Bright Young Things (20 page)

There’s a pause while they consider this. Anne wonders how long it will be before the police take the disappearances seriously. Young people must go ‘missing’ all the time, and then turn up having just been out with mates, or having forgotten to phone or whatever. Anne knows from soap operas that people have to be missing for twenty-four hours before the police can even file a report, and then it takes them a while to actively look for the person. Anne wonders when they’ll make the job interview connection, and what kind of trail the bogus job people have left behind. They must have been bogus, surely? Unless they were targeted too, by whoever it really was. She wonders if they’ll be found before they’ve been killed, or afterwards.

‘Oh well,’ Emily says to Anne. ‘At least you’ll be able to get it on with Paul.’

‘What are you talking about?’ says Anne, feeling herself go red again.

‘Duh,’ says Emily. ‘Come on, girl. He fancies the fuck out of you.’

‘Me?’ says Anne.

Thea sighs. ‘Here comes the innocent act again.’

‘Seriously,’ says Anne. ‘I don’t think he does.’

‘He told me,’ says Emily. ‘Well, more or less.’

‘God,’ says Anne. She thinks for a minute. ‘No. You’re winding me up.’

‘Haven’t you seen the way he looks at you?’ asks Thea.

She doesn’t say this like a friend. More the way you’d say it to a stupid person.

Anne doesn’t get this situation. She’s sitting here, kidnapped, on a deserted island in the middle of nowhere, with two girls she’s never met before – one of whom despises her – and they are trying to give her relationship advice. Even without the kidnap and the island, this is still weird. Her friendships, few and intense, have always been about the other person relying on her; looking for her insights on a situation. No one has ever dared to offer Anne advice. After all, she’s an expert in sex and love affairs and anorexia and bullying and pregnancy and death and abortion and religion. What would she need advice on? Anne would never approach someone else for advice or interpretation. There are two reasons for this. First of all, she isn’t interested in anyone else’s advice or interpretation. Secondly – and crucially – she never gets into situations that would require her to seek advice in the first place.

‘No,’ she says. ‘You’ve got it wrong.’

‘Whatever you say,’ says Thea, obviously having tired of the subject.

The fire has started blazing and is making a comforting whooshing noise.

‘It’s very quiet,’ comments Emily. ‘Without traffic or anything.’

‘When do you think we’re going to get out of here?’ asks Thea.

‘Who knows?’ says Emily. ‘When they find us.’

‘If they do,’ says Anne. ‘Which doesn’t look likely now.’

‘I’d like to punch whoever’s responsible for us being here,’ says Thea.

‘Aren’t we responsible for being here?’ asks Emily, clearly trying to be profound.

‘We didn’t kidnap ourselves, did we?’ says Thea. ‘That would be the bad guy.’

‘Or bad
guys
,’ says Emily.

‘Maybe it wasn’t a bad guy who brought us here,’ suggests Anne.

Thea looks at her as if she’s gone crazy.

‘Whatever,’ she says.

Anne feels like she’s on Ricki Lake. All Thea needs is the hand movements.

‘What do you think the boys are doing?’ asks Emily.

‘Probably playing “Ultimate Snake”,’ says Anne.

‘What’s “Ultimate Snake”?’ asks Thea.

So far today, Jamie’s fucked up a lot of things. The only thing he didn’t fuck up was being there for Thea, which is pretty cool considering Jamie’s never been required to ‘be there’ for anyone before. Occasionally he’s been relied on for
support
, which is something entirely different altogether.
Being there
for your friends sounds more campfire, somehow; more
Dawson’s Creek
. Which is cool.

Jamie’s had a fixation with Dawson Leary since Channel 4 began showing the first series a couple of years back. It’s Jamie’s all-time favourite TV programme, not that he’d tell the others of course; it would make him seem far too childish. Most romantic heroes these days are dark – in looks and theme – but Dawson being blond was just the first cool thing about him. He was kind of a nerd as well, staying in his room watching films and doing homework and planning projects. The only thing Jamie objected to was the way Dawson coveted Joey. He was much more in favour of Jen, not because of her alcohol-fuelled almost-threesomes and near-suicidal tantrums. It was the idea that she could change from all of that – change for Dawson, or sometimes, late at night, for Jamie.

