by Adam Watts
‘He’s not changed,’ Stan says, taking a long swallow of his grog.
‘He still reckon all this is about feral youths and a general lack of moral vigour?’
Stan laughs, but he’s faking it. ‘Something like that. It’s hard to tell what he thinks, or whether he thinks. He’ll bang on about the PCP sometimes, other times it’ll be the media or immigration or things not being proper. He’s still got that bee in his butt-crack about un-proper stuff.’
‘He’s a character…’ Wade says. ‘The PCP were a bunch of fuckers though.’
‘Thought they’d have been right up your street,’ Eve says. ‘Power to the people and all that.’
‘Nah, they screwed us.’
‘You reckon?’ I say. ‘I thought the whole reason they got elected is because they couldn’t screw us. We were the ones in control. We had the final say on everything.’
‘That’s what they wanted you to think!’ Stan says, his voice suddenly raised to a bellow at the prospect of a little conspiratorial deliberation.
‘You would say that,’ Eve says. ‘Bet you voted for them, though.’
‘Nope,’ Stan says, looking smug.
‘Seriously?’
‘Not a chance. Too much like hard work. I liked the old system; you vote for the one who seems least like a complete fuck-stick and let them get on with it, and if they’re shit, you vote somebody else in. Piece of piss.’
‘I voted for them,’ Wade says.
‘Why?’ Stan says with a look of distaste.
‘Never trusted politicians. They act out of self-interest and self-interest alone. Scum-bags. Liars. Thieves.’
‘What… and you thought putting everything to the public vote was a better way of doing it? Let every thick twat with a hole for a brain and a functioning index finger run the place into the ground?’ Stan says.
‘Well that was the idea wasn’t it? The People’s Consensus Party; so the people get what the people want.’
‘I voted for them too,’ says Eve. ‘Just for a bit of something different.’
Stan’s up now, spilling his drink about his feet, looking generally unsteady in mind, body and spirit. ‘But you’re an intelligent human with a proper functioning brain full of actual thoughts! Why would you vote for the PCP?’
‘To have more of a say, that was all. It’s not like it took much effort, it all came through on my iPhone. Press some buttons, job done. Democracy!’
‘That ain’t democracy, that’s just arrogance,’ Stan says, his frenzied gesticulations emptying his glass in great slops. ‘Thinking you can run a country properly by pressing yes or no on a phone screen when half the people voting couldn’t even read the fucking question. It’s bollocks, not democracy. Clicking on any old shit without watching the debates… that’s how come all those stupid laws got passed. You remember when they banned sex education in primary schools? Had them marching round their playgrounds to the national anthem instead. I mean, why do that? Kids have gotta learn about their bodies and stuff or else they turn into clueless fucks making bad decisions.’
‘A little ignorance on the matter of healthy relationships probably played right into your hands, didn’t it?’ Eve says, with a mirthish look in her eye. We both know the idea of Stan championing the importance of healthy sexual relationships is like Harry Cobden advocating on behalf of the Arts Council.
‘Way to make me sound like a nonce!’ Stan says. ‘But seriously, the way I looked at it was like this… I can make cake…’
‘Cake?’ Eve says, the booze dissolving the edges her words a little.
‘He can, y’know,’ I say. ‘Frida taught him.’
‘See! I can…’ Stan says before taking another drink. ‘So anyway, I can make cake but it’s not great cake, it’s dry and heavy.’
‘Are you going somewhere with this, Stan, because my bed is calling,’ Eve says.
‘Is that an offer?’
‘Keep your mind on the cake, Stanhope,’ she says, to my relief.
‘The cake… right. So there are people in this world who make excellent cake, so I figure… why not leave the cake-making to the cake-makers? I could probably have a stab at most things but I don’t bother, I leave it to the people best qualified to do the things that need doing. If I want my car fixing, I’ll take it to a mechanic. If I want my house painting, I’ll call a painter. And if I want a cake, I’ll call a cake-maker.’
‘That’d be a baker,’ I say.
