Bright Young Things

by Scarlett Thomas

  ‘Haven’t you seen the way he looks at you?’ asks Thea.

  She doesn’t say this like a friend. More the way you’d say it to a stupid person.

  Anne doesn’t get this situation. She’s sitting here, kidnapped, on a deserted island in the middle of nowhere, with two girls she’s never met before – one of whom despises her – and they are trying to give her relationship advice. Even without the kidnap and the island, this is still weird. Her friendships, few and intense, have always been about the other person relying on her; looking for her insights on a situation. No one has ever dared to offer Anne advice. After all, she’s an expert in sex and love affairs and anorexia and bullying and pregnancy and death and abortion and religion. What would she need advice on? Anne would never approach someone else for advice or interpretation. There are two reasons for this. First of all, she isn’t interested in anyone else’s advice or interpretation. Secondly – and crucially – she never gets into situations that would require her to seek advice in the first place.

  ‘No,’ she says. ‘You’ve got it wrong.’

  ‘Whatever you say,’ says Thea, obviously having tired of the subject.

  The fire has started blazing and is making a comforting whooshing noise.

  ‘It’s very quiet,’ comments Emily. ‘Without traffic or anything.’

  ‘When do you think we’re going to get out of here?’ asks Thea.

  ‘Who knows?’ says Emily. ‘When they find us.’

  ‘If they do,’ says Anne. ‘Which doesn’t look likely now.’

  ‘I’d like to punch whoever’s responsible for us being here,’ says Thea.

  ‘Aren’t we responsible for being here?’ asks Emily, clearly trying to be profound.

  ‘We didn’t kidnap ourselves, did we?’ says Thea. ‘That would be the bad guy.’

  ‘Or bad guys,’ says Emily.

  ‘Maybe it wasn’t a bad guy who brought us here,’ suggests Anne.

  Thea looks at her as if she’s gone crazy.

  ‘Whatever,’ she says.

  Anne feels like she’s on Ricki Lake. All Thea needs is the hand movements.

  ‘What do you think the boys are doing?’ asks Emily.

  ‘Probably playing “Ultimate Snake”,’ says Anne.

  ‘What’s “Ultimate Snake”?’ asks Thea.

  Chapter Fourteen

  So far today, Jamie’s fucked up a lot of things. The only thing he didn’t fuck up was being there for Thea, which is pretty cool considering Jamie’s never been required to ‘be there’ for anyone before. Occasionally he’s been relied on for support, which is something entirely different altogether. Being there for your friends sounds more campfire, somehow; more Dawson’s Creek. Which is cool.

  Jamie’s had a fixation with Dawson Leary since Channel 4 began showing the first series a couple of years back. It’s Jamie’s all-time favourite TV programme, not that he’d tell the others of course; it would make him seem far too childish. Most romantic heroes these days are dark – in looks and theme – but Dawson being blond was just the first cool thing about him. He was kind of a nerd as well, staying in his room watching films and doing homework and planning projects. The only thing Jamie objected to was the way Dawson coveted Joey. He was much more in favour of Jen, not because of her alcohol-fuelled almost-threesomes and near-suicidal tantrums. It was the idea that she could change from all of that – change for Dawson, or sometimes, late at night, for Jamie.

  He tries to think of this as something more than a total cliché. It’s not like he wants a woman with a past so he can reform and own her. Maybe he likes the idea of exploring his own wild side, or maybe in some weird way he feels that he’d have more in common with a woman who’s interested in experimenting with life a bit. If Jamie was ten years younger, Jen would be his perfect woman. Whatever anybody says, she’s so much cooler than Joey. She comes from New York, for God’s sake. She’s cosmopolitan and cool. And that’s what Jamie is going to be one day, with a cool girl like Jen; still wild enough to be fun, but settled enough to love only him.

  Paul and Bryn are playing ‘Ultimate Snake’. Jamie can’t beat either of them, so he’s just sitting at the kitchen table vaguely watching them, thinking, wondering if the girls have lit the fire yet, and when the kidnappers are going to come.

  ‘Did we ever work out what we’ll do when they come?’ he asks.

  ‘The kidnappers?’ says Bryn. ‘We’ll kick their butts.’

  ‘What if there are more of them than us?’

