Logging Off

by Spalding, Nick

  Sigh.

  I could really do with Grace here with me right now, but she’s at Heirloom, making preparations for tonight’s crowd. I’m hoping she’s going to use the caffeine-free coffee only. Everyone’s likely to be riled up anyway, and the extra stimulus is not likely to help matters.

  With constant nerves that are making my stomach do its famous clenching routine, and a head that feels thick with doubt and shame, I drive to the car park close to the coffee shop, as I do on a very regular basis these days.

  As I climb out of the car, I have a sweeping sense of déjà vu. This is not the first time I’ve parked here feeling incredibly nervous about setting foot in Heirloom Coffee. That first time the Loggers Off was assembled is still very clear in my mind, and my digestive system bubbled away then much the same as it does now.

  The café has become such a central part of my life, but I’ve never felt less like going into it than I do this evening.

  If it wasn’t owned and run by the woman I love, I probably wouldn’t.

  But that’s why it is so central to my existence . . . because she is. In a very short space of time, the gravitational pull of my life has shifted from the online world to a beautiful girl and her coffee shop.

  If I can just get out of this current mess I find myself in, then Heirloom will be a place of sanctuary for me once again – where the flat whites are tasty and the Wi-Fi is very fast (apparently). Everything might just work out OK.

  I keep this positivity in mind as I walk down the street and past one of the windows of the coffee shop. I do this with my head down, deliberately not looking in through it, and arrive at the front door, which I go through still with my head low, as if trying to remain inconspicuous.

  And then I walk into a giant wall of angry.

  Word appears to have got around, all right.

  You can tell by the way people have gone puce.

  Puce, if you’re not too sure, is a kind of purply brown colour. I used it once on a marketing campaign for a winery up in Suffolk. It’s not a colour that human skin turns to easily. The people that the skin belongs to have to be very mad at something for it to happen. And what they’re mad at tonight is yours truly.

  Yep . . . there’s Wilberforce, looking like Puggerlugs has crapped on his cornflakes. Colin looks like he wants to do unpleasant things to my person with the nearest Starfleet tricorder.

  And Josephine – the large lady who asked me if I was happy all those weeks ago – doesn’t look happy. Not by a long shot.

  I have clearly gone from hero to zero with the Loggers Off, in one foul swoop of the touchscreen.

  Dozens of angry faces stare at me as I freeze on the spot in the doorway. Many of them are wearing Loggers Off T-shirts – and a lot of them are people I recognise, but many are total strangers.

  In fact, this is easily the busiest Loggers Off has been since it started.

  I look over at Fergus, who has a look of panic writ large across his face, and Grace, who looks a lot more sympathetic, but no less worried.

  It’s clear they’ve borne the brunt of the crowd’s displeasure before my arrival.

  I am walking into the lion’s den.

  Or rather . . . I am taking one look at the lion’s den, deciding that lions’ dens are not the kind of places I want to frequent – given that I do not have a lion tamer’s licence, or access to powerful weaponry – and am turning tail, back towards the street outside as fast as my stupid legs can carry me.

  Many cries of astonishment and rage assail my ears as I do this. But I no longer care. This has all become too much for me to handle, and if I ever want to be able to unlock my jaw or take a comfortable crap again, I must get out of here! I must leave!

  I scuttle off back in the direction of the car park, fishing for my car keys.

  I have every intention of jumping in and driving away at Mach 5, when my progress is stymied by the arrival of my best friend and girlfriend, hurrying towards me with concerned looks on their faces.

  Damn them for caring.

  Why can’t they just leave me be?

  ‘Mate! What are you doing?’ Fergus says as I arrive at my restored and pond-water-free Volvo. He comes to stand right by the driver’s-side door, preventing me from climbing in and beating the hastiest of hasty retreats.

  ‘I’m leaving!’ I tell him.

  ‘You can’t do that, mate!’

  ‘Just bloody well watch me!’

  ‘Andy, it’s really not that bad!’ Grace says, coming to stand next to me on the other side. She then does the last thing in the world I want her to. She takes my hand.

