Anne doesn’t say anything. She likes being pale. It suits her.
‘I feel better now I’ve puked,’ says Thea. ‘What are your names, by the way?’
‘Emily,’ says Pop Girl.
‘Anne,’ says Anne.
‘Er, what, me?’ asks Dreadlocks. ‘Er, Bryn.’
‘Jamie,’ says Duke.
‘Paul,’ says Paul again. He’s going through the cupboards.
‘What are you doing?’ asks Thea.
‘Trying to find some cups.’
‘Do you think we’re supposed to . . .’ begins Bryn.
‘What?’ says Emily sarcastically. ‘“Make ourselves at home”? Of course we’re supposed to. Or – I know – maybe we could just not drink anything until we all collapse and die. Then I guess we won’t get into any trouble.’
Bryn seems offended. ‘Sorry,’ he says huffily.
‘I think we’re already in trouble,’ says Thea.
Paul looks over at Bryn. ‘I think we should go ahead and do what we want, just like the note said. For Christ’s sake, we didn’t exactly ask to come here.’
Bryn looks pissed off. He lights one of Emily’s cigarettes. Thea lights one too.
Anne’s thinking about those TV programmes where members of the public get duped by some trick or other, sometimes involving throwing puppies off a bridge (not really!) or giving someone something to hold and then running away. The joke is always that trusting passers-by will be happy to stop and help without realising that they are being set up for a joke, or will try to stop the ‘comedian’ from throwing the puppies over the bridge, without realising that there are no puppies, without realising that the joke is that there are no puppies. By trying to stop the comedian from throwing them over the bridge, the passers-by seem stupid, because the comedian and the audience know that there are no puppies.
‘So who wants coffee?’ asks Paul, having found some cups.
Everyone says me or grunts, except Anne, who doesn’t like tea or coffee.
‘What do you think they gave us?’ asks Jamie.
‘Downers?’ suggests Bryn. ‘They sometimes make me feel sick,’ he adds.
‘I don’t feel right at all,’ says Jamie, shaking his head. ‘I’m still all woozy.’
‘The coffee might make you feel better,’ says Thea. She looks like shit.
Paul opens the fridge to get some milk. Anne’s wondering what the chances are of there actually being any in there. After all, this is an island in the middle of nowhere. She’s as surprised as everyone else when the fridge turns out to be packed full of stuff, and that it’s actually cold. The fridge is plugged into some sort of rechargeable battery, which no one but Anne seems to notice.
‘Shit,’ says Paul. ‘Look at all this.’
He starts poking around. Anne can see milk, cheese, meat, several bottles of white wine, mineral water, lemonade, orangeade, butter, eggs and salad cream. It’s all from Sainsbury’s. So they’re still in the UK then.
Anne pours a glass of Evian.
Paul starts going through the cupboards. There are tins of fruit, Spam, corned beef and soup. One large cupboard contains only baked beans – about three hundred cans. Another has only packets of rice and beans. There’s also a kitchen store full of bottled water, more beans, more canned food, matches, red wine – about a case full – and other miscellaneous items in multi-pack slabs. Whoever lives here won’t starve in a hurry, or run out of matches. There’s so much stuff in the kitchen store that it’s hard to see everything. Who knows what supplies are at the back or on the top shelves? It looks as if someone’s stocked up for the end of the world or something.
‘We have, like, been kidnapped, haven’t we?’ asks Bryn suddenly.
‘Yep,’ says Paul, handing out the coffees. He frowns, but doesn’t say anything else.
‘I think maybe we’re supposed to care,’ says Thea.
Anne thinks Thea would probably try to save the non-puppies.
Paul looks at Thea. ‘I do care. Anyway, it’s all right here. It’s cool.’
‘Cool?’ says Thea. ‘You are joking.’
‘There’s more food in the fridge here than in my flat,’ he replies.
‘Same here,’ says Bryn. ‘This is like a holiday place or something.’
‘Hello?’ says Emily. ‘This totally sucks. Get with the programme. Fucking hell.’
‘We were drugged, remember,’ says Thea.
‘We don’t even know where in the world we are,’ says Emily.
