by Ben Brooks
‘Thanks, Jasper.’
I sit back down. Tenaya follows. We light two more cigarettes.
‘I am going to seduce Georgia Treely in Devon,’ I say.
‘With what?’
‘Not with Rohypnol.’
‘How nice.’
‘With my roguish good looks and wit.’
Tenaya laughs.
‘What?’ I say.
‘Nothing.’
Small white hills jump out of Tenaya’s arms. She is cold. The wind here is waking up. It is a nocturnal sprinter.
‘Are you okay?’
‘Better, thanks.’
We finish our wine bottles, smash them and walk back into the suburb.
27
My last exam is Psychology Paper 2, which started at 9:15 a.m. It is now 10:30 a.m. I have already finished and am looking around the room at everyone else. Georgia Treely finished ten minutes ago but she has been going over her paper again and again. I hope she does very well. She will definitely do very well. Eventually she will own a converted barn in an area of the Midlands where teenage girls put posters of David Cameron on their walls. Jonah stopped writing half an hour ago and he is drawing penises with faces on the back of his paper.
Finally we are told to put down our pens and leave. Everyone cheers except for Oscar Chao, who still has a Chinese exam to do in the afternoon. The exam invigilator turns purple and shouts that we are still under exam conditions and not to make any noise until we have left the exam venue. Everyone cheers again and rushes to leave.
Tenaya is stood outside the school gates, waiting for me. She is holding two cigarettes. One for me, one for her. Her last exam was History, which was two days ago.
‘How was it?’ she says. We begin walking towards the Yellow Pony. It is a pub frequented mainly by old men but we go there because they do not ask for ID.
‘It was okay,’ I tell her. ‘It seemed fine.’
‘You best have passed, Jasper.’
‘I know.’
‘Because if you haven’t, I am going to rip your dick off.’
I grin. ‘Okay.’
She punches my arm.
I wonder how she will punish me for getting Abby Hall pregnant.
Not pregnant.
Definitely not pregnant.
Jonah is already sat in the Yellow Pony, behind a beer and a Murakami novel. I do not understand much about Jonah but I understand why he reads Murakami. Murakami makes me feel safe and positive. I wish Murakami was my stepdad. Murakami would never murder my mum.
‘Morning,’ Jonah says. Tenaya goes over to the bar to get our drinks. ‘Good exam?’
‘Great,’ I say. ‘What time are we going tomorrow?’
I am imagining waking up in the morning and going downstairs to find Haruki Murakami drinking coffee and reading The Guardian at our kitchen table.
‘Not sure. Come round, like, four, I guess.’
So, Dad, what have you been working on lately?
‘Who else are you taking? Tenaya is going with Ping and Ana because she has to stay at home later for some family thing.’
Murakami wouldn’t call me patronising names.
‘Oh, shit, yea. Forgot to tell you. I got us two girls. We’re taking them.’
‘What? Who?’
‘Susan Pilkington and Jenna Slater,’ he says.
I recognise the names. They are girls from the year below. I imagine their faces. Pretty good.
‘They’re quite fit,’ I say.
‘Yea,’ he says. ‘They are.’
Tenaya comes back over and puts down a Newcastle for me and Carling for her. She nods toward the book on the table.
‘Is that the one where he fucks his sister then his mum?’ she asks.
‘But he only fucks his sister in a dream,’ I say.
‘Okay,’ Jonah says. ‘Don’t ruin it.’
Murakami would definitely make a very good replacement stepdad.
28
I wake up at twelve and go downstairs. Mum and Keith are both at work. I pull all of the revision timetables off the fridge and throw them into the bin. Standing in boxer shorts with the sun glancing off my cheeks, I feel positive and okay. The party tonight will be good. Georgia Treely will be there. Prepare to be seduced, Georgia Treely.
First, though, there is something I have to do.