  Damn her and her seemingly supernatural ability to soothe my fevered temperament with just a hand-hold! If I’m ever going to get my way again in this relationship, I’ll need to do something about that. Possibly chop the bloody thing off. Or constantly wear mittens.

  ‘Not that bad?’ I reply. ‘Did you see them? Did you see what they looked like? They want to bite my head off!’

  ‘I doubt they’re that mad, mate,’ Fergus remarks. ‘And even if they are, it’s not like you’ve shot their pets or anything.’

  ‘I’ve let them down!’ I cry in despair.

  Fergus shakes his head. ‘No, you haven’t. You only broke the detox so you could find Grace’s locket. None of them will be angry at you for that – if you just explain what happened properly.’

  I let out a cry of frustration. ‘That’s not what I mean! I let them down because I lied to them!’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I lied to them, Ferg! I made out everything about the detox was wonderful, and so they all joined the Loggers Off . . . and now I’m Kim Kardashian!’

  ‘I wish I could even begin to fathom what the hell that means,’ he tells me, ‘but I fear I am not nearly drunk enough.’

  Grace gives him a look. ‘Andy means that he thinks they’re only following him because he made out the detox was a brilliant thing. That he’s acted like all those celebrities online, talking bollocks to sell themselves to their fans,’ she explains. ‘He thinks that’s why Loggers Off exists.’

  Fergus looks at her for a moment, and then back to me briefly, before bursting out laughing and slapping his thigh. ‘Oh, bloody hell!’

  ‘What?!’ I snap at him. ‘Stop laughing!’

  Fergus calms himself down a bit and puts a hand on my shoulder. ‘Mate . . . you’re nothing like Kim Kardashian. You don’t have a massive bum, for starters. Or millions of pounds. Or a porno film . . . thank God.’ Fergus visibly shudders at the idea of Blowing Bellows 3: This Time It’s Personal. ‘And you’ve done nothing wrong,’ he continues, ‘except tie yourself up in knots about all of this.’

  ‘But I lied, Fergus!’

  He shakes his head. ‘No you bloody didn’t. You just told them about the parts of your life that you wanted them to hear. And there’s nothing wrong with that.’ He points a finger at me. ‘One of the worst things about that tech obsession of yours was the way it made you think you had to share everything, with everyone – all of the time. That’s social bloody media for you – it’s turned us all into people who think we shouldn’t keep things private any more. And that doing so is wrong!’ He stares at me. ‘You’re not required to let people into every aspect of your life, Andy! Not just because I wrote a bloody story about you for the newspaper!’ Fergus looks off to one side for a moment, lost in thought, before returning his gaze to me. ‘Living a happy life is about knowing how much of yourself you want to let people in on.’

  I lean forward, a little shell-shocked. ‘Fergus?’ I whisper. ‘Did you just say something profound?’

  ‘Oh, fuck off,’ he says in a derisory tone, and steps away from me a little.

  I smile expansively.

  It’s rare I get to do that kind of thing to him. I savour each and every occasion.

  But he makes a good point, doesn’t he? One I hadn’t considered until now.

  Is my guilt at not being entirely honest with the Loggers Off more about
how I’ve been conditioned to act online than it is about some problem with morality I’ve developed?

  I’ve been cursing myself for not being completely open with them, but am I actually required to be?

  The answer, I’m surprised to realise, is probably not.

  ‘OK, you might be right about that,’ I concede, ‘but I still can’t go back in there and talk to them. Not now. I won’t carry on with this silliness any longer. And I won’t keep telling them that everything about being on a detox is wonderful. It’s quite clear to me that I can’t give them what they want.’

  ‘Andy,’ Grace says, in a very serious tone, ‘maybe you should stop worrying about telling them what they want to hear, and have a go at telling them what they need to hear.’

  That sounds like a marvellous idea, but I don’t think it’s one I can countenance. I’m just not that brave. ‘I can’t do that, Grace. I don’t have it in me.’

  ‘Yes, you do! You’re a lot braver than you think, Andy Bellows!’ she snaps – emphasising her frustration with me by giving me a punch on the upper arm. I prefer the hand-holding as a motivational tool, to be honest.