  ‘We’ll die,’ says Paul. ‘Unless we do the Home Alone thing.’

  ‘That film was funny,’ laughs Bryn. ‘That little kid and all them gadgets.’

  ‘I haven’t seen it,’ says Jamie.

  ‘It’s wicked,’ Bryn assures him. He coughs. ‘Has anyone got a fag?’

  Jamie gives him the last but one Marlboro, and then lights the last one for himself. He’s concerned that he’s not getting the most out of this situation. As a child, Jamie always made sure he got the most out of things. Even now, as an adult, he won’t leave a museum until he has seen everything in it; won’t skip any exhibits in an art gallery. When Jamie was really little, his mother was very poor, and he always felt incredibly guilty for wasting anything that she had paid for. At the cinema he always tried not to blink too much, or get distracted, and if he got a new toy he played with it until it literally wore out. He’d finish every bag of sweets, no matter how sick he felt, and he always swallowed chewing gum rather than throwing it away. Any experience had to be savoured totally; initially so his mother knew he was grateful, but later, as it became a compulsion because Jamie didn’t ever want to feel that he had missed something.

  This experience is a variation of all the adventures that Jamie has always dreamed about. These adventures always start with the words: Against all the odds. Against all the odds, Jamie survives an expedition to Antarctica. Against all the odds, Jamie survives a plane crash in the jungle. Against all the odds, Jamie survives after being kidnapped and held on a remote island.

  There are several reasons why he doesn’t feel like he’s getting the most out of this experience. First of all, the odds aren’t really there. There are no odds to be up against, and surviving isn’t that hard in a house well stocked with food and drink. Secondly, the experience is being ruined by the other-people factor. Bryn’s already pissed Jamie off by chopping the logs himself, then ruined Jamie’s fire by covering them in vodka. He’s even better at ‘Ultimate Snake’ than Jamie. Paul seems to be operating on his own plane entirely. Already the kitchen is a mess of wires and LEDs and things which have become detached from other things, or attached to new things. Paul reminds Jamie of the evil boy in Toy Story (which he has seen), deconstructing everything and then putting it back together the wrong way.

  For the last hour or so, the boys have been intrigued by the voices coming out of the sink. At first it was frightening, until they realised that they were actually hearing the girls talking in the sitting room. No one understands how this works. Paul explained it’s probably a pipe. After the novelty wore off, and after they’d all finished laughing at Paul’s supposed crush on Anne, the voices had become like a soothing radio programme. Now the girls’ conversation has suddenly turned pornographic.

  ‘Do you shave it?’ Thea’s saying.

  ‘Me?’ comes Emily’s voice. ‘Of course.’

  ‘What, totally?’

  ‘No. I leave a little bit at the top. Like porn stars.’

  ‘Oh, I know what you mean,’ says Anne.

  ‘I don’t look at porn,’ says Thea. ‘So I wouldn’t know.’

  ‘Shame,’ comments Paul.

  ‘Shut up,’ says Jamie.

  ‘Emily’s probably been in it,’ comments Bryn. ‘That’s how she knows.’

  They listen to the voices again.

  ‘Porn’s cool,’ says Anne.

  ‘I thought you were a virgin,’ says Thea.

  ‘Doesn’t mean I can’t look at porn.�
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  ‘Doesn’t it make you want to, you know, do it?’ asks Emily.

  ‘Yeah, of course,’ says Anne. ‘But there’s nobody to do it with.’

  Paul laughs. ‘Hello?’ he says to the sink. ‘I’m over here.’

  Jamie’s got an erection. Not just from Anne, but from the way all the girls are talking.

  They continue.

  ‘So is that the only reason you haven’t fucked anyone?’ asks Emily.

  ‘What?’ says Anne.

  ‘You think nobody wants to.’

  There isn’t any sound for a second. Maybe she nodded.

  ‘That’s stupid,’ says Emily. ‘Anyone would want to fuck you.’

  ‘So how come I’m still a virgin?’ asks Anne.

  ‘Maybe they think you’re too childish,’ suggests Thea.

  ‘Ouch,’ says Paul. ‘What a bitch.’

  ‘She’s all right,’ says Jamie. ‘She’s probably only joking.’

  ‘Oh shit!’ comes Emily’s voice.