Sat on the white leather sofa in our living room, I take out my phone. I type in 1-4-1 to hide my number, and then put in the number for the police station. A woman answers.
‘West Midlands Police, how can I help?’ she says.
‘Hello,’ I say, ‘I would like to do an anonymous tip-off, please.’
‘Okay, of what.’
The way the woman says okay stretches out the o until it is the shape of a rugby ball.
‘Of a murder.’
‘A murder?’
‘Yes,’ I say. ‘I know who murdered that girl who died last week and the same man also murdered a woman called Margaret Clamwell and he plans to murder again.’
‘Okay,’ the woman says. She stretches the o out again. ‘And what evidence do you have for this?’
‘Lots of evidence,’ I assure her. Then I very quickly tell her my address and hang up.
I go upstairs.
I stand in front of the bathroom mirror, preparing to prepare myself for the seduction of Georgia Treely. The Georgia Plan. Should I put gel in my hair? Is gel gay?
People who wear gel in their hair:
Robert Pattinson in Twilight
Hugh Grant in Bridget Jones’s Diary
Neo in The Matrix
Yes, I should definitely wear gel.
I sculpt my hair into polished waves then move it close to the mirror.
‘What a great face,’ I say.
I move closer to the mirror.
‘What a great face,’ I say again, this time louder.
I remain unconvinced.
I run my hands along my jawbones. They feel prickly. Shaving routine: once every two weeks. Should I remove the prickles early? I decide to leave them. They will make me look mature. Georgia Treely will be tricked into thinking that I am a real human man. Really all I am is cunning.
There is a spot on my left eyebrow. It is perfectly circular and yellow. It nestles amongst the hairs like a small child hiding in woods. I squeeze the pus from it and carry the trophy through into my room on the tip of my right index finger. I wipe it on the small, star-shaped mirror in my bedroom. Where possible, I have been leaving all such trophies on display across this mirror since the age of fifteen. They fly in long smears, smudged at odd angles like dull fireworks reflected in a lake of metal. It is a piece of contemporary art. Soon, Charles Saatchi will offer to buy this mirror from me. He will make me an offer I can’t refuse.
When I go round to Jonah’s at four, he is still sleeping. The door is open so I go inside. Upstairs I pull of his duvet and slap his ass and shout, ‘Get up, you prick,’ and he shouts back, ‘Fuck off, Jasper,’ but eventually he gets up. We both sit on the end of his bed, him picking the moon dust out of his eyes and complaining.
With his eyes cleared Jonah turns on his laptop and plays Leftover Crack. He dresses quickly then rolls a joint. We smoke it sat in his conservatory with cups of tea. It takes him a long time to properly wake up. It is very bright and warm in the conservatory. The sky is yellow and starting to fall.
‘Where are we picking them up?’ I ask.
‘Outside the Argos in town, at half-past.’
‘We should leave.’
‘Yea,’ Jonah says. He crushes the joint out in an ashtray.
‘Jonah?’
‘Yea.’
‘What’s up?’
He taps at his phone. I imagine he is just scrolling through contacts so that he doesn’t have to look at me.
‘Just you seem . . . ’ I say. I pause. ‘I don’t know, off. You haven’t said anything disgusting yet.’
‘It’s nothing,’ he says. ‘We can talk later. Let’s go pick up the gash.’
I laugh. ‘Okay.’
Susan Pilkington and Jenna Slater are stood waiting for us outside Argos. Susan has blonde hair and large, round breasts. She is wearing a floral skirt and white leggings. Jenna has very short, dark hair and smaller, more friendly-looking breasts. She is wearing tight jeans and an olive parka. They are both smiling and fidgeting and generally looking like nice, well-rounded human females.
Jonah grins and leans over to push open the front passenger door. Susan Pilkington climbs in beside him. This means that he has allocated Jenna Slater to me. This is okay because big breasts scare me anyway.
Jenna Slater climbs in next to me.