‘Yeah… one of those. Bakers make cakes because I can’t be arsed and the cake would be… not that great. Elected officials make the important decisions for the same bloody reasons, leaving me to get on with the things I’m good at. Ergo… society functions. Democracy-a-go-go!’
‘Did you just say ergo?’
‘Yes, Eve… yes I did. You don’t need a degree to know what ergo means.’
‘So that’s it. Bakers bake, politicians make decisions and that’s why you didn’t like the PCP?’ I say.
‘That’s exactly it. The country went to shit because people got cocky, they thought they knew best and they didn’t. No wonder everything got so fucked up. And then they threw MIDS in there to regain some control. Here, take this pill, it’ll sort out all the shit you’ve caused by blindly voting for stuff you didn’t understand.’
‘You’re all missing the point,’ Wade says, looking unimpressed. ‘Don’t you remember the very last thing they put to the public vote?’
‘Something about increasing the tax on gay porn?’ Stan says, sitting himself back down.
Wade ignores his remark. ‘Do you agree to hand control of the country to the People’s Consensus Party?’
‘And?’ Stan says.
‘And… that was the aim all along. They were playing the long game. They weren’t interested in democracy, they just flattered us into thinking we were savvy enough to run our own country. They allowed us to screw the country up so bad that we’d practically beg them to take back control, knowing that we’d overlook all the nasty stuff they were getting up to. You want people to stop banging on about how they can do your job better than you? You give them the opportunity to try whilst ensuring their failure from behind the scenes. And then every time you feel like kicking those people in the throat and they try to resist or protect themselves, you remind them of how they faltered, how badly they did, how they’re so much better off being ruled.’
You can hear the little cogs whirring in Stan’s mind, his eyes aglow with wonder. ‘I think you’re on to something there, Wade.’
I turn to Eve. ‘There’s two of them now, Eve. What are we going to do?’
‘I don’t know, Pres. But if it ends in murder, please don’t judge me. I’ll need you to keep my secrets.’
‘Your homicidal secrets will be safe with me.’ And I mean it. I’d keep all manner of secrets for that girl.
‘So when did you become such a clever-clogs?’ Stan says. ‘No offence, but you used to be annoyingly thick.’
‘Thanks,’ Wade says, trying to be good humoured about it. He probably knows deep down that he was annoying and thick. ‘I suppose I had a lot of time to think about it whilst I was out there. Getting out and amongst it all helped broaden my understanding of a few things.’
‘Yeah…’ Stan says. ‘See, that’s what I want. I’ve been trying to get Preston to come out and play but he’s too busy figuring out how to tell Eve he’s got a hard-on for her.’
Even through the heat of the fire I can feel my face burn red. What to say in response to that? I glance up at Eve; she’s trying to laugh through it, trying to dismiss what he said as a joke, but she looks awkward. Stan is properly drunk now, so is Wade, and Eve’s getting there too, by my reckoning. Hopefully they’ll all continue drinking and Stan’s words will liquefy into the ambiguity of inebriated recollection and written off as something misunderstood or (preferably) imagined. But my silence cannot be misunderstood; it incriminates me and confirms he’s right. I have no words, because he’s said it a
ll.
I throw the remainder of my drink down my throat; my edges sudden being in need of a little rounding. I try and click back into the conversation, but it’s not easy. I hear it all but it slides straight back out of my brain like a fried egg leaving a Teflon pan. They’re talking about MIDS again, about how it affects everyone differently, how it brings out the things buried deepest, the things that affect you the most. Somebody uses the word psychoactive, somebody else talks about social conditioning and perception and a simmering rage beneath the surface of the population at large, the human spirit gradually eroding, the soul becoming blackened by broken promises and years of inequality, by the frustration of knowing that what we’re sold is never what we get. Chemistry, belief and environment all coming together to create one perfect storm. MIDS only does what you want it to do. MIDS is a political agent. MIDS is a scapegoat. MIDS is a sugar pill. MIDS is the answer, the question, the cure and the disease. I nod along, but it all sounds ridiculous and none of it sticks simply because I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to face rejection and embarrassment; I just want to leave without comment or connotation. It’s time to go home, but I can’t. I need to pretend a little longer…
This is all Wade’s fault. Things would be better if he’d kindly fuck off. But looking at him in the fire’s warm glow, his heart enlivened by good company and laughter, I can’t see that happening any time soon.
