Firewallers

by Simon Packham

  ‘Wake me up when it’s all over,’ said Millie, selecting a futon and pulling the scratchy woollen blanket over her head.

  It was the first time we’d shared a room since Portugal. She’d made a right old fuss about my ‘disgusting habit’ of burying the floor with my underwear, and insisted on drawing up a cleaning rota for the ensuite shower. This time last year she would have been allocating cupboard space.

  ‘I’d better take the other one, then,’ I said, dumping my Where’s Wally? sports bag on the futon and sitting down next to it. ‘Hang on a minute, what’s this?’

  ‘What’s what?’ said Sue.

  ‘This poster.’ Blu-tacked to the wall, just above my head, was a photograph of an old-fashioned fishing boat with a painting of a white bird across its bows. ‘What’s the Rainbow Warrior anyway?’

  ‘Don’t you know anything?’ came Millie’s muffled voice from under the blanket. ‘Rainbow Warrior was a campaigning vessel for the environmental organisation Greenpeace. Haven’t you ever heard of Save the Whale?’

  ‘Oh no,’ whispered Sue, tugging at her disgustingly visible roots. ‘I’m so sorry. That really shouldn’t be here.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it,’ I said. ‘It’s only a poster. I quite like it actually.’

  Sue dabbed her face with a recycled tissue. ‘You don’t understand. It belonged to Kevin. We were supposed to pack up all his things after he . . . after he . . . ’

  ‘Oh . . . right,’ I said, suddenly realising why she’d gone all weird. ‘Kevin was the boy who died, was he?’

  Sue sniffed and nodded. ‘That poster was so typical of him. He wasn’t interested in millionaire footballers or shallow celebrities. He’d really embraced the whole Dawdler philosophy.’

  ‘What exactly happened to him, Sue?’

  ‘It was an accident, a freak accident up on the north cliffs. Look, I really should take that poster.’

  ‘It’s fine,’ I said. ‘Kind of brightens the place up.’

  ‘Earl says we shouldn’t live in the past,’ said Sue, peeling the Rainbow Warrior off the wall and rolling it into a tight tube. ‘After every tragedy, the moment comes when it’s time to move on. It’s more difficult for him, of course.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Earl was the one who found him,’ said Sue. ‘It’s been over two months now, but I know he still has nightmares about it, poor guy.’

  And I was half wondering if Earl shared the contents of his nightmares with the whole community, when a horrible scream rang out from the mother pod. ‘Mum!’ I shouted. ‘Mum, are you OK?’

  We raced back down the tunnel. Even Millie pulled the blanket around her and stumbled after us, like the loser in the sack race.

  Mum was standing on her suitcase with a blacked-out trainer in her hand. ‘It was huge,’ she whimpered. ‘I’ve never seen anything like it.’

  ‘Has one of those saddos been giving you grief?’ said Millie.

  ‘It was behind the beanbag,’ said Mum. ‘Then it scuttled across the room – bold as brass.’

  Sue reverted back to the irritatingly optimistic tour guide. ‘It’s just one of the rats, you silly old thing.’

  ‘Rats!’ I squealed. ‘That’s disgusting. You’re not telling me this place is infested, are you?’

  ‘Don’t worry, Jess, these are brown rats,’ said Sue. ‘They’ll be eating out of your hand in no time.’

  It sounded like my worst nightmare. Throw in a couple of snakes and a disastrous poodle-perm and you’d have been spot on.

  ‘Oh dear God,’ said Mum. ‘Why did I bring you here?’

  ‘You know why,’ said Millie, darkly.

  ‘Look, I know this must be really hard for you, Mags, but it will get better I promise.’ Sue backed slowly towards the entry hatch. ‘Anyway, why don’t you guys catch up on some sleep this afternoon and I’ll see you in the Symposium for dinner tonight.’

  ‘What time?’ said Mum.

  ‘We don’t have set times here. Earl plays a couple of riffs on his saxophone when it’s ready.’

  Mum tried to dredge up a smile. ‘Sounds like the neighbour from hell.’

  ‘Which reminds me,’ said Sue. ‘I forgot to take your watches. We do our best to live in harmony with nature. Earl can’t stand clock-watchers.’

