Radio Silence
Page 9
“Hello. I hope somebody is listening …”
He’d written the script out on his laptop. He repeated lines if he got them wrong. As he recorded, the sound waves bounced up and down on his computer screen. It was like I was listening to a completely different person – no, not different, just more of Aled. Aled at 100 per cent. Aled being himself. I was listening to Aled’s brain.
I zoned out, like I always did. I got lost in the story, I forgot about things.
Every episode of Universe City ends with a performance of a song. The same song, every time – a thirty-second rock song Aled had written called ‘Nothing Left For Us’ – but a new performance.
I didn’t realise Aled was going to perform it right then and there until he picked up his electric guitar and plugged it into his amp. Some pre-recorded drums and bass guitar started playing out of his speakers, and when he played his guitar it was so loud that I clapped my hands over my ears. It was like it always was, but so much better in person, like a thousand guitars and chainsaws and lightning all at once, the bass making the wall shake behind my head, and then he started to sing in that shouty way that I could have sung along with, I wanted to sing along with, but I didn’t, because I didn’t want to ruin it. I already knew both the tune and the lyrics.
There’s nothing left for us any more
Why aren’t you listening?
Why aren’t you listening to me?
There’s nothing left.
When he’d finished, he turned round again in his desk chair and said, back in his quiet voice, like I’d snapped out of a dream, “So, what voice? High, low or medium?”
It was 10pm. His bedroom ceiling looked like a galaxy. He told me he’d painted it when he was fourteen.
“You choose,” I said.
He pulled his sleeves over his hands. I was starting to figure out what that meant.
I said, “This is the best day of my whole life.”
He grinned. “Shut up.” He turned back to his laptop, his body silhouetted against the brightness of the screen, and said, “I think medium voice. I like androgynous Radio the best.”
FEBRUARY FRIDAY
My Tumblr got over 1,000 new followers in one day. I was flooded with asks telling me how much they loved my art and congratulations for getting to work with the show that I’d been obsessed about, along with a few asks telling me how much they hated it, and me, obviously.
I was everywhere in the Universe City Tumblr tag – my art, my blog, my Twitter, me. They still didn’t know anything about me, really, which I was actually grateful for. Internet anonymity can be a good thing sometimes.
Aled knowing I was Toulouse, the Universe City artist, was fine, but the idea of anyone else finding out still terrified me.
And of course, once my involvement with Universe City was revealed, I was bombarded with tweets and questions on Tumblr asking who the Creator was. I had expected it, but that didn’t mean it failed to stress me out. I couldn’t post anything online for several days after the episode without a fresh wave of questions about who I was and who the Creator was.
As soon as I showed Aled the messages, he panicked.
We were sitting in my lounge on the sofa watching Spirited Away. He read the messages in my Tumblr inbox. As he scrolled, he put a hand on his forehead. Then he started saying, “Oh, no, oh, no, oh, God,” under his breath.
“It’s okay, it’s not like I’m gonna tell them …”
“We can’t let them find out.”
I didn’t really know why Aled wanted to keep Universe City a secret. I assumed it was just because he liked his privacy; he didn’t want his face on the Internet. It felt a bit invasive to ask.
“Okay,” I said.
“I’ve got an idea,” said Aled.
He opened Twitter on his laptop and typed out a tweet.
RADIO @UniverseCity
February Friday – i still believe, i still listen.
“February Friday,” I said. “Yes. Good idea.”
February Friday, or the ‘Letters to February’ segment, produces probably the biggest conspiracy theories within the Universe City fandom.
The fandom wiki explained it quite well.
February Friday and Fandom Theories
It is commonly believed within the Universe City fandom that the entire series is a gift from the Anonymous Creator to a person they are/were in love with.
The large majority of the early episodes (2011) and around half of the later episodes (2012-onwards) contain a passage, usually towards the end of the episode, directed towards a character who never makes any appearance or has any story arc, February Friday. In these segments, Radio Silence typically laments their inability to communicate with February Friday, muddled in with abstract imagery and indeterminable metaphors.
Usually the segment is largely nonsensical, leading the fandom to believe that they are mostly comprised of personal jokes which the Anonymous Creator shares with the person IRL represented by February Friday. As these segments contribute nothing to Universe City’s plot, and have no sequential plot of their own, the fandom argues that they must contain some significance to the Creator.
Many attempts have been made to determine the meaning of what has become known as the Letters to February, but all attempts are merely guesswork and objective analyses.
So Radio tweeting about February Friday obviously caused a fandom shitstorm. A brief, inconclusive one, but an undeniable shitstorm.
And everyone was completely distracted from sending me messages demanding to know who I am and who Radio is.
Since getting to know Aled, I’d thought a lot about the February Friday conspiracy – about who February might be, if they were a representation of somebody he knew. My immediate thoughts went to Carys, but I rejected that idea, since the Letters to February were so romantic. I even considered me at one point, before realising that Aled hadn’t even known me when he started making Universe City.
Of course, being friends with Aled now meant that I had the opportunity to ask about February Friday.
