Bright Young Things (29 page)

‘Yeah,’ says Paul. ‘That was pretty cool.’

‘You know that bit where the virtual woman’s in the alleyway?’ asks Emily. Paul nods. ‘Well, I got totally turned on at that bit. I imagined some guy pushing her up against the wall and having sex with her. But then all of a sudden she was getting her head bashed in with a hammer. I felt sick, because I’d been turned on and then
that
happened. I’m so scared that if it happens to me it will be because I’ve fantasised about it, and at the moment that he’s sticking a knife into me I’ll be thinking,
Well, girl, you got off on this, how does it feel now?
It’s like all the guilt I thought I was saving by having the fantasy in the first place just comes back as fear. I won’t walk down dark alleys, or go home on my own, or walk in empty parks,’ she says. ‘
Ever
. But all those places are where my fantasies take place, and all the things that happen in my fantasies are things I’d do anything to avoid in real life.’

‘Maybe it’s like two poles of the same magnet,’ says Bryn. ‘The two can never meet.’

‘Yeah, maybe,’ says Emily.

‘That’s profound,’ says Jamie.

Paul laughs. ‘Are you sure you mean the same magnet?’ he says.

‘It’s very Freudian,’ comments Anne.

‘What?’ says Emily.

‘The guilt not going away. Surfacing in your fears.’

‘I bet it would go away if you liked yourself more,’ says Jamie.

‘Men can’t understand,’ Emily says to him angrily. ‘It’s hard to like yourself when you’re a woman and you’re surrounded by stuff telling you to hate yourself, or that you’re not good enough or thin enough, and detailing the bad things that can happen to you just for being a woman. Imagine picking up
Men’s Health
or
Playboy
or whatever and reading about penis mutilation? Don’t you think that would fuck you up? It just doesn’t happen, does it? All magazines are about screwing women up, even the women’s magazines. What is it with all the diets and stories about rape and sudden death anyway? Like we need scaring more.’

Emily continues. ‘The worst thing I ever read in a magazine was this feature on rape. You know, the kind with three case-studies? The first story was about some girl walking down a dark road and some guy jumping out and forcing her to have sex. I got off on that story. The next one was more of the same, but the third one was about some guy who talked his way into a girl’s flat after he helped her with some groceries she’d dropped outside. She was a really cautious girl, but he saw her cat food and started chatting about it or something, saying he had a cat too, and being really friendly. I can’t remember all the details, but he was really nice and made coming into the flat the most natural thing in the world. Next thing, the poor girl was being raped, which is bad enough. Then the guy left the room and put on some loud music. She thought the ordeal was over, but he’d actually gone into the kitchen to get a knife to kill her. He’d turned up the music so no one could hear her dying. She escaped somehow, but fucking
hell
. Imagine that. Being murdered with one of your own knives, with your own music playing, by some guy who’d been chatting to you about your cat? I had nightmares for weeks after reading that article. I hate women’s magazines.’

‘That’s a horrible story,’ says Paul. He looks genuinely upset.

Suddenly, there’s a noise from the top of the house. Everyone jumps.

‘Fucking hell,’ says Jamie. ‘Shit.’

‘Hot Christ,’ says Paul.

‘What the hell was that?’ says Bryn.

‘Possums?’ suggests Anne.

‘
Possums
?’ says Emily.

Anne shrugs. ‘It’s always possums in
Neighbours
.’

‘Well this isn’t fucking
Neighbours
,’ says Thea.

There’s no more noise from upstairs.

‘That didn’t sound like a bat or a bird,’ says Emily.

‘Or a possum,’ says Paul.

‘Maybe something fell off a shelf,’ suggests Jamie.

‘What, twice in one day?’ asks Paul.

‘Maybe it’s a dodgy shelf,’ says Emily.

They sit there waiting for more noises, but there are none.

‘Maybe it’s a ghost,’ says Paul.

‘Paul!’ says Emily.

‘What’s scary about ghosts?’ he enquires.

‘Can we talk about something else?’ asks Emily. ‘I feel weird.’

‘OK, well whose turn is it?’ asks Jamie.