  I barely murmured as I handed her the silver watch Grandma gave me for my thirteenth birthday. What was the point in knowing the time if no one else did?

  ‘I’ll leave you to it, then,’ said Sue, tucking Mum’s travel clock into her jeans pocket. ‘The food here’s amazing by the way; all locally sourced and completely organic. Not only that, you’ll get to meet Earl, of course. That man is so charismatic it’s untrue. You’re going to love him, guys, I know you are.’

  Personally, I had my doubts.

  My Name Is Earl

  I’ll never forget the smell in the Symposium. You got used to it after a while, but that first night there were times when I was an organic parsnip away from throwing up. It reminded me of that vegetarian restaurant in Brighton, except with a pungent mixture of mud, sweat and animal droppings thrown in. Considering they were only allowed four – quite often lukewarm – showers a week, it was hardly surprising some of the Dawdlers were a bit whiffy. They worked long hours in the fields or out in the fishing boat, and the ban on commercial deodorants meant the evidence lingered about the Symposium like a . . . well, like a bad smell.

  We sat at long trestle tables arranged around a circular wooden platform, while an amateur army of waiters and waitresses (everyone in the community took their turn) brought us steaming bowls of gloop that the ‘cooking team’ had ladled from a giant cauldron.

  ‘This is pathetic,’ said Millie. ‘Why can’t we just start?’

  ‘I told you,’ said Sue. ‘Earl likes to say a few words first. It’s a Dawdler tradition.’

  Mum was wearing the navy-blue trouser suit that was such a bargain in the Easter sales. It always made me sad, the way she insisted on dressing up every time we went out to eat, like she was trying too hard or something. And it was even sadder without Dad to make veiled comments about the price tag.

  ‘Yes, come on, Millie,’ said Mum. ‘When in Rome and all that.’

  ‘We’re not in Rome,’ said Millie. ‘It looks disgusting anyway.’

  There were about fifty Dawdlers in all, including a bunch of primary school kids who were known as the ‘Junior Laggards’ and a couple of babies. Most of the adults were disgustingly friendly, but I couldn’t help noticing that not one of the eight Striplings popped over to introduce themselves.

  Sue’s face shone brighter than the solar-powered lighting system when the man in a crumpled linen suit and logo-less skate shoes leaped on to the stage. ‘It’s Earl,’ she whispered. ‘Isn’t he amazing?’

  Her geriatric crush was almost as sickening as the vegetables, but it has to be said that, for a man of his age, Earl was in pretty good shape. In fact, he looked better in the flesh than he did on YouTube. His shoulder length mane was flecked with silver and in far better condition than it had any right to be, and his voice was cool and gravelly, like of one of those ‘dad rock’ guys that Mum got so nostalgic about.

  ‘Allrightee,’ he said, turning slowly through three hundred and sixty degrees, giving everyone the benefit of his perfect teeth. ‘As I hope you all know by now, my name is Earl.’

  From the way they all laughed you’d have thought he was the funniest thing since the ‘holiday armadillo’ episode of Friends.

  ‘Before we eat, I want to give a special Dawdler welcome to Maggie, our new doctor, and her two lovely daughters, Jessica and Millie. I’m sure they’re going to be great assets to our little community. Stand up will you, guys?’

  Millie buried her head in her hands whilst me and Mum stood reluctantly to receive the customary slow handclap.

  ‘OK, thanks, guys, you can sit down now.’ Earl paused for a moment, his flawless smile turning into something altogether more serious. ‘I
know they only came here because of . . . what happened to Kevin, so I wanted to share something with all of you. A few days ago, I had a letter from Douglas and Janet.’

  A tense hush fell over the Symposium.

  ‘It’s early days of course, but they both felt it would be a tremendous pity if a tragic accident was to overshadow some of the wonderful things we’ve achieved here.’ He stared into the distance. It was probably a trick of the solar-powered lighting system, but I could have sworn his left temple was twitching. ‘That’s all really. So come on guys, let’s eat.’