Which I did.
“So … just putting this out there …” I rolled over on the sofa so I was facing him. “Am I allowed to know the secret of February Friday?”
Aled bit his lip and genuinely thought about it.
“Hmm …” He rolled over so he was facing me too. “Okay, don’t be offended, but I think it needs to stay an ultimate secret.”
And I thought that was fair enough.
UNIVERSE CITY: Ep. 32 – cosmic noise
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[…]
I think by now, February, we’ve, as they say, ‘lost touch’. Not that we ever touched in the first place. In the end I’m still only ever looking where you’ve looked, I’m only ever walking where you’ve walked, I’m in your dark blue shadow and you never seem to turn around to find me there.
I wonder sometimes whether you’ve exploded already, like a star, and what I’m seeing is you three million years into the past, and you’re not here any more. How can we be together here, now, when you are so far away? When you are so far ago? I’m shouting so loudly, but you never turn around to see me. Perhaps it is I who have already exploded.
Either way, we are going to bring beautiful things into the universe.
[…]
THE BIG SCHEME OF THINGS
Thursday 15th August was results day. It was also Aled’s 18th birthday.
Our friendship had become this:
(00:00) Frances Janvier
HAPPY BIRTHDAY HOPE YOU’RE FEELING PARTY AF
LOVE U LOADS U BEAUTIFUL MAN
CAN’T BELIEVE MY SMALL BUDDY IS A MAN NOW
I’M CRYING
(00:02) Aled Last
why are you tormenting me with cringe messages like this
(00:03) Frances Janvier
(00: 03) Aled Last
Wow
(00:04) Frances Janvier
THAT was cringe m8
(00:04) Aled Last
that was payback
I was stressing out quite a lot about results day, because that’s what I always do. I was also stressing out because I hadn’t seen or talked to my school friends in almost three weeks. With any luck, I could just walk in, grab my results and scarper before anyone could ask me the dreaded ‘How were your results?’ question.
“I’m sure you’ve done fine, France,” said Mum, shutting the car door. We’d just arrived at school and I was boiling in my school suit. “Oh, God, sorry, that’s literally the least helpful thing I could possibly say.”
“Pretty much,” I said.
We walked through the car park, into the sixth-form block and up the stairs to the ILC. Mum kept glancing at me. I think she wanted to say something, but honestly, there really isn’t anything to say when you’re about to read four letters that shape the rest of your life.
The room was packed because Mum and I were a bit late. There were teachers at desks handing out brown envelopes. There were wine glasses on a table at the back for the parents. A girl from my history class was crying only five metres away and I tried not to look at her.
“I’ll get you some wine,” said Mum. I turned to her. She looked at me and said, “It’s just school, isn’t it?”
“It’s just school.” I shook my head. “It’s never just school.”
Mum sighed. “It doesn’t matter though. In the Big Scheme of Things.”
“If you say so,” I said, rolling my eyes.
I got four A grades. That’s the highest you can get at AS level.
I expected to be happy about it. I expected to be jumping up and down and crying from joy.
But I didn’t feel any of that. It just wasn’t disappointment.
My Year 10 results day was the day before Carys ran away. It was her Year 11 results day, which was obviously important, because that’s when you get most of your GCSE results. I knew she never got very good grades, but that was the only day I ever saw her get upset about it.
I’d just got my results for the science GCSE I’d taken a year early, for which I’d received an A*, and I was walking out of this same room, the ILC, with Mum, staring at the tiny Times New Roman ‘a*’, the first of many to come. We walked down the stairs and were about to exit the building when Carys and Carol Last walked right past the open door, heading towards the car park.
I heard the words “Really quite pathetic,” and I guess it was Carol who said them, but to this day I can’t be sure.
Carys had tears streaming down her face and her mum was holding on to her arm so tight that it must have hurt.
I drank the wine mum stole for me in pretty much one go, facing the wall so none of the teachers saw me. Then we passed Dr Afolayan, who tried to catch my eye, and we walked out of the room and down the stairs and out of the building and into the sunlight. My grip on my results envelope had crumpled it and smudged my name.
“Are you okay?” said Mum. “You don’t seem very happy.”
She was right, but I didn’t know why.
“Frances!”
I spun round, praying it wasn’t any of my friends, but of course it was. It was Raine Sengupta. She’d been leaning on a railing outside the building, talking to someone I didn’t know. She walked up to me. She’d had the right side of her hair freshly shaved.
“All good, mate?” she said, nodding at my envelope.
I smiled. “Yeah! Yep. Four A’s.”
“Holy shit, well done!”
“Thanks, yeah, I’m really pleased.”
“So you’re all good for Cambridge, yeah?”
“Yeah, I should be.”
“Sweet.”
There was a pause.
“How about you?” I asked.
Raine shrugged. “Two C’s, a D and an E. Not great, but I think Afolayan’ll let me back in. If I do some retakes.”
“Ah …” I had no idea what to say, and Raine could obviously tell.
She laughed. “It’s fine. I don’t do any work and my art coursework was proper shit.”
