Then another from Charlotte.
His name’s Wei, by the way. He’s really nice. C xxx
Chapter 8
Inside The Rising Sun it’s dark and damp-smelling and warm. Radiohead’s new album is playing loudly. It sounds like videogame music; funny little electronic melodies. There are about ten people in the pub: two guys who always claim they can sort you out with a firearm; three women who have tattoos and piercings and tarot cards and a load of kids at the primary school over the hill; a huddle of four grunge-kids drinking snakebite & blacks; and the homeless guy who sits in here all day, waiting for students to buy him guilt-drinks. Charlotte isn’t here, not that it matters.
‘You’re weird,’ says David.
Julie’s drinking Coke. She specifically asked for no ice and a straw. She is terrified of ice in drinks in pubs: she’s seen too many people scrape up ice with glasses rather than plastic scoops – a practice which is illegal because the glasses often break this way and the glass gets in the drinks. Inexperienced bar staff never know the rules.
By the way David’s been looking at her you’d think she was trying to be cute by having a straw. Now he’s saying she’s weird. He wouldn’t really know either way; they hardly worked together before Julie started doing days.
‘In what way?’ Julie feels in her pocket for the pack of Superkings she picked up in The Edge. They’re probably Leanne’s.
David studies her as if her weirdness is imprinted on her on a barcode that he could scan if he could find it. ‘Eh?’ he says.
‘In what way am I weird?’
‘I don’t know. That’s what I’m trying to work out. Leanne reckons you dropped out of school. It was some big drama.’
‘She can’t talk. She dropped out of college in the first year.’
Julie’s heard rumours that David isn’t doing so well on his degree course. One time she overheard him telling the general manager of The Edge, Owen, that he needed a couple of days off to do an essay or he was going to get chucked out. Owen said no. When David came out of the office his eyes were red. Julie had started liking him a bit more after that. Previously he’d just been another annoying chef as far as she was concerned, making jokes about anal sex and blow jobs the whole time, asking each waitress if they reckoned they could take his cock and balls in their mouth at once. Mind you, all the chefs piss around like that, in the same way that all the waitresses talk about cystitis and diets and how many calories there are in a small pizza. It’s just part of the job. David always was the nicest chef, even if he did always seem like he was up to something.
‘You’re still weird,’ David says. He makes direct eye contact with Julie but immediately looks away as if it’s uncomfortable. He turns the beer mat on the table through ninety degrees three times. Two hundred and seventy degrees, Julie thinks.
‘How, though?’ she asks.
‘Well, all that lot at The Edge seem so retarded. You seem different but I can’t work out why that would be.’ He looks at her again. ‘You’re not a student. Only students and retards work at The Edge, or so I thought. And you aren’t either of those, and you don’t seem to want to leave The Edge and do anything else. Why is that?’
Julie smiles. ‘Maybe I am weird,’ she says.
David frowns. ‘Huh?’
‘Isn’t that reason enough?’
‘Not really. Come on. How long have you been at The Edge?’
‘Um, I suppose about three years or so. Something like that.’ Julie starts twisting a section of hair around her fingers, then realises that she read in a magazine that this is something you can do to let a bloke know you fancy him, so she stops, and plays with the straw in her drink instead.
‘And you’re not looking for another job or waiting to go to college or anything?’
‘Nope.’
‘For fuck’s sake, Julie. Why? Do you like it or something?’
She shrugs. ‘Yeah, kind of. I dunno. It’s simple, you know. I go there and it’s not like it’s a real effort or anything, because it’s pretty close to where I live, and when I get there I can do a good job without it being too demanding. I like the customers and the other people that work there, and it doesn’t, you know, take over my life or anything. When I get home I can go and chat on the Internet, or see my friends, or listen to music and it’s not like I’m having to prepare a report for a scary boss or worry about having to go abroad for a meeting or whatever. Life should be a lot simpler than people make it.’ She fiddles with her straw some more. ‘People sometimes forget that work is just something you do to get money. It’s not your life. If you spend your life working or getting qualifications to work, or just stressing about it generally, you totally waste it.’
‘Really? Is that what you think?’