  ‘Am I?’ I say, rubbing my shoulder.

  ‘Yes! You’re the one that started the detox in the first place. Do you know how hard it is to take a step like that? I couldn’t do it on my own’ – she points a finger back towards Heirloom – ‘and those people couldn’t do it on their own either. That’s why they’re all sitting in the café waiting for you to come and speak to them. They felt inspired by you, because you were brave enough to take that step all on your own!’

  I let out a grunt. ‘Well, they’re not feeling inspired now, are they?’

  ‘No . . . they’re not.’ She folds her arms. ‘And what are you going to do about it?’

  ‘Run away?’ I hazard.

  Her eyes narrow. ‘You found my locket for me, Andy, without caring about the consequences. You’re not the type of man who runs away.’

  Oh dear.

  I’ve got a horrible feeling she might be right.

  Deep down, I don’t think I am a coward.

  Which is something of a shame, as cowards get to run off and hide, somewhere nice and quiet with a decent Internet connection.

  Grace is right about the detox.

  I did start it all on my own. I did make that leap into the unknown.

  It was a big deal – and I am a big, brave boy who is going to march back into that coffee shop and tell all of those people the truth! Tell them what they need to hear!

  My feet are carrying me back towards Heirloom before I fully comprehend what’s happening. Best to just let them get on with it, and not ask too many questions.

  As they propel me Heirloom-wards, something else occurs to me and I whip back around to face Grace and Fergus. ‘Did you two cook up this little pep talk before I got here?’ I ask suspiciously.

  ‘No!’ they reply in unison, before looking a bit guilty and shuffling their feet.

  ‘Maybe,’ Fergus says in a quiet voice.

  ‘Yes,’ Grace admits. And then she beams at me with a smile that I will probably never be able to say no to.

  Fergus is also grinning at me – and I’m not so sure I know how to say no to him either.

  God damn it all.

  I make off in the direction of the coffee shop again, both of the cunning sods following behind me. I don’t see them give each other a silent high five . . . but I know they do it all the same.

  As I walk back inside Heirloom Coffee, all of those angry eyes turn to face me again.

  Actually, not all of them are angry.

  In fact, most people look relatively calm. It’s just that there are a few in the crowd who most definitely are extremely mad at me, and those are the ones I concentrated on when I first walked in.

  I take up my customary place in front of the counter in silence, and wait for Grace and Fergus to roll in behind me. I notice that both of them look quite happy to stand on the other side of the counter, where there is some protection from the horde.

  Gulp.

  ‘Good evening, everyone,’ I say in a level tone, regarding the crowd properly for the first time. ‘Thank you all for coming.’

  ‘HOW COULD YOU DO IT, MR BELLOWS?’ Wilberforce roars at me, making my heart rate skyrocket. Thus far I’ve only ever heard him speak in a shy, low voice. This is quite something else.

  Everyone in the room shrinks back from the enormous volume and unbridled dismay projecting from the little man. Puggerlugs – who is today dressed as Harry Potter, glasses and all – growls at me from his customary position on Wilberforce’s lap.

  ‘Easy, Wilberforce!’ Colin says. ‘I’m sure Mr Bellows here is about to provide us with a decent and above all believable answer for his betrayal of the cause.’

  Oh, good grief.

  ‘I do hope so,’ adds Josephine, looking at me daggers.

  ‘Yes! I only started my detox yesterday!’ a man at the back of the room cries. ‘I want to know why you’ve ruined yours!’

  When the man emerges from behind another couple of fuming Loggers Off, I recognise him immediately.

  ‘Lucas La Forte?!’

  ‘Yes!’ he replies, moving forward so I can see him properly. I see the expensive suit has been replaced by a rather more casual T-shirt and jeans, and the hair is a little more dishevelled. It’s like seeing the Queen naked. ‘I’ve been following everything you’ve been doing!’ he continues. ‘After we met I had a good, long, hard think about my life, and I decided I needed to change! I decided to follow your example! So, why have you let us down?! Why aren’t you who we thought you were?!’