We said some awkward goodbyes and me and Mum walked off again.
“Who was that?” said Mum, once we got to the car.
“Raine Sengupta?”
“I don’t think you’ve mentioned her before.”
“She’s just in our friendship group. We’re not that close.”
My phone buzzed and it was a text from Aled and he said:
Aled Last
4 A*s! i’m in.
Mum flipped the sun visor down in front of her and said, “Ready to go home?” and I said, “Yeah.”
THE CIRCLE OF EVILS
There was a huge Facebook event for the post-exams night happening at Johnny R’s on the same day, which everyone in sixth form had been invited to, but I didn’t really want to go. Firstly, everyone was just gonna get drunk, which I could do perfectly well by myself in my lounge while watching YouTube videos instead of having to worry about catching the last train home or avoiding sexual assault. Secondly, I hadn’t really spoken to any of my school friends apart from Raine very recently, and I think if we were in The Sims, our friendship bar would almost be back to nothing.
I knew Aled was busy celebrating his birthday with Daniel, which was a bit weird since I didn’t think they’d actually spent a lot of time together recently, but Daniel was actually his lifelong best friend, so fair enough. Mum had bought champagne and said we could order pizza and play Trivial Pursuit. I’d be able to give Aled his present tomorrow.
What I was not expecting was Daniel Jun knocking on my door at 9.43pm.
I was pretty tipsy, but even if I’d been sober I still would have laughed my arse off. He was wearing his old grammar school uniform – the one he’d worn until sixth form when he moved to the Academy. In theory it was completely normal – a black blazer and trousers and a plain navy tie and a crest with a gold ‘T’ on it – but since Daniel’s Year 12 growth spurt, the trousers ended just above his ankles and the blazer was so tight and short in the arms that he looked absolutely ridiculous.
He just stood there, eyebrows raised, while I laughed and laughed.
“Oh my God, you look like Bruno Mars!” There were small tears forming in my eyes.
Daniel frowned. “Bruno Mars is of Puerto Rican and Filipino heritage, not Korean, so that’s incredibly offensive.”
“I was referring to the shortness of your trousers. Are you auditioning for Jersey Boys?”
He blinked. “Yes. Yes, that’s actually my life goal. I wrote it on my careers survey.”
“Your Bruno Mars trivia is impressive, by the way.” I leaned against the doorway. “You don’t fancy a game of Trivial Pursuit, do you? I’m right in the middle of one.”
“Well, why else would I possibly be here, Frances?”
We looked at each other.
There was a pause.
“Why are you here?” I said. “Aren’t you supposed to be with Aled?”
He raised his eyebrows again. “Basically, we were going to go to the post-exams thing at Johnny R’s, but Aled doesn’t really want to, and he was saying that it’d be nice to see you on his birthday.”
“I thought you two were hanging out.”
“We are, actually.”
“Without me.”
“We have been so far.”
“So I’d be the ultimate third wheel.”
He laughed. “Yeah, I know, right!”
I considered shutting the door in his face.
“Are you coming or not?” he said.
“Are you going to be a dick to me for the entire evening if I do?”
“Probably.”
At least he was honest.
“Okay, fine,” I said, “but I have two questions. Firstly, why are you wearing your old grammar school uniform?”
“That was the theme of the post-exams Johnny R’s thing.” H
e put his hands in his pockets. “Did you even read the Facebook event?”
“I skimmed it.”
“Right.”
“Secondly, why isn’t Aled here?”
“I told him I was going to take a piss.”
“He thinks you’re in the loo right now?”
“Yup.”
I stared at Daniel. This was entirely his idea. He was actually doing something nice for someone. Sure, if he was going to do anything nice for anyone ever it was probably going to be Aled, but still. This was … something.
“All right then,” I said. “Cool. It’s gonna be awkward though, since you literally despise me.”
“I don’t literally despise you,” he said. “That’s so dramatic.”
I put on his posh accent. “Oh, sorry, I mean we don’t particularly get on.”
“Only because you give me evils all the time.”
“Excuse me, you’re the one who gives me evils all the time!”
We stared at each other.
“An evils paradox,” I continued. “The circle of evils. Evils-ception.”
“Are you wearing that?” he said.
I looked down. I was wearing my Batman onesie.
“Yes,” I said. “Problem?”
“So many,” he said, turning round. “So many problems.”
So I went inside and told my mum I was going to Aled’s, and she said that was fine because she still needed to catch up on The Great British Bake Off and could I please not be too loud when I came in, and then I grabbed my keys from the bowl near the door and Aled’s birthday card and present from the kitchen table and put some shoes on and I took one last look at myself in the landing mirror. My makeup was pretty crap and my hair had started to fall out of its topknot, but I didn’t really care that much. What were we gonna do, get more drunk in Aled’s lounge? That’s all there was to do, apparently. I don’t know. So, yeah, drinking, cool, I don’t know.
POWER STATION
“I don’t know whether you’re aware,” I said, as we walked down the road in the complete opposite direction to Aled’s house, “but this is not the way to Aled’s house.”