  ‘What?’ says Anne.

  There’s the sound of one or more of them moving around.

  ‘My apple pie,’ says Emily. ‘Shit, I’ve got to . . .’

  There’s the sound of a door opening and then someone running down the corridor. Emily bursts through the kitchen door and heads straight for the oven.

  ‘Where’s my apple pie?’ she demands, when she finds it empty.

  ‘I took it out,’ says Paul. ‘It was done.’

  She gives him a big smile. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘It’s on the side,’ says Paul.

  ‘Cool,’ she says. ‘Who wants some?’

  ‘Me,’ says Jamie.

  ‘Me,’ says Bryn.

  ‘Me,’ says Paul.

  Someone coughs. It isn’t anyone in the kitchen.

  ‘What was that?’ asks Emily.

  ‘What?’ says Paul.

  ‘That cough. It sounded like Thea or Anne.’

  ‘I didn’t hear anything,’ says Bryn.

  ‘Weird pipes,’ says Paul, adding, ‘We heard everything you just said.’

  ‘Oh,’ she says, blushing. ‘Well, anyway, shall we have apple pie in the other room?’

  ‘Aren’t you supposed to have befores before you have afters?’ asks Bryn.

  ‘What?’ asks Emily.

  ‘Well if this is, like, dessert, then have I missed something?’

  ‘If you want anything else, you can get it yourself,’ she says. ‘I’m not your cook.’

  ‘God,’ he says. ‘Touchy.’

  ‘Fuck off,’ she says.

  ‘Is there any cream?’ asks Paul.

  ‘Yeah, there’s some in the fridge, isn’t there?’ says Emily.

  ‘I’ll bring the bowls,’ says Jamie.

  With Emily carrying the apple pie and a knife to cut it, Jamie carrying six bowls and spoons, and Bryn carrying the cream and some red wine from the kitchen store, they all walk through to the sitting room. Bryn’s been grumbling about there not being any lager or fags. No one imagines there’d be any cigarettes anywhere in the house, and so there’s a panic breaking out among the smokers.

  ‘Would there be any stashed anywhere, do you think?’ he asks.

  Emily shrugs. ‘I said I didn’t smoke on the form.’

  ‘What form?’ asks Bryn.

  ‘The application form. There was a question asking if you smoke.’

  ‘Oh, that,’ he says.

  ‘What did you say?’

  He thinks back. ‘I probably said I didn’t.’

  ‘Why would you say you don’t smoke?’ asks Paul.

  ‘You never admit to smoking on application forms,’ says Emily. ‘Most offices have a no-smoking policy nowadays, so if you say you smoke, you’re instantly telling your employer that you’d spend half the day standing outside wasting time. Anyone would much rather employ a non-smoker, so you just have to pretend you are one.’

  ‘What did you say on your form?’ Jamie asks Thea.

  ‘The same,’ she says. ‘That I don’t smoke.’

  ‘Great,’ says Jamie. ‘We’re fucked, then.’

  ‘As if what we put on the form’s going to make any difference,’ says Thea.

  ‘I said that I smoke,’ says Anne.

  ‘What?’ says Jamie.

  ‘On that form.’

  ‘But you don’t smoke,’ says Emily.

  ‘I know,’ says Anne.

  ‘Do you always lie on forms?’ asks Paul.

  ‘Yeah,’ she says.

  ‘I’ll go and look in the kitchen,’ says Emily. ‘In that big larder thing.’

  When she comes back, she’s carrying 200 Silk Cut and 200 B&H.

  ‘I could only find these,’ she says, grinning.

  ‘Cool,’ says Bryn.

  ‘Where were they?’ asks Jamie.

  ‘With the medical supplies,’ she says. ‘Behind the beans.’

  ‘Medical supplies,’ says Paul. ‘Interesting.’

  ‘And the seeds,’ she adds mysteriously.

  ‘What seeds?’ asks Jamie.

  ‘For growing things. Herbs and stuff. Food.’

  ‘Weird,’ says Thea.

  ‘I’ll try a B&H,’ says Jamie, taking a packet out of the box.

  ‘Let’s have one of those, mate,’ Bryn says to Jamie.

  Jamie wonders why Bryn doesn’t just take a whole packet for himself.

