ he says.

  ‘But it’s really minus one, though, isn’t it?’

  ‘What is?’

  ‘The opposite of one. If the opposite of something is its absolute reverse, like its image in a mirror or whatever, then the opposite of one must be minus one. Zero just sits between them both and gives them meaning. So I think that zero isn’t a number. I think zero is God.’

  ‘What did you do at university?’ Jamie asks.

  ‘English and philosophy,’ says Anne.

  He smiles. ‘So I expect zero has a philosophical application?’

  ‘Yeah, in psychoanalysis, where the self is represented by one, and the other by minus one. The zero is the mirroring point and therefore the point of separation. It is also the point of identification, alienation and otherness.’

  ‘Where did you read that?’

  ‘I didn’t. I made it up.’ She smiles. ‘Do you still hate numbers?’

  ‘Of course,’ says Jamie.

  ‘What about zero?’

  ‘Zero’s all right,’ he concedes. ‘But then, it isn’t really a number.’

  Chapter Three

  When Thea was in the Lower Sixth, there was a group of kids in the Upper Sixth who were really cool. They had these parties that you only got invited to if you were a real somebody, and although they knew the whole Lower Sixth because they all shared the sixth-form common room, only six or seven of them ever got invited. It was always the same lot: the corrupt Form President, the girl with the schizophrenic mother, the guy who always smoked dope in the common room, the girl who was admitted to hospital for overdosing on Pro Plus, and so on.

  Thea never got invited. Maybe that was why she hated them.

  Or maybe it was their sense of humour. Two guys in particular – Henry and Kenickie (Grease fan – how cool and ironic) – always upset her, however hard she tried not to let them get to her. She’d try to be friendly towards them, but conversations always went the same way. Thea would say something like, ‘All right?’, and they’d say, ‘Yeah, cool,’ or something like that. Then she’d ask if they’d seen Sasha or Mary or whoever she was trying to find. Thea remembers that sixth form was all about trying to find someone. You never went around on your own; you were always trying to find someone.

  ‘Haven’t you heard?’ they’d say.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Sasha was in an accident this morning.’

  ‘Seriously?’ Thea would say, even though she knew they were winding her up.

  ‘Yeah,’ they’d reply. ‘Haven’t you heard? She’s dead.’

  And then Thea wouldn’t know what to say. If she laughed and acknowledged it was a joke, there was always the chance they were telling the truth, in which case she’d be committing an awful act by laughing. But if she acted shocked and upset, she’d seem like a fool because of course they were only joking. It’s like what’s going on here with this kidnapping. No one’s getting upset because it might be a joke. On the other hand, no one’s really laughing just in case it isn’t.

  Jamie and Anne come in from outside and sit down at the kitchen table with the others. Jamie pours himself a glass of wine from the half-empty bottle on the table. Thea’s already had a glass and she feels slightly better. She hadn’t been sure about drinking the wine at first, but Emily had persuaded her that drinking was probably the best thing to do in this situation. Anne looks at the wine suspiciously, then pours a glass of lemonade. She starts freaking out when she tastes artificial sweeteners in it and tips it down the sink. Instead, she pours herself a glass of milk from the fridge, and somehow manages to find a box of strawberry Nesquik in one of the cupboards. Then, in one of the drawers, she finds some straws. Everyone watches as she rejects the blue, yellow and green ones in favour of a pink one, presumably to go with her milkshake. Thea doesn’t know why everyone else finds this so interesting. OK, she’s doing it with that infuriating innocence – which just has to be put on – but Thea won’t be sucked into it. As far as she’s concerned this girl needs to grow up.

  ‘Skin up,’ says Bryn to Emily.

  ‘What?’ she says.

  ‘You must have some draw,’ he says.

  ‘Why must I have some draw?’

  ‘Girls like you always do.’

  ‘Oh,’ she almost blushes. ‘Well, I’ve got a little bit . . .’

  She rummages around in her rucksack and eventually pulls out a small lump.

  ‘Give me that,’ says Bryn.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I’ll build one up.’

  Emily shrugs. ‘OK.’

  Bryn pulls some tattered-looking small green skins from one of his pockets. The front of the packet has been entirely ripped away. He produces a joint in about thirty seconds and shares it with Emily and Thea. Jamie, Paul and Anne all say no. Anne’s slurping on her milkshake. Jamie’s writing something on a piece of paper. Paul’s watching Anne. Thea wonders where Jamie got the paper and pen.

  ‘Where did you get that?’ she asks.

  ‘Sitting room,’ he says. ‘In the bureau.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘I’m planning our defence shelter,’ he says. ‘For when the kidnappers come.’

  Anne smiles. ‘I always wanted to meet a Boy Scout.’