‘I think I might go to bed,’ says Thea, yawning. ‘I’m pissed.’

‘Party pooper,’ says Emily.

‘We can carry on without her,’ says Jamie. ‘Can’t we?’

‘I suppose,’ says Emily.

‘Aren’t you scared of the ghost?’ asks Paul.

‘I don’t believe in ghosts,’ she replies.

‘I’d be more scared in that case,’ mumbles Bryn.

Thea ignores him. ‘Anyway, goodnight,’ she says.

Everyone says goodnight, but they seem more interested in the game.

‘It’s Anne’s turn,’ says Emily.

Thea walks out of the door and shuts it behind her.

It’s much colder out in the hall. Freezing, in fact. Totally drunk, Thea finds it hard to maintain any kind of straight line while walking down the hall, and the stairs seem to be best tackled on all fours. Once in her room, she doesn’t bother to get undressed, but climbs into bed fully clothed, giggling at nothing. She’s still pissed off with whoever kidnapped her and made her come here, and she’s worried about the odd noises. But for some reason – she expects it’s the alcohol – all this just seems really funny. And another thing is making her laugh: suddenly it seems as if now’s as good a time as any to give masturbation a try.

Under the covers, feeling like a kid reading after lights out, Thea reaches up under her skirt. It feels weird, slipping her hand under her knickers. This isn’t something she does regularly for any reason other than maybe to take her knickers off. But even then, she would usually just yank them from the sides, rather than do what she’s doing now. When she touches her vagina, it feels really odd. She’s never touched it like this before. She’s never really felt her pubic hair unless it’s been wet (in the bath or shower). Not knowing what to do next, she investigates the area, looking for her clitoris. Several of her boyfriends have found it in the past, and she’s definitely had orgasms before, but she’s never had to find it herself.

Just as she’s about to come, there’s a noise from outside her door.

‘Shhh. Thea’s asleep,’ says someone; it sounds like Bryn.

For fuck’s sake. Thea removes her hands from her vagina and unspreads her legs. She can feel the sexy feeling leave her like a spirit leaving a dead body. Are they coming in here? She hopes she’s not the target for some stupid dare. She can hear a whispered discussion, and Anne humming something which sounds familiar.

As they all burst in her door, she recognises it as the theme from
Ghostbusters
.

‘Do you mind?’ she says to them, pulling the covers over her head.

They seem pretty drunk.

‘We’re going ghostbusting,’ says Emily. ‘Do you wanna come?’ She’s slurring her words.

‘No,’ says Thea. ‘Fuck off and let me go to sleep.’

‘Suit yourself,’ says Paul. ‘Bye.’

Ten minutes later they’re all standing outside the attic room again.

‘Thought you were tired,’ Paul says to Thea.

‘I was,’ she says. ‘Till you woke me up.’

‘So who’s breaking in?’ asks Emily.

‘Do you want me to pick the—’ begins Bryn.

‘No,’ says Paul. ‘I think we’ll get in via traditional methods.’

‘Huh?’ says Jamie.

‘It is his dare,’ says Anne.

‘Is this part of Truth or Dare?’ says Thea. She sighs. ‘For God’s sake.’

‘Stand back,’ says Paul.

Everyone stands back. He kicks the door.

It’s dark inside. Bryn takes a deep breath. His lungs fill with putrid air.

‘It stinks up here,’ says Emily. She waves her hand in front of her face.

‘Yeah, this ghost really smells,’ says Anne.

Paul ventures in first, feeling for a light switch.

‘I don’t like this,’ says Thea.

Bryn suddenly shivers. He’s scared by the tone in Thea’s voice.

‘What’s wrong?’ Emily asks Thea.

‘That smell . . .’ she begins.

Paul flicks on the light. Bryn grabs Emily’s arm. She screams.

Anne, Jamie and Thea are standing behind Bryn and Emily. They all push forward.

‘Oh fuck,’ says Anne.

Paul’s standing in the room, staring. ‘Hot Christ,’ he mumbles.

Thea takes a few steps into the room, then she screams too.

‘Spider,’ she shrieks, stepping behind Jamie.