  Thea takes a box of Silk Cut.

  Everyone’s happy.

  Chapter Fifteen

  It doesn’t take long to finish the apple pie. Bryn’s moaning about there not being any other food, although there’s plenty in the kitchen. Thea’s not saying anything very much, although Bryn seems to have forgotten about what happened between them earlier. Either that, or he doesn’t care. Their special moment is now completely lost, though, for good or bad, and it looks as though Thea will just have to forget about the kiss she thought she might want.

  The fire’s made the room cosy and warm. The flames are giving everyone a costume-drama glow. People are watching other people when they think they’re not looking, maybe searching for something in their faces. Who knows what they are seeing. Bryn and Emily are sitting together on one sofa, with Anne sitting on the floor in front of it. Thea’s on the other sofa with Jamie, and Paul’s on his way out of the door.

  ‘Where are you going?’ asks Emily.

  ‘Kitchen,’ he says. ‘I’m going to bring “Ultimate Snake” in here.’

  ‘Bring us something to eat,’ says Bryn.

  It’s totally dark outside. But it seems cosier tonight with the fire and electric lights.

  ‘That light’s too bright,’ says Bryn.

  ‘Turn it off then,’ says Emily.

  ‘Won’t it be too dark if we do that?’ says Jamie.

  ‘We should get the candles,’ says Emily. ‘It’ll be nice.’

  Anne’s reading something.

  ‘What about Anne?’ says Jamie. ‘She’s reading.’

  Anne puts the book to one side and yawns.

  ‘I’ve finished,’ she says. ‘Candles would be cool.’

  ‘What is that you’ve been reading?’ asks Bryn.

  ‘Nothing,’ she says. ‘Just some space-community utopia thing.’

  ‘I’ll go and get the candles,’ says Thea.

  Paul’s sitting at the kitchen table, eating what looks like a cheese sandwich.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Thea asks him.

  ‘Eating a cheese sandwich,’ he says.

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘How are you feeling?’ he asks her.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Are you still scared?’

  ‘Yes, of course I am. Aren’t you?’

  ‘No.’

  He takes a huge bite from the sandwich.

  ‘Are you really a vegetarian?’ she asks.

  ‘Yeah. Why?’

  ‘Me too,’ she says, and smiles.

  She sits down next to him.

  ‘Do you want
a bit?’ he offers. She takes the second half of the sandwich.

  ‘So why aren’t you scared?’ she asks.

  ‘Death doesn’t bother me,’ he replies. ‘That’s it. If you believe that death’s the worst thing that can happen to you, and you can make yourself not afraid of it, then there’s nothing to be scared of.’

  ‘That reminds me of a poster my old flatmate had in the bathroom,’ she says. ‘Something about there being only two things to worry about . . . Oh, I know, it goes, There are only two things to worry about, either you are sick or you are healthy. If you are healthy, there is nothing to worry about. If you’re sick, there are only two things to worry about, either you will live, or you will die. If you live, there is nothing to worry about . . . It ends up with you either happy in heaven, or happy in hell, shaking hands with your friends.’

  ‘I know it,’ says Paul. ‘It’s true. There is nothing to worry about.’

  ‘But you worry all the time,’ she says.

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘I can see it in your face. You worry about loads of things.’

  ‘Yeah,’ he smiles. ‘I do worry about normal things. I worry about GM food.’

  ‘Why?’ she asks.

  ‘Because it will kill us all. That’s why I’m not worried about death.’

  ‘But you worry about it because it will kill us. That doesn’t make sense.’

  He smiles. ‘I just mean it’s inevitable.’

  ‘It’s inevitable that we’ll all die one day. We don’t have to like it.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t like it,’ says Paul. ‘I’m just not scared in a panicked way.’

  ‘Right.’ She finishes the sandwich, including the crusts, and lights a cigarette. ‘Oh, I forgot to say,’ she says.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I think there may be a way down the cliffs.’

  ‘Didn’t Jamie look all around there yesterday?’

  ‘Not on this bit,’ she says. ‘You have to go over a rock, and then it seems as if you might be able to climb down. If we built a boat or something we could make an attempt at getting away from here.’

  Paul looks less excited than she’d hoped.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ she asks.

  He shrugs. ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Don’t you want to escape?’