  ‘Do you think the kidnappers will come?’ asks Emily.

  ‘If they are kidnappers,’ says Paul. ‘It could just be a load of situationists for all we know. Or even some of our friends.’

  ‘For fuck’s sake,’ says Thea. ‘If this is a joke or a situationist prank or a dada statement or whatever else, it isn’t very funny – or interesting.’

  ‘I think it’s funny and interesting,’ says Anne.

  ‘Shut up,’ sayd Thea.

  ‘Stop telling me to shut up,’ says Anne. ‘It’s just what I think.’

  ‘What do you think then?’ Bryn asks Thea. ‘Why do you think we’re here?’

  ‘Me? Um . . . Maybe it’s just a really weird job interview.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ says Emily.

  ‘Well, all this could be some kind of test.’

  Her words sound weak, because she doesn’t believe in what she’s saying. Thea’s already decided that when the kidnappers appear, which they will, she’s going to bolt and hide on her own, maybe down by the cliffs. The way she’s feeling, if all the others get murdered sitting in their defence shelter, then that’s just fine with her. Of course, if they weren’t being so blasé she’d be happy to work with them, but for the time being she’s going to listen to what they have to say, assess their theories and be polite. And when the shit hits the fan, Thea’s going to be looking out for herself. For now, she’s going to keep worrying about her stomach cramps. What a time to have your period. Emily lent her a tampon upstairs before, but said it was her last one. Tomorrow – if Thea makes it that far – she’s going to have to use bog roll.

  The others are more convinced by her job interview idea than she is.

  ‘What, you mean that this is the interview?’ asks Anne.

  Thea says nothing.

  ‘It would make sense,’ says Paul.

  Emily laughs. ‘Yeah, like that totally makes sense. Please.’

  ‘No, I see what he means,’ says Jamie. ‘We went for a job interview, and the last thing we all remember is drinking coffee and waiting to be shown into the interview room. What if this is the interview room?’

  ‘Fucked up, man,’ says Bryn.

  ‘So if this is the interview, then there’s no need to be scared,’ says Emily cheerfully.

  ‘Y
eah, whatever you reckon,’ says Paul sarcastically.

  ‘This is the scariest job interview I’ve ever been to,’ says Thea.

  ‘It must be illegal,’ says Jamie.

  People look at him strangely, like he’s just said the sky is blue.

  ‘So where’s the interviewer, then?’ asks Anne.

  ‘Maybe there is no interviewer,’ suggests Paul mysteriously.

  ‘Yeah, it could be a bonding exercise,’ suggests Emily. ‘You know, a wild men in the woods kind of thing. See if we end up working as a team.’

  ‘Wild men in the woods?’ says Bryn. ‘Oh, you mean where everyone goes into the woods and bangs drums and seeks their inner man? They did that on Home and Away.’

  Anne looks up. ‘Yeah. Alf Stewart and Donald Fisher went.’

  ‘Is Alf still in it?’ asks Emily.

  ‘Of course,’ says Anne.

  ‘And Ailsa,’ adds Bryn.

  ‘Ailsa’s in a coma right now though,’ says Anne.

  ‘I only watch it round my mate’s house,’ says Bryn. ‘His mum has it on all the time.’

  ‘What about Bobby?’ asks Paul. ‘I fancied her.’

  ‘Dead,’ says Anne. ‘Ages ago.’

  ‘Sophie?’

  ‘Left Summer Bay with her love-child.’

  ‘Shannon?’

  ‘Living with a lesbian in Paris and attending the Sorbonne.’

  ‘For God’s sake,’ Thea says, sighing.

  ‘Do you watch Neighbours as well?’ Emily asks Anne.

  Anne nods. ‘It’s not as good as Home and Away but . . .’

  Emily laughs. ‘You’re taking the piss, right? By “good” you mean really bad. Like, you watch it in an ironic way.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Seriously?’ Emily doesn’t seem sure if Anne’s joking or not.

  ‘Yeah, seriously. Here’s an example. About ten years ago there was this plot where Bobby Simpson, Pippa’s out-of-control foster daughter, starts seeing the local headmaster Donald Fisher’s son Alan. At around the same time, this woman called Morag has come to Summer Bay and she’s living in this really big Gothic house generally being evil. It comes out that Fisher had an affair with her a long time ago and that Bobby was the resulting love-child. Meanwhile, Bobby’s getting on really well with Alan, who is obviously her half-brother, although neither of them knows that. Morag and Fisher don’t want to reveal the truth to Bobby for the time being, but they can’t have her sleeping with her own brother, so the whole situation gets a bit complicated. Just as they start to intervene, Fisher’s son collapses on the beach, is taken into hospital and later dies.