He tries to think of this as something more than a total cliché. It’s not like he wants a woman with a past so he can reform and own her. Maybe he likes the idea of exploring his own wild side, or maybe in some weird way he feels that he’d have more in common with a woman who’s interested in experimenting with life a bit. If Jamie was ten years younger, Jen would be his perfect woman. Whatever anybody says, she’s so much cooler than Joey. She comes from New York, for God’s sake. She’s cosmopolitan and cool. And that’s what Jamie is going to be one day, with a cool girl like Jen; still wild enough to be fun, but settled enough to love only him.

Paul and Bryn are playing ‘Ultimate Snake’. Jamie can’t beat either of them, so he’s just sitting at the kitchen table vaguely watching them, thinking, wondering if the girls have lit the fire yet, and when the kidnappers are going to come.

‘Did we ever work out what we’ll do when they come?’ he asks.

‘The kidnappers?’ says Bryn. ‘We’ll kick their butts.’

‘What if there are more of them than us?’

‘We’ll die,’ says Paul. ‘Unless we do the
Home Alone
thing.’

‘That film was funny,’ laughs Bryn. ‘That little kid and all them gadgets.’

‘I haven’t seen it,’ says Jamie.

‘It’s wicked,’ Bryn assures him. He coughs. ‘Has anyone got a fag?’

Jamie gives him the last but one Marlboro, and then lights the last one for himself. He’s concerned that he’s not getting the most out of this situation. As a child, Jamie always made sure he got the most out of things. Even now, as an adult, he won’t leave a museum until he has seen everything in it; won’t skip any exhibits in an art gallery. When Jamie was really little, his mother was very poor, and he always felt incredibly guilty for wasting anything that she had paid for. At the cinema he always tried not to blink too much, or get distracted, and if he got a new toy he played with it until it literally wore out. He’d finish every bag of sweets, no matter how sick he felt, and he always swallowed chewing gum rather than throwing it away. Any experience had to be savoured totally; initially so his mother knew he was grateful, but later, as it became a compulsion because Jamie didn’t ever want to feel that he had missed something.

This experience is a variation of all the adventures that Jamie has always dreamed about. These adventures always start with the words:
Against all the odds
. Against all the odds, Jamie survives an expedition to Antarctica. Against all the odds, Jamie survives a plane crash in the jungle. Against all the odds, Jamie survives after being kidnapped and held on a remote island.

There are several reasons why he doesn’t feel like he’s getting the most out of this experience. First of all, the odds aren’t really there. There are no odds to be up against, and surviving isn’t that hard in a house well stocked with food and drink. Secondly, the experience is being ruined by the other-people factor. Bryn’s already pissed Jamie off by chopping the logs himself, then ruined Jamie’s fire by covering them in vodka. He’s even better at ‘Ultimate Snake’ than Jamie. Paul seems to be operating on his own plane entirely. Already the kitchen is a mess of wires and LEDs and things which have become detached from other things, or attached to new things. Paul reminds Jamie of the evil boy in
Toy Story
(which he
has
seen), deconstructing everything and then putting it back together the wrong way.

For the last hour or so, the boys have been intrigued by the voices coming out of the sink. At first it was frightening, until they realised that they were actually hearing the girls talking in the sitting room. No one understands how this works. Paul explained it’s probably a pipe. After the novelty wore off, and after they’d all finished laughing at Paul’s supposed crush on Anne, the voices had become like a soothing radio programme. Now the girls’ conversation has suddenly turned pornographic.

‘Do
you
shave it?’ Thea’s saying.

‘Me?’ comes Emily’s voice. ‘Of course.’

‘What, totally?’

‘No. I leave a little bit at the top. Like porn stars.’

‘Oh, I know what you mean,’ says Anne.

‘I don’t look at porn,’ says Thea. ‘So I wouldn’t know.’