‘Life isn’t a videogame, is it? It’s not about how many points you can get or how many possessions you can collect, or how many levels you can complete before you die. Life’s this real thing that everyone wastes and . . .’
‘You’re not wasting yours by working at The Edge?’
‘No, I’m not. It gives me time I use for other stuff.’
Julie can feel that her face is going red. She didn’t mean to say all this.
‘You don’t even like pizza, do you?’ David says.
‘Not really.’
They both laugh.
‘Leanne said you were a freak.’
Julie smiles. ‘I bet those were her exact words.’
‘Yeah.’ David frowns. ‘She said you were a freak and she told me about this guy . . . Your next-door neighbour or something. He never goes out.’
‘Luke? Yeah. So?’
‘I thought you were just shy, or boring, or quiet or whatever.’
‘Thanks.’
‘Yeah, but then I’m hearing about this weird neighbour, and you dropping out of school, and now all these mental reasons why you work at The Edge . . .’
‘Yeah?’
David stops talking and plays with a beer mat. ‘I dunno.’
Julie feels a bit like she’s being interviewed by the worst interviewer in the world, for a purpose neither of them is really sure about.
Then she sees the expression on David’s face.
She frowns. ‘This isn’t actually about me, is it?’
Chapter 9
‘Move over, Luke.’
Leanne’s been sitting in Luke’s armchair for the past fifteen minutes, talking about Chantel, cesspits and Charlotte. Now she’s zeroing in on his bed.
‘I, uh . . .’ Luke looks at the rest of his bed. How can he convince her that there isn’t any room? He crosses his legs as a preliminary measure. He’s wearing a nylon T-shirt he ordered from some clubbing website last year and a black fleece top with black fleece tracksuit bottoms. The top and bottoms are new – they’re only about £5.99 each from Matalan, and although he doesn’t usually like it when his mother buys him clothes, he’s happy for her to buy him as much cheap fleece as possible. What a great invention. So soft, so comfortable, and totally artificial. In fact, he’s hardly been able to listen to Leanne while she’s been talking because he’s been busy secretly stoking the arms of his new top. This material is addictively soft.
‘Don’t be shy,’ Leanne says. ‘It’s not like I’ve never been on your bed before.’
She’s been on it – or, more accurately, in it – seven or eight times in the last couple of months. She decided she fancied Luke some time at the beginning of the summer and pursued him relentlessly. He was flattered at the time. Now it feels like it’s all gone a bit too far.
Leanne crawls onto the bed next to Luke and sits with her legs out in front of her, crossed at the ankles. They are tanned and shiny, with little tiny pinprick-holes all over them that you can only see up close.
‘What’s this music?’ she asks.
‘Dark Side of the Moon. Do you like it?’
Luke doesn’t really like it. He’s hoping Leanne won’t either and that she’ll go. The last thing Luke feels
like is sex. He’s thinking about Wei and the possibility of being healed. On TV sitcoms characters don’t tell someone to go; they drive them out with amusing tactics. That’s what Luke’s trying to do with the music. It hasn’t worked yet.
She cocks her head. ‘Hasn’t this got something to do with the Wizard of Oz?’
Luke strokes his arms again. ‘Has it?’ he says. He’s also got new socks today, also 100 per cent polyester. They’re thick and fluffy and when he walks around on his floor with them on it makes the floor feel different – spongy like a cake, which is wonderful when you’ve had the same floor to walk on for over twenty years.
‘Yeah, I think so. Unless I’ve got it muddled up with something else.’
Glad of the excuse to get off the bed, Luke pads across to his computer and types in a URL. ‘Yeah,’ he says after a few moments looking. ‘Pink Floyd wrote it as a sort of alternative soundtrack or something. Oh, hang on, here it says they didn’t, but apparently it still works as a soundtrack. How do you know this?’
‘We’re having a Wizard of Oz week at Blockbuster next week. It’s like a special promotion. Lloyd – that’s the new manager; I’ve told you about him before – he’s doing loads of special promotions: all with, like, classic film themes. Except we’re all supposed to call films movies now but I keep forgetting. Anyway, I didn’t know how many fil– uh, movies are, like, remakes of the Wizard of Oz. I don’t even know why someone would want to use someone else’s story for their film. But anyway, that’s how I know.’