‘Hello,’ she says, smiling brightly. She doesn’t know that I’m going to be a Dad.
‘Hello,’ I say.
I try my best to smile. It probably looks retarded. I wonder if this is going to be like the last time I picked up girls with Jonah. No. It can’t be like that. These girls are young and sexually attractive and nice.
‘How are you?’ she asks.
I can hear Jonah fluently conversing with Susan in the front. He is good at understanding what girls want to hear. I used to be good at that but I think I have forgotten how to do it.
Time to try my best. Mum says that as long as I try my best, no one can ask any more of me.
‘Uh,’ I say, ‘I’m okay. I’m really really okay.’ I look around the car. Through the window I can see a toddler chewing the hem of her mother’s skirt. ‘How are you?’
She grins again. Wider. ‘I’m really great,’ she says. ‘The party will be good.’
‘The party will be good,’ I repeat dumbly. I am stupid. I should probably pretend to be asleep throughout this entire journey.
The drive down to Devon takes an hour and a half. Jonah makes Susan hold a map that he printed off using Google Maps and read directions. Whenever she speaks, she doesn’t seem very sure. Jonah said that he wasn’t going to drink and drive but he quickly gets frustrated and insists I pass him forward a beer, which I do, because I am a good friend.
Talking with Jenna becomes easier and easier after beers and a few joints. Jenna enjoys talking so I do not have to do much. Jonah’s driving becomes worse and worse, and after he almost collides with a caravan that has a ‘LOVE LIFE’ bumper sticker on it, Susan makes him pull over at a motorway service station and drink a coffee. Jenna does not stop talking the whole time. I’m not bothered, really. Mostly I can’t really make out the words and it is quite relaxing listening to her. It is like listening to Radio 4.
Some of the things Jenna talks about:
How Jesus is actually a pretty great guy and even though everyone is fucking up everything he still loves them because that’s just the way he is.
How playing in the National Youth Jazz Orchestra is really fun because you get to meet lots of exciting new people who tell you exciting stories that you can then relate to Jasper Wolf because he is trapped in a car with you and can’t run away.
How it would be just lovely to move to Paris in the future because Paris is romantic.
How all of the countries in the world should stop buying guns and start buying discoballs.
How Ludovico Einaudi is, like, a genius.
How Amelie is, like, the best film ever.
How blonde hair might look better but it might also look less sophisticated but I could maybe try it I suppose just with, like, a home-dye kit from like Boots or something. I don’t know. What do you think, Jasper?
I stare at her a while. ‘Oh,’ I say. ‘Yea. Yea, you look great.’
Back in the car I down a can of beer and smoke a cigarette with my head leaning out of the window. I look forward down the motorway at lanes full of impatient cars and up at the bonfire sky with its sun slowly sliding into the hills. Jenna falls asleep on my shoulder. I fall asleep with my cheek against the glass.
29
Because we are sleeping, me and Jenna miss Jonah and Susan’s frantic arguments over Where the fuck ever are we? This doesn’t look like Devon and when we wake up the car is already parked in a small muddy clearing on the edge of a wide poppy field. Jonah is stood smoking in the last of the sun and Susan is beside him. They have made up. They have put the past behind them.
We have had to park away from the house because Amanda thinks that if people park near the house they will ruin the grass and Amanda’s parents will be angry. People will probably park near the house anyway.
I nudge Jenna awake and she half opens her eyes and smiles. She shifts up and kisses me on the cheek. I try to smile at her again. I am pleased that she hasn’t started talking. Once we start kissing it will be okay because I can use my mouth as a weapon to silence her.
Jonah says that we need to walk across the field and into the wood, and in the wood we will find a waterfall with a small lake below it, which is where Polly will meet us. Polly will lead us up to the cottage. I ask why it’s Polly who’s taking us but Jonah shrugs.
Polly is a Polish boy with an effeminate face. His real name is Krasicki or something. It is probably slightly racist to call him Polly but he doesn’t seem to mind.