‘Shame,’ comments Paul.

‘Shut up,’ says Jamie.

‘Emily’s probably been in it,’ comments Bryn. ‘That’s how she knows.’

They listen to the voices again.

‘Porn’s cool,’ says Anne.

‘I thought you were a virgin,’ says Thea.

‘Doesn’t mean I can’t look at porn.’

‘Doesn’t it make you want to, you know,
do it
?’ asks Emily.

‘Yeah, of course,’ says Anne. ‘But there’s nobody to do it with.’

Paul laughs. ‘Hello?’ he says to the sink. ‘I’m over here.’

Jamie’s got an erection. Not just from Anne, but from the way all the girls are talking.

They continue.

‘So is that the only reason you haven’t fucked anyone?’ asks Emily.

‘What?’ says Anne.

‘You think nobody wants to.’

There isn’t any sound for a second. Maybe she nodded.

‘That’s stupid,’ says Emily. ‘Anyone would want to fuck you.’

‘So how come I’m still a virgin?’ asks Anne.

‘Maybe they think you’re too childish,’ suggests Thea.

‘Ouch,’ says Paul. ‘What a bitch.’

‘She’s all right,’ says Jamie. ‘She’s probably only joking.’

‘Oh shit!’ comes Emily’s voice.

‘What?’ says Anne.

There’s the sound of one or more of them moving around.

‘My apple pie,’ says Emily. ‘Shit, I’ve got to . . .’

There’s the sound of a door opening and then someone running down the corridor. Emily bursts through the kitchen door and heads straight for the oven.

‘Where’s my apple pie?’ she demands, when she finds it empty.

‘I took it out,’ says Paul. ‘It was done.’

She gives him a big smile. ‘Thank you.’

‘It’s on the side,’ says Paul.

‘Cool,’ she says. ‘Who wants some?’

‘Me,’ says Jamie.

‘Me,’ says Bryn.

‘Me,’ says Paul.

Someone coughs. It isn’t anyone in the kitchen.

‘What was that?’ asks Emily.

‘What?’ says Paul.

‘That cough. It sounded like Thea or Anne.’

‘I didn’t hear anything,’ says Bryn.

‘Weird pipes,’ says Paul, adding, ‘We heard everything you just said.’

‘Oh,’ she says, blushing. ‘Well, anyway, shall we have apple pie in the other room?’

‘Aren’t you supposed to have befores before you have afters?’ asks Bryn.

‘What?’ asks Emily.

‘Well if this is, like, dessert, then have I missed something?’

‘If you want anything else, you can get it yourself,’ she says. ‘I’m not your cook.’

‘God,’ he says. ‘Touchy.’

‘Fuck off,’ she says.

‘Is there any cream?’ asks Paul.

‘Yeah, there’s some in the fridge, isn’t there?’ says Emily.

‘I’ll bring the bowls,’ says Jamie.

With Emily carrying the apple pie and a knife to cut it, Jamie carrying six bowls and spoons, and Bryn carrying the cream and some red wine from the kitchen store, they all walk through to the sitting room. Bryn’s been grumbling about there not being any lager or fags. No one imagines there’d be any cigarettes anywhere in the house, and so there’s a panic breaking out among the smokers.

‘Would there be any stashed anywhere, do you think?’ he asks.

Emily shrugs. ‘I said I didn’t smoke on the form.’

‘What form?’ asks Bryn.

‘The application form. There was a question asking if you smoke.’

‘Oh, that,’ he says.

‘What did you say?’

He thinks back. ‘I probably said I didn’t.’

‘Why would you say you don’t smoke?’ asks Paul.

‘You never admit to smoking on application forms,’ says Emily. ‘Most offices have a no-smoking policy nowadays, so if you say you smoke, you’re instantly telling your employer that you’d spend half the day standing outside wasting time. Anyone would much rather employ a non-smoker, so you just have to pretend you are one.’

‘What did you say on your form?’ Jamie asks Thea.

‘The same,’ she says. ‘That I don’t smoke.’