CALL MR. WONKA. THE TOUR IS CANCELLED.
‘You didn’t… please tell me you didn’t…’ Stan says, his eyes stricken, searching Harry’s self-satisfied mug for any hint that he’s being pranked. But Stan knows that Harry’s not a man to say things in jest.
‘I did. Make no mistake about it,’ Harry says, eyes closed, visibly stifling his glee.
‘What… and he just went?’
‘I didn’t give him much choice.’
Stan clasps his hands around the back of his neck. Wade was his ticket out of here, and though I’m still pissed at him for last night’s unwelcome disclosure, I’d hate for him to leave. He looks like a kid whose golden ticket’s been snatched from his clammy little hand right at the gates to the chocolate factory. I’m glad Wade’s gone, but Stan’s going to be a nightmare to live with from now on.
‘I’m sure he’ll be back,’ I say, trying to placate him.
‘No, Pres, he won’t be back. Didn’t you hear him last night? He was just checking in, then heading off. I fancied a bit of that action, and now, thanks to him, I’m still stuck in this fucking village.’ Stan gives a stare so hard it could drive a bullet through Harry’s brain.
‘I was glad to see him gone the first time round,’ says Tuesday.
‘What did he ever do to you? Disagree about which My Little Pony has the prettiest mane?’
‘Funny, Stan. Just coz he’s been over the fences, don’t mean he stopped being a twat.’
‘You’re an expert, are you?’
‘Well I know a twat when I see one. Never liked the way he looked at me neither. Them creepy little shifty eyes,’ Tuesday says, wobbling her head like some broad out of West Side Story.
‘So we’re judging him on the size of his eyes?’
‘What you talkin’ about, Stan? You used to go on about what a freak-show he was and tell me you didn’t want him round. You said he was a pervert.’
‘That was different,’ Stan says, hesitating a little. ‘It was just something I said but didn’t really mean.’
Tuesday looks at her feet, puckers her mouth up. ‘You got a nasty habit of doing that.’
‘She’s right, you know,’ Harry says. ‘He was always bad news, that one. We should be grateful he’s gone. Lord only knows why he came back in the first place.’
‘Isn’t that completely obvious?’ Stan waits for a response from the three of us but draws a triple-blank. ‘Jesus Christ… He came back to tell us that there’s no need to be stuck here. He came back with good news and you all treat him like he had leprosy.’
‘We don’t know he’s telling the truth,’ Harry says, before Tuesday chimes in.
‘He’s proper full of it. Always was.’
‘He had no reason to lie. Why would he lure us out into the woods if he knew there was danger out there? If a numpty like him can go out there and survive, then why shouldn’t the rest of us? You all look like you’re going to shit your pants any time the idea’s mentioned.’
‘Don’t be such a child, Callum,’ Harry says. Stan seems stunned at the sudden use of his real name. It was only ever his uncle who called him Callum. ‘If things are as fine out there as he’d have us believe then it won’t be long before the powers that be come and find us. There’ll be official word on the matter, and I for one am waiting for somebody with a little authority on the matter to tell me what’s what. Harry Cobden doesn’t take the word of some scuzzy little oik when it’s a matter of life and death.’
‘But you’re missing the point, Harry.’ Stan says, his tone mellowing a little. ‘Wade’s no born survivor. But if a scuzzy little oik can last six months out there without meeting his death, or at least serious injury, then surely that’s got to say something?’
Harry turns it over in his mind. Even he would have to concede that Stan has a point. ‘As much as I hate to admit it, you’re probably right about that. But all that really tells me is that there’s more to his story than he’s letting on.’
‘Oh… Jesus… Harry! Why do you have to be so tightly wound? Why can’t you just go with it? Wade went, he came back, he’s fine! You might not trust him but that’s no reason to send him away. We could’ve kept him here and observed him or whatever, figure out what his angle was.’