  I blink a couple of times. ‘I’m sorry . . . are you actually mad at me because you’ve been following what I’ve been up to, and you feel let down because I’ve not lived up to your expectations?’

  ‘Yes!’

  ‘You? Herbert Glerbett and his mum’s maxed-out credit card?’

  That punctures his anger instantly, and the sheer gravitational weight of his hypocrisy forces Herbert to gulp a few times, go extremely red-faced and move back into the crowd again without another word.

  Just as well. I don’t want to have to call his mum to come and get him.

  ‘Can we talk about why you broke your detox?’ Josephine snaps, clearly impatient to get the character assassination back on track. A few grumbles and nods come from several members of the crowd in response to this.

  I take a deep breath. Best to just get this over with. ‘I broke it because I had to, Josephine. You probably all saw the message I put out on social media about finding Grace’s locket.’

  ‘There must have been another way to find it!’ Colin chimes in.

  I hold up my hands. ‘I don’t know, Colin. Maybe? But at that moment I wanted to get my girlfriend’s locket back, and that was more important to me than anything else.’

  ‘WHY?’ Wilberforce wails. ‘WHYYYYY?’

  ‘Because I love her with all my heart, Wilberforce!’ I snap at him.

  I hear Grace gasp behind me.

  I instantly go as red-faced as Herbert Bilch, as once again the crowd goes silent as they digest this latest revelation.

  A lot of them seem to visibly relax.

  Ah well . . . if love’s involved, they seem to be indicating with their collective body language, then it’s probably all right.

  This is not the way I wanted to admit how I felt about Grace to her, but I’ve gone and done it now.

  Thanks, Wilberforce.

  ‘But what about us?’ Colin pleads.

  He doesn’t quite go so far as saying Don’t you love us too, Andy? but he’s not that far away. You can tell by the look in his eyes.

  ‘You’re fine, Colin,’ I tell him, and look around the crowd. ‘You’re all fine. You don’t need me.’

  ‘YES WE DO!’ Wilberforce bellows.

  ‘No, Wilberforce . . . you really don’t.’ I look to the ceiling for a moment, composing what I’m going to say next.
I know it’s going to be important, so I’d better get it right. ‘Look . . . I never asked for any of this. But you guys needed something from me, and I tried to give it to you.’

  ‘What was that?’ Josephine asks.

  ‘Someone to tell you that detoxing is the right thing to do, Josephine. Someone to tell you that yes – you should definitely change your lives. You should take that step into the unknown.’

  ‘But we should, shouldn’t we?’ Josephine replies, looking a little stunned.

  ‘I don’t know!’ I tell her in an exasperated tone.

  Boy, it feels good to say that out loud.

  ‘I just don’t know, Josephine!’ I repeat. ‘And that’s the absolute truth. The truth you all need to hear. You may not want to hear it, but you do need to.’ I hang a quick look back at Grace, who still looks a bit shocked about the fact I’ve just admitted that I love her to everyone. She smiles and makes pushing gestures with her hands. Carry on, Andy. You’re doing well.

  ‘Detoxing has done me a lot of good, yes,’ I tell them all. ‘But it’s not all been plain sailing – no matter what I may have made you think before now.’ This earns me a few dark looks, but that’s to be expected. ‘I’ve felt . . . felt a lot of frustration. I’ve felt disconnected. I’ve felt out of my depth and a little lost.’ I hold my hands up. ‘I’ve made mistakes, and I’ve ended up in places I really shouldn’t.’

  ‘Then why the hell should we carry on doing it?’ someone in a Loggers Off T-shirt asks. I don’t recognise her at all.

  ‘Because it has also done me a lot of good!’ I say to him. ‘I did learn to live a different kind of life. I did feel better about myself.’ I look back at Grace again. ‘And I also met the woman I have just confessed my love for in front of you all.’

  ‘But that doesn’t help us decide, Mr Bellows!’ Colin points out. ‘That doesn’t tell us whether we should carry on or not! Which is it?’

  ‘I don’t know, Colin! You have to decide for yourself!’

  He gives me a confused look. ‘I can’t do that.’

  ‘Yes, you bloody well can!’ I snap at him.

  I then fix them all with a serious stare.