There’s a spider on the floor. It’s about to crawl over the body of a dead man.

The spider is black, orange and furry. The man is blue. He looks frozen, lying in the pose he must have died in: hands on his chest, mouth in the shape of a scream.

‘I think she’s missed the dead guy,’ mumbles Anne.

Thea’s panicking. ‘Fuck you. Of course I haven’t missed it, I just . . .’

She runs down the stairs. Bryn hears a door slam.

Emily starts to cry. ‘Fucking fucking fucking . . .
shit
,’ she stammers.

Bryn’s never seen a dead body before.

‘This is bad,’ breathes Paul. ‘How long has he been dead?’

‘Not long if he was the one making those noises,’ says Jamie, surprisingly calm.

The spider moves.

‘Oh, shit,’ says Bryn.

Everyone except Paul moves back.

‘Did it kill him?’ asks Jamie.

‘No,’ says Paul. ‘It’s a tarantula. They’re not deadly.’

The spider runs over to the far side of the room and disappears.

‘I thought they were,’ says Bryn uncertainly.

‘Urban myth,’ says Paul. ‘Is the body warm?’ he asks.

No one offers to find out.

‘Hello?’ he says, when there’s no response.

‘I’m not going near it,’ says Bryn. ‘You can if you want. I think we should just go.’

Everyone seems paralysed. Then, after a few seconds, Anne walks over to the body and touches it. Everyone seems to hold their breath, as if the dead guy is suddenly going to leer up at her or something. She seems calm as she touches his neck. ‘He’s stone cold,’ she says.

The room seems more silent and cold than ever.

‘I wonder what made the noises,’ murmurs Jamie.

‘Who the hell is he?’ asks Bryn. ‘What’s he doing here?’

‘I’ve seen him somewhere before,’ says Paul.

‘Oh f. . .fuck,’ stammers Emily. ‘It’s the job interview guy.’

‘Jesus,’ says Jamie. ‘This is horrible.’

‘I agree,’ says Paul. ‘Let’s go.’

Thea’s at the bottom of the stairs, hopping from one foot to the other, sobbing.

‘Has it gone?’ she wails.

‘What, the dead body?’ asks Paul.

‘No, you arsehole. The spider.’

‘Settle down,’ says Anne.

‘Fuck you,’ says Thea. ‘You stupid, stupid . . .’

Now Emily’s crying again. She’s wringing her hands.

‘What’s happened?’ she pleads. ‘Why is everyone being so mean?’

‘Where’s the spider?’ begs Thea. ‘You have to get rid of the spider.’

‘Will you shut up about the spider,’ says Jamie. ‘It’s only a—’

‘What, only a spider?’ shouts Thea. ‘Maybe for you . . . but I . . . Oh, Jesus, I fucking hate you all. I’ve seen dead bodies
before
, for Christ’s sake. I’ve sat by people’s bedsides and watched them die. I wish you’d all grow up. Death is tragic and sad and a waste, but it’s not fucking scary. You’ll all be dead one day. Spiders are my greatest fear, remember, and although that poor dead guy’s not going to hurt me, a fucking tarantula is.’ She looks around her, like some sort of animal looking for a way out. ‘I can’t even get away from you all since we’re stuck in this hell-hole. I wish I’d never filled in that stupid form and I wish I wasn’t here. I want to go home.’

Emily’s sitting on the bottom stair, her face in her hands.

‘I want my mum,’ she says. ‘Please sort this out, someone.’

Thea is still looking for somewhere to go. Eventually she runs into the sitting room.

‘What the hell are we going to do now?’ asks Jamie.

‘Please do something,’ Emily says. ‘Please, Jamie.’

‘What do you want me to do?’ he asks. ‘What can I do?’

‘Make it better,’ she says.

Jamie sits down next to her. ‘I don’t know how to,’ he says. ‘Sorry.’

‘Paul,’ says Emily, looking at him with big teary eyes.

‘What?’ says Paul. ‘What?’

‘Can’t you do something?’ she pleads.

Everything has gone. No one’s drunk any more. No one feels sexy.