‘We’re still in the UK,’ says Anne quietly. ‘Or close, anyway.’
‘What?’ asks Jamie. ‘How do you know that?’
‘Sainsbury’s,’ she says. ‘Unless our kidnappers do an international weekly shop.’
Paul laughs.
‘This is so not funny,’ says Emily.
‘It is, though,’ says Paul. ‘I can’t wait to see what happens next.’
‘I was just going to go home and argue with my mother,’ says Anne. ‘So I’d rather be executed, which, let’s face it, is probably what happens next.’
There’s a pause. A cold feeling in the room.
‘Look, it’s probably just a mistake,’ says Bryn.
‘What, like a computer error?’ says Paul, laughing.
‘Maybe it’s a trick,’ says Jamie uncertainly. ‘We should just wait and see.’
‘It’s not like there’s any other choice,’ says Thea, getting up and going to the window.
‘I’ve got to be back in London,’ says Emily. ‘I’ve got stuff to do.’
‘This is totally out of order,’ sighs Thea. ‘We didn’t agree to this.’
‘We so didn’t agree to this,’ agrees Emily.
‘Shit!’ says Bryn suddenly, looking at everyone. ‘You were all at that interview.’
‘Well done,’ mutters Anne.
‘That’s where I’ve seen you all before,’ says Emily.
‘Didn’t you realise?’ says Jamie, sounding surprised.
‘I still feel all drugged,’ says Emily. ‘But yeah, obviously I realise now.’
‘That odd little office,’ says Paul.
‘That horrible coffee,’ says Bryn.
‘Shit. We have actually been kidnapped,’ says Thea, making it official.
‘You’re quick,’ says Anne.
Chapter Two
Jamie can’t believe this girl’s being so cool. She’s intriguing.
‘So we all applied for that Bright Young Things job,’ he says.
‘Weird shit, man,’ says Bryn.
‘Is that office the last thing everyone remembers?’ asks Paul.
Everyone nods. They all look tired and slightly confused.
‘The coffee,’ says Thea. ‘I took a sip of the coffee and then woke up here.’
‘The coffee’s the last thing I remember, too,’ says Jamie.
‘Same,’ says Emily.
Jamie looks at the coffee he’s drinking now. Maybe a sip of this will take him back.
‘I don’t even drink coffee,’ says Anne. ‘I only drank a little bit to be polite.’
‘No one asked us if we wanted it, did they?’ remembers Jamie.
‘That’s right,’ says Paul. ‘Usually they ask if you want tea or coffee.’
‘That weird guy just sort of gave them to us all, didn’t he?’ says Emily.
‘There wasn’t any receptionist either,’ says Paul. ‘Just that buzzer thing.’
Jamie remembers not being able to find the place for ages. He had the right street he just couldn’t find that right number. It had eventually turned out to be a small office above a betting shop, with a grey, rusting intercom and a pile of mail inside the door. Jamie remembers being disappointed that this wasn’t a cool media place, that it was more a place for dull old things than bright young ones. He’d felt a lump in his throat as he was buzzed upstairs, knowing this had been his one chance of adventure. He’d suddenly realised that you really shouldn’t respond to those vague job ads, and you
certainly shouldn’t go all the way to Edinburgh for an interview for a job you know nothing about.
He remembers how excited he felt when the application from came back to him in the envelope he’d addressed to himself. There’d been the extra thrill of hiding the envelope from Carla; getting up early every day for weeks to intercept the mail. He’s aware that the interview seemed more exciting because he’d made it seem more exciting. Because he was applying for the job in secret it had started to feel more like an affair or a drug habit or something glamorous, and he’d had a purpose every day, sneaking around, feeling increasingly distant from Carla. Maybe that was his whole purpose, he suddenly thinks; to distance himself from Carla without actually telling her he didn’t love her.
The application form had seemed extra-thrilling because of all the questions Jamie hadn’t expected. There was the one about his greatest fear, his favourite book, and there were even a couple of those ink-blot pictures where you have to say what you think they look like. The form had led Jamie to believe he was applying for something at a big company that was interested in people, not some small, smelly outfit that may or may not have just kidnapped him.
‘Maybe it was the receptionist’s day off,’ suggests Anne, smiling.