  Millie was right, the food was disgusting: the organic vegetables were so deformed they were practically unrecognisable, and the monkfish was chewier than the bulletproof bread. We normally ate in front of the telly – except when Grandma came or the odd Sunday lunch. It didn’t feel right without talking heads in the background, and it was even worse when Helga and Toby, the couple on the bench opposite, tried starting a conversation about the environmental implications of air travel. So I felt quite relieved when the last remains of baked apple with goat’s cheese had been cleared away and Earl jumped onto the stage again.

  ‘Now, tomorrow’s weather. Looks like we’ll be starting with a heavy mist, but don’t worry. It should clear by mid-morning. Which is great news for Derek, because a little bird tells me he’s got something special planned for the Striplings.’

  ‘Told you he was amazing, didn’t I?’ whispered Sue. ‘He’s so in tune with the island he can even predict the weather.’

  ‘Yeah, because it’s never misty on a Scottish island, is it?’ said Millie. ‘Give the guru a coconut!’

  ‘OK, people,’ said Earl. ‘Before we meditate, there’s someone here who wants to bend your ears for a minute. Now, for the benefit of the new guys, once a month we ask a member of the community to step up here and share a few thoughts about the “Dawdler experience”. And it’s particularly exciting when one of our young people feels really passionate about the work we’re doing. So, I’m sure you’ll all want to join me in welcoming Campbell to the stage.’

  It was him – the boy outside the pods who’d been checking me out. He still wore the same skanky jumper, and his skin looked even more disastrous close-up. On the other hand, he was taller than I remembered and there was something borderline cute about his shy smile, which he managed to keep going right through the longest slow handclap in history. Unfortunately, the moment he opened his mouth, I started going off him.

  ‘When we first, like, came here, I was, like, your totally typical teenager?’

  He paused, winking nauseatingly to reassure the audience that his witty repetition of the word ‘like’ and the upward inflection at the end of the sentence (the ‘Aussie soap thing’ that Dad kept complaining about) was deliberate.

  ‘You know what I mean,’ he said. ‘Two thousand friends on Facebook and not one person you can really talk to. That’s the trouble with technology. There’s nowhere to hide. You carry it around in your pocket all day, and then when you get home from school you’re too frightened to log out in case something exciting starts trending on Twitter.’

  Some of the Dawdlers nodded approvingly.

  ‘I didn’t know it at the time, but I was actually really unhappy. There’s this unbelievable pressure to keep getting the latest, fastest must-have item: latest phone, latest video game, latest fibre-optic broadband. But when you get hold of it, you feel good for about two seconds, and then it’s time to trade it in for an upgrade.’

  ‘Yeah, you’re so right,’ came a voice from the back of the Symposium.

  ‘I bought into the celebrity culture thing too. It’s like you can’t be happy unless you’re famous or you look like a fashion model. You should have seen all the gunk I put in my hair. I was sixteen years old, but I was so worried about my appearance that I actually started using anti-ageing moisturiser!’

  For some reason this got a few laughs. I couldn’t help thinking he should have stuck with it.

  ‘School was just as bad. It was never a case of learning for the sheer joy of it, like we do here. It was all about private tutors and A stars in the next exam. No wonder I was addicted to fast food. Pizza, burgers . . . subs. You name it, I was into it.’

  I was so hungry after that revolting monkfish, I was practically drooling.

  ‘These days my diet is completely additive-free, and I’ve got to tell you, I’m really loving it. So I want to thank Earl and all you guys for letting me be part of this exciting experiment. If it wasn’t for you, I’d probably be up in my bedroom right now, playing violent video games, tweeting rubbish to a troop of imaginary followers, listening to so-called “music” . . .’ [He did that quote marks gesture that no one had done in real life for at least a decade.] ‘. . . and pigging out on pepperoni pizza.’

  A slow handclap was starting to build.

  ‘Learning to meditate has probably been the most rewarding part of the whole journey. It’s been over six months now, and I’ve just about learned to slow down and start living in the moment. And you know what? It’s as if I finally got my childhood back.’

  At this, the Dawdlers pounded on the tables, like the end of a feel-good movie where the eccentric band of losers stop the multi-national corporation turning their butterfly sanctuary into a shopping mall.

  ‘Sanctimonious little freak,’ said Millie.