‘I’m sorry, but I’m not willing to discuss this any further. I made my decision and I stick by it. It’s for the greater good.’
‘The greater good?’
‘The greater good. Now, if you’ll excuse me I have some other business to attend to.’
‘There is no greater good, Harry. Not where you’re concerned,’ Stan calls after him. But Harry keeps his silence as he marches away. Stan doesn’t know what else to say. There’s probably nothing he can say. Wade is gone, and that’s that.
On any other day Stan would be casting his eye as far towards the horizon as he could manage. But today, with his golden ticket gone, he can barely lift his gaze from the floor of our lookout post. Scarcely a single word has been exchanged in the last hour and we’re both too distracted to make even a half-arsed job of lookout duty.
‘Fancy getting some lunch at Frida’s?’ I say, giving him a friendly slap on the shoulder. ‘I’m sure she said something about eggs.’
‘Yeah…’ he says quietly. ‘Eggs sure ain’t freedom, but eggs’ll do.’
We jump down and begin walking towards the village.
‘Never knew Tuesday hated Wade so much,’ I say, without really knowing why.
‘Yep…’
‘Sounds like she really hates him.’
‘Yep. She’s a hateful kind of person,’ he says, seeming overly harsh on the matter. I can’t say I particularly like the girl, but I’m not sure she’s a hateful person.
‘Are you ever going to tell me what happened with you and Tue–’
‘Seriously can’t believe the nerve of that guy,’ Stan says, cutting me off, like I knew he would. ‘What gives him the right to banish somebody like that? He acts like this is his village. It’s bull-shit, he’s not even from round here. If anything it should be your village, Preston. You’re one of the only originals left. You should challenge him. He’d have to listen to you.’
‘Look, I don’t appreciate Harry’s approach any more than you do, but I’ve gotta say, there was something different about Wade, like something had changed in him out there. Don’t know what it was, but something definitely didn’t feel right about him being here.’
‘Whatever, Pres,’ Stan says, picking up the pace. ‘You just didn’t like the looks he was casting in Eve’s direction last night. And by the way, if you’
re expecting an apology for what I said about you and her, you’ll be waiting for the next apocalypse, because seriously, you have a chance with her, and you’re squandering it, just like you’re squandering every other chance that comes your way.’
‘Wait just a minute,’ I say, catching him up and grabbing him by the shoulder. ‘What’s with the cat claws? I’m not agreeing with what Harry did, neither am I making a big deal of what you said, even though you were seriously out of line.’
Stan’s eyes are fixed and hard. He looks like every last shred of good humour and patience has left him. It’s like the fire’s burnt out and left a cold black pit.
‘All this shit you come out with about enjoying the moment, all your talk about sitting back and smelling the roses, avoiding regret or whatever you think it is. It’s all an excuse. You’re the same as Harry and Tuesday and the rest of these fucking villagers.’ Stan turns and continues his march towards the village. ‘Like rats! All of you, like fucking rats in a cage. Fuck that!’
HOLE.
For once, Harry wasn’t exaggerating. It’s a damn big hole. Of course, Harry’s creating more of a fuss about the hole than he really needs to. To Harry it’s more than a hole, it’s a breach, and he’s more than happy to run his lungs about threats to our way of life and mischievous precedents being set. It’s easily fixed and he knows it, but after the brief period of excitement around Wade’s arrival (and rather swift and unceremonious exit) it feels as though Harry is looking for any excuse to talk big.
‘We don’t know who could’ve got through,’ he says. ‘Any old nut-job might’ve strolled right in, bold as brass, and hidden himself in the village. I knew it was a mistake to have trusted you two with securing the perimeter.’
‘Then why did you give us the job?’ I ask.
‘Because in the absence of any real men, you two were my only option. Besides, it’s about the only thing you lazy pair would agree to do. Although what use it is to have you sat up in a tree talking nonsense all the live-long-day, I have no idea.’