‘It was a horrible place,’ says Paul distantly. ‘Reminded me of my flat.’
Everyone’s quiet for a moment.
‘So we all get there for ten o’clock,’ says Emily.
‘It said ten on my letter,’ says Jamie.
‘And mine,’ says Thea, sitting back down at the table, looking scared.
Everyone else nods.
‘That was pretty much all it said,’ says Jamie. ‘Just the time and place and stuff.’
Everyone nods again.
‘Yep. We all got the same letter,’ confirms Paul.
‘And there’s just this guy there handing out coffee in a dingy office,’ continues Emily.
‘Not saying anything,’ adds Bryn.
‘Didn’t he speak at all?’ asks Jamie, trying to remember.
‘Yeah, he did,’ says Thea. ‘Didn’t he say, “I’ll be with you in a minute”, or something?’
Paul frowns. ‘Yeah, something like that. I think he said “someone” rather than him.’
‘Maybe he was the receptionist,’ suggests Emily.
‘There must have been more than one person there,’ says Jamie. ‘The application form seemed too detailed. I thought it was a big company. I was sure they’d have a panel, or at least a couple of people.’
‘I thought so too,’ says Bryn. ‘I thought it seemed well professional.’
‘We weren’t really there long enough to find out,’ says Paul.
‘Did the guy have an accent?’ asks Jamie.
‘Can’t remember,’ says Anne. ‘Did he?’
No one else seems able to remember whether he did or not.
‘Then he left us to drink the coffee,’ says Emily. ‘Then we wake up here.’
‘Must have been full of downers,’ says Bryn again.
‘Can anyone remember anything else?’ asks Emily.
‘There were those roadworks outside,’ says Jamie. ‘It was noisy.’
‘And hot,’ adds Bryn. ‘Hotter than here.’
‘The room we were in seemed all dark and dusty,’ says Jamie.
‘We should still be sitting in that room,’ says Thea tearfully. ‘We shouldn’t be here.’
‘Shhh,’ says Emily, patting her shoulder. ‘It’ll be OK.’
‘It won’t, though, will it?’ she says. ‘We don’t even know where we are. Or why.’
‘Or how we got here,’ adds Jamie.
‘Well, we didn’t walk,’ says Paul, smiling.
‘We must have been flown here,’ says Anne, with a shiver. ‘I hate flying.’
Jamie’s never really met people like this before. The girls seem nice, although Thea’s all stressed and Anne’s all weird. Emily’s gorgeous, of course. The guys are different. With Paul, it’s hard to put your finger on what’s unsettling about him, but something is. With Bryn, it’s obvious. All that matted hair and his stained teeth. He looks rough. Good-looking, but rough. Jamie’s seen pictures of people like him in The Face, although not often. Is it even fashionable to do that with your hair any more? Jamie’s not sure.
‘Why would anyone want to kidnap us?’ he asks the others.
‘Yeah, you’d think they’d choose some important people,’ says Anne.
Thea’s been looking at the kitchen door every couple of seconds.
‘Expecting someone?’ asks Paul, the next time she does it.
‘I’m scared,’ she says. ‘What if they just turn up and kill us?’
‘We’ll hear them coming,’ says Paul. ‘Don’t worry, we’ll have good warning.’
Jamie wishes he’d thought of that.
‘They haven’t brought us here to kill us anyway,’ Paul says.
‘Like you’d know,’ says Emily.
‘They wouldn’t leave us food if they were going to kill us.’
Bryn gulps down his coffee. ‘Maybe we’re worth more alive.’
Anne giggles. ‘They were worth more alive,’ she repeats, in a film-trailer voice.
Jamie doesn’t really know what’s serious and what isn’t right now. How can she joke? What the hell is this place? And who are these people? Mind you, although Jamie doesn’t really understand why Anne’s being so tongue-in-cheek about being abandoned on an island with a load of strangers, he’s not actually that freaked out either. He is trying to be scared about the situation, but all he keeps doing is running through scenarios in his head. He sees himself telling people back home what happened, and how he engineered the dramatic escape. He imagines himself on talk shows, selling the book of his experiences, never having to worry about numbers again, except for the staggering sales figures.