We take full rucksacks out of the car boot and start moving through the low light of the field. Susan removes her shirt, and me and Jonah remove ours, leaving the sun to run down our shoulders, following the tracks of our spines and forming small pools of light between the poppy stems. Jonah carries the heavy pack with the ket stove and cans of beer in; I carry the rucksack containing drugs and hummus.
Me and Jenna quickly fall behind because she routinely pauses to swivel her neck and stare open-mouthed at our surroundings.
‘It’s so beautiful out here,’ she says.
‘Yea,’ I say. ‘All green and lovely and things.’
Definitely convincing.
‘But people just don’t seem to care about it any more. They are letting nature be destroyed.’
‘Yep,’ I agree. I light a cigarette. ‘All this lovely grass and stuff being replaced by people in houses with people in them. Just awful.’
‘People won’t even give to charity any more.’
‘Everyone should give to charity,’ I say.
I think charity is like putting a plaster on a man with no skin.
‘I mean people just need to come out here and take in the beauty of nature, then they’ll understand.’
I loudly inhale through my nose and shut my eyes.
‘So beautiful,’ I say.
Christ, what am I doing. I am going to need drugs.
Jonah stops and turns to face us.
‘Let’s stop here,’ he says. ‘I’m tired and I want a joint.’
Him and Susan sit down where they are. Me and Jenna walk to where they are and drop ourselves, too, crushing poppies beneath our buttocks.
We sit in a square. Jonah fumbles with King Rizla on top of his rucksack. The light is evaporating. The sky is honey and the air is thick and fat with pollen.
‘Isn’t it so beautiful out here?’ Susan says to Jenna.
‘It’s amazing,’ Jenna says.
Jonah gives me a distressed look and I try not to laugh. There will be time for laughing after I have put my penis inside Jenna’s vagina. I imagine her pubic hair is untamed, like the field of poppies we are sat in. Maybe I will get her pregnant, too. Stop getting people pregnant, Jasper. You are not Dad material.
Get an abortion, Abby, or else I will put a horse head on my head and
come into your room late at night.
I will stirrup her life and teach her to stop saddling innocent people with ugly babies.
I have astounding wit.
I do not have Georgia Treely.
I wonder if the police have arrested Keith yet. I wonder if they have sent electric shocks through his genitals in order to obtain a confession. I wonder if Mum is relieved because she has realised what a lucky escape she has had. I am a very good son for stopping her murder. She will probably buy me a Mini Cooper.
We all doze for a while as the joint is passed around. Jonah lies on his back with his head rested up on his rucksack. Susan rests her head in his lap and ties knots in her yellow hair. Jenna smiles at me and I try to smile back but I can’t think of anything to say. She looks expectant.
I pick a poppy and hold it in my hand.
‘Heroin is made from poppies,’ I say. ‘Sherlock Holmes smoked opium.’
‘Oh,’ Jenna says.
I think about how it is illegal to sell drugs made from plants that grow everywhere but it is not illegal to manufacture a drug in a laboratory and sell it on the Internet. At least people know what the long-term health effects of heroin are, and how to deal with them. You know that if you start taking heroin then your hair will eventually turn to dreadlocks and you will eventually die. People barely even know what designer drugs are. When our generation grows up, we might all get Parkinson’s or something.
Jonah sits up and rummages in his rucksack. He pulls out a four-pack of cheap Polish beers and throws them into the centre of our square.
‘You are all drinking,’ he says. ‘I’m tired of carrying all this shit around.’
We all open beers and sit back sipping them. I can just make out the lip of the sun up over the edge of the distance. A faint vellum moon is already hung in the sky, in between suggestions of small stars.
‘The moon,’ Jenna says happily.
‘Oh, wow,’ I say. ‘The moon.’
Jonah laughs and his mouthful of beer jumps forward in a shower. It freckles Susan’s skin but she says nothing.