  It was true; there was something just a little bit too self-satisfied about the triumphant smile which he appeared to direct at some of his fellow Striplings. If they were anything like Campbell, I wouldn’t even accept their friendship requests on Facebook.

  ‘Thank you for listening,’ he said, bringing his hands together and bowing his head. ‘Oh, before I go, Earl asked me to mention that he knows how keen you are to start meditating, but to avoid silly accidents, could we please give Erika and the Junior Laggards a couple of minutes to make their way to the puppet show in the library? Thanks a lot.’

  The young kids skipped across to the entry hatch, waving happily at their parents. The moment they’d gone, everyone started dragging tables to the sides of the Symposium and Earl and Derek lugged an enormous candle, like the kind you saw in churches, onto the stage.

  ‘Grab hold of that would you, Jess?’ said Sue, offering me one end of the bench. ‘It doesn’t take long if we all pitch in.’

  ‘What’s that candle for?’ I said.

  ‘It helps to have something to focus on,’ said Sue. ‘When it burns down to the black line, it means the meditation session’s over.’

  ‘Well, I’m not bloody doing it,’ said Millie. ‘What’s the point anyway?’

  Sue smiled condescendingly. ‘You heard what Campbell said. It’s about being in the moment. We spend most of our lives either living in the past or worrying about the future. If you can train your mind to stay in one place for a change, it’s actually very liberating.’

  ‘Oh . . . right,’ said Millie, thoughtfully.

  The Dawdlers began claiming their places on the drafty wooden floor. Sue led us to her favourite spot in front of the over-sized cauldron. ‘It’s warmer here,’ she whispered.

  ‘Don’t we need some kind of instruction first?’ said Mum.

  Sue smiled even more condescendingly. ‘Meditation is the easiest thing in the world, and the hardest too. Just focus on your breathing, Mags, and see where it takes you.’

  It was typical of the Striplings that they kept themselves to themselves. They sat in a tight group, just in front of the entrance hatch.

  ‘OK, is everybody ready for this?’ said Earl, advancing towards the candle with a lighted taper in his hand. ‘Now remember, guys, this isn’t a competition. And, for the benefit of the newbies, nothing we do here is compulsory.If it all gets a bit intense, why not step outside for a couple of minutes? But try and stick with it if you can. Because, believe me, there’s no greater gift than a quiet mind.’

  The candle flamed impressively and someone killed the lights. Once Earl had taken his place in the in
ner circle, the hushed quiet became an excruciating silence. I could sense Mum’s embarrassment as the people around her began withdrawing into a kind of narrow-eyed trance. Sue was predictably ‘transcendental’, but the real surprise was Millie. With her tiny wrists balanced on her knees, and her index fingers and thumbs clasped so tightly it looked like she was squashing insects, I had the feeling she was totally into it.

  But I wasn’t. The first few minutes lasted a lifetime. There was nothing very liberating about sitting cross-legged in a giant bubble with a bunch of cosmetically-challenged statues and only the wind to puncture the silence. All I could do was worry about the future, and meditate on the past: Why was Millie acting so strangely? What horrendous activity had Derek planned for the Striplings tomorrow? Did the girl with split ends fancy Campbell? Were said split ends the direct result of baking soda and seaweed hair paste? And if all Mum wanted was to escape from a couple of journalists, what possessed her to drive over five hundred miles to the land that time forgot?

  But wherever my mind wandered, it kept coming back to Dad. How was he coping without us? When would we see him again? How did he feel about the three of us taking off like that? It was so upsetting that I made a conscious decision to try and stop thinking about him. But I was already wondering if Grandma was winding him up about politics yet, when an unexpected development whisked me back to the here and now. Because what I saw didn’t make sense. If meditation was so rewarding, how come the Striplings seemed to be making a mass exit? It might not have been compulsory, but if Campbell was such a born again Dawdler, what was he doing holding open the entrance hatch and waving them through?

  They seemed to be gone for hours. In reality it was more like twenty-five minutes before they returned, slipping back into the Symposium just moments before the candle burned down to the black mark.

  ‘OK, guys, see you tomorrow,’ said Earl. ‘I hope that was enlightening.’