He has briefly considered that being kidnapped might not be fun, and that this could (as the book jacket will suggest) end in tragedy, but even that outcome seems better than his actual life. He remembers how adventurous he felt going up to Edinburgh on the sleeper, fantasising about a Bond Girl mysteriously popping into his compartment and asking for his help. This situation is real, but it’s more like Jamie’s fantasy world than reality ever has been before. Being held hostage on a remote island is just so much more exciting than what he expected: boring interview, train home, Carla demanding what the hell he thought he was doing, rejection letter. And after all, it doesn’t seem as though they’re in any immediate danger.
Thea’s making some kind of fear-noise. Like a sob with no tears.
‘Oh, God,’ she says.
‘Calm down,’ says Emily. ‘It’s all right.’
‘Who’s scared?’ asks Paul, in a who’s-having-fun kind of way.
‘Shut up,’ says Thea.
‘I think we’re all scared,’ says Emily.
‘I’m not,’ says Anne.
‘Me neither,’ says Paul.
‘I’m not that scared,’ says Bryn. ‘This is better than the hotel I stayed in last night.’
‘Well, you’re scared, aren’t you?’ Emily asks Jamie.
Everyone looks at him.
‘Not really,’ he says. ‘I’m finding it quite relaxing in a weird sort of way.’
‘That’ll be the drugs, mate,’ laughs Bryn.
‘Are you actually scared?’ Anne asks Emily.
‘If I was on my own I’d be shitting myself,’ she says.
‘But . . . ?’ prompts Anne.
‘But, well, with you lot here it’s not very scary, if you know what I mean.’
‘Am I the only one who’s scared then?’ asks Thea.
‘I’m sure we will feel scared,’ says Jamie. ‘You know, when they come.’
‘Maybe no one will come,’ suggests Anne.
‘Will you shut up,’ says Thea. ‘For God’s sake. This isn’t a joke.’
‘I wasn’t joking,’ says Anne.
Jamie’s trying to work ou
t what it is about this place. It shouldn’t be relaxing, but it is. Accepting the fact that they are all trapped here, and that there are no shops or other people or any of that normality, then it sort of seems like a retreat or a health farm or something. And even the trapped feeling isn’t that intense, because they’re not properly imprisoned, and they have the run of this big house and the island. Jamie rubs his legs and tries to stand up. He feels wobbly from the drugs. Once on his feet, his legs feel too heavy to sit back down, so he walks over to the window.
Bryn’s smoking another cigarette, holding his head as if it hurts.
‘Can one of you come with me to the toilet?’ Emily asks Anne and Thea.
Paul laughs. ‘You need someone to go to the toilet with you?’
‘I’m not going upstairs on my own,’ she says.
Thea goes with her.
Outside it looks bright, and it’s probably still hot, although it’s hard to tell with it being so cool inside. There is a small orchard just beyond the window. The apples seem ripe. In fact, Jamie can see that some of them are too ripe and are rotting on the trees. He turns away from the window, crosses the kitchen and walks out into the hall.
‘Where’s he going?’ Bryn asks.
‘Dunno,’ says Paul.
Jamie had noticed a door before, under the stairs, and now he wonders if it’s a cellar door. Maybe there’s something down there, some clue as to what they’re all doing here. The door actually looked like it could be for a cupboard, but Jamie’s house in Cambridge has the same kind of door, and although visitors think it’s a cupboard, it’s a cellar. The door is on a small catch, which Jamie pushes up with his finger. Sure enough, the door opens and there are stairs leading down. It’s dark, and smells damp. Suddenly he’s scared. Maybe the others should come too. He walks back down the hall.
Paul, Anne and Bryn are still in the kitchen. There’s no sign of Emily and Thea.
Jamie clears his throat. ‘There’s a cellar under the stairs,’ he says.
‘A basement?’ says Bryn.
‘Yeah,’ says Jamie. ‘Shall we have a look?’
‘You know what they say about not going into the basement,’ jokes Bryn.
No one laughs. Maybe they think the Scream stuff is outdated. Or maybe they’re just more scared than they’re admitting.
Bright Young Things Page 6