‘Cool,’ says Luke, tapping away on the keyboard. Leanne sits there examining her split ends until he stops.
‘Luke, did you just go on the Internet?’
‘Yeah. Why?’
‘You didn’t dial in.’
‘I’ve got my own line, and an unlimited-connection deal, so I leave it connected all the time.’
‘No wonder I can’t ever get through to you on the phone,’ Leanne says. ‘I thought you were avoiding me.’
‘Just e-mail me if you want to get in touch. I’ve told you that before.’
‘But what if I want to make a booty call?’ giggles Leanne.
‘A what?’ says Luke.
‘A booty call. You know.’
‘That song by All Saints?’ Luke sings: ‘It’s just a booty call.’
‘Yeah. The song’s about booty calls.’
‘Which are?’
‘God, Luke. It’s when you phone someone because you want sex. But it’s, like, sex in a fun way; not in a commitment-sort-of-a-way. Like casual sex.’
‘So you want to be able to call me to ask for casual sex?’
‘Not when you put it like that.’
‘Oh.’
She sighs. ‘I so don’t know what I see in you sometimes.’
Luke wonders where Julie is. ‘So, what other promotions are you doing at Blockbuster?’ he asks Leanne.
Leanne’s pouting. ‘I don’t know.’
‘Are you cross with me?’
‘No.’
She obviously is.
‘I’m sorry I didn’t know what a booty call is,’ Luke says, sitting next to her again.
‘Will you stop going on about it. I’m embarrassed enough.’
‘Oh. Sorry. Um . . . Shall I put the TV on?’
‘OK. Have you got satellite yet?’
‘No. I told you I’m not allowed it.’
‘So is it just normal TV, then?’
‘Yeah. But Top of the Pops is on.’
‘Great,’ mutters Leanne.
Chapter 10
When Julie walks through the back door of number 17 Windy Close, Luke’s mum is cooking in the kitchen.
‘Hello, Jean,’ says Julie.
‘Julie,’ says Jean sharply.
‘What’s wrong?’ asks Julie. ‘Is Leanne here?’
‘I’d give them a minute if I were you,’ says Jean. She puts up with Luke’s sex life but it obviously makes her uncomfortable. ‘Cup of tea?’
Julie shakes her head. The kitchen smells like gravy.
‘I might just go up anyway,’ she says. ‘Take my chances.’
‘Common little slut,’ Jean says, and Julie knows she’s talking about Leanne.
‘Hello, Julie,’ says Leanne when Julie walks into the bedroom. ‘Fancy seeing you here.’
Leanne’s sitting on the bed and Luke’s in his armchair looking like he’s got new clothes. There’s some weird music playing.
‘What’s this?’ asks Julie.
‘Pink Floyd,’ says Luke, grinning. ‘We watched Top of the Pops but now there’s some gardening programme on. Leanne didn’t like it.’
‘Can’t we watch The Bill?’ Leanne asks.
‘No,’ says Luke. ‘I already told you. I can’t follow The Bill.’
‘Can I check my e-mail?’ Julie asks, sitting in Luke’s computer chair.
‘Haven’t you been home yet?’ asks Leanne.
‘No, I went to The Rising Sun with David.’
Leanne raises an eyebrow. ‘You and David, eh?’
‘No,’ says Julie firmly. ‘Not me and David.’
‘Isn’t it about time you got laid?’
Luke laughs. Julie sort of smiles. ‘Yeah, I suppose it is, really.’
‘Well, you keep your hands off my Luke.’
Luke turns away, making an oh-my-god face.
‘I seem to have managed it for the past fifteen years, Leanne,’ Julie says. ‘But then again, if I got really desperate . . .’
‘Stop trying to wind me up. Luke, tell her.’
But Luke’s still trying not to fall off his chair laughing. There’s a ding from the computer. ‘E-mail,’ says Luke. ‘Better see what it is, Jules.’
Julie’s been looking at her Hotmail account. There’s an e-mail from Luke saying: Help! Where are you? Come and rescue me from Leanne. She grins, closes the browser and sees that something has just been filtered into Luke’s ‘Personal’ inbox. ‘Charlotte,’ Julie says. ‘Shall I open it?’
‘Charlotte?’ says Leanne. ‘Are you two still in touch with her?’
‘I haven’t heard from her in ages,’ says Julie.
‘Me neither,’ says Luke. ‘Until today. She sent me a couple earlier.’
‘Yes, well, it is Friday the thirteenth,’ Leanne says.
‘Leanne!’ says Julie.
‘Sorry. Anyway, I’m going home,’ says Leanne, getting off the bed and smoothing down her skirt. ‘Have you got Charlotte’s e-mail address? I think I might e-mail her to, you know, impress on her how important it is for her to stay away for a while.’
‘She’s already stayed away for a year, though,’ Julie points out. ‘If you hadn’t said anything she probably wouldn’t ever have come back. It’s not like she’s got happy memories of living here. But I bet you’ve wound her up now and she’ll want to come and see what’s going on. You know what Charlotte’s like.’
‘Yes, well,’ says Leanne. ‘I’d still like to e-mail her.’
‘I’ll give her your address if you want,’ Luke suggests.
‘Yeah,’ says Julie. ‘We’d better not give her address out without asking her first.’
Leanne gives Julie a look and leaves.
‘I miss Charlotte,’ says Luke, after Julie’s read him the e-mail. It said: By the way, I also forgot to say I’m doing yoga now. It’s really cool.
‘Yeah, me too.’ Julie minimises Outlook Express and turns around. ‘Leanne is so mental.’
‘Leanne’s scared of people like Charlotte.’
‘What did she say in her other e-mails?’
‘Not much, just stuff about Leanne, and this party and everything.’
Julie looks down at her fingers. ‘I looked for her today, in The Rising Sun.’
‘What, Charlotte? Really?’
‘Yeah. She wasn’t there.’
‘Why were you looking for her? Has she e-mailed you?’
Julie shrugs. ‘No. I haven’t heard from her for ages. I don’t know why I
was looking for her really. Probably because I was talking about her with Leanne and then I saw these mice, and this guy from school and . . . I just wondered how she was doing, I suppose.’ Julie is silent for a moment.
‘You haven’t been to The Rising Sun for years,’ says Luke. Julie used to go to The Rising Sun with Charlotte and Mark. She hasn’t been there since Mark died.
‘I know. It wasn’t as weird as I thought it would be.’
‘Why did you go there, though? Were you just looking for Charlotte?’
‘No. I told you, I went with David.’
Luke looks surprised. This isn’t the sort of thing Julie normally does.
‘Who is David?’ he asks.
‘One of the chefs. He’s doing a law degree or something.’
‘Why did you go for a drink with him? Do you, you know . . .?’
‘What, fancy him? No. Don’t be stupid.’
‘So how come . . .?’ Luke says.
Julie shrugs and swivels around absentmindedly on the computer chair. ‘We had to shut early at The Edge and he asked me to go into town and help him choose a jacket. Then we went for a drink.’ She stops swivelling and frowns. ‘It was a bit weird, actually.’
Since Leanne left, Luke’s ditched his weird music and now the TV is on. When the BBC News starts, there’s a report about a huge flood in Uckfield, East Sussex. Apparently some schoolchildren were performing ‘Captain Noah and his Floating Zoo’ when the heavens opened, flooding the small town.
‘Very biblical,’ comments Luke.
He and Julie stop talking to listen to the report.
‘So what was weird?’ Luke asks when it finishes.
‘What, about David? Um . . . Well . . . To be honest I thought he was trying to pull me at first, especially since he kept asking all these questions, like he was trying to get to know me in five minutes or something . . . Then it seemed like he just wanted to talk about how weird I am – Leanne told him loads of stuff, apparently – and about you and stuff. And then he just completely freaked me out. He told me something . . .’
‘Which was?’
‘Well, he’s this normal, nice guy . . . And we’d just been shopping at Xoom and he always seems all cool and together and everything . . . You know, like, just healthy and young and stuff. Anyway, after we’d established how weird I am, which, incidentally, I didn’t enjoy at all, he looked at me and told me that he’s um . . . He’s got cancer.’