Bright Young Things (13 page)

‘Oh, please, not sixth-form existentialism,’ she retorts.

‘What are the ones on the left called?’ asks Emily again.

Paul shrugs. ‘The Hebrides?’ he suggests. ‘Who knows?’

‘Is anyone here from Scotland?’ asks Jamie.

No one is.

‘So we all came up from the South, then,’ says Paul. ‘That’s interesting.’

‘Maybe we were chosen with that in mind,’ suggests Jamie.

‘Hmmm,’ says Paul. ‘Maybe.’

‘Are you all from London?’ Jamie asks.

‘I am,’ says Emily.

‘Me too,’ says Anne.

‘I’m from Bristol,’ says Paul.

‘Brighton,’ says Thea.

‘Essex,’ says Bryn.

‘Oh. I’m from Cambridge,’ says Jamie. ‘Well, that’s where I live at the—’

‘Where’s this suspect list, then?’ Anne interrupts suddenly.

‘It’s here,’ says Jamie, pulling out his bit of paper. ‘Shall I read it out?’ He pauses, and then carries on. ‘OK, these are my suspects for the kidnapping. Right. There’s my mum; my flatmate Nick; my girlfriend Carla, although she wouldn’t ever do anything this radical, so I’ve crossed her off; my university tutor; and another student from my course – Julian Chan. I beat him by one point in our finals and now he hates me. That’s it.’

Pretty much everyone is laughing.

‘Your mum,’ says Anne. ‘That’s classic.’

‘I’d like to know why your mum would want to kidnap me,’ says Paul.

‘Well, that’s the thing,’ says Jamie. ‘You all have to write your own lists, and then we’ll see if we’ve got anyone in common. You know, like say Julian turned out to be Thea’s brother and Anne’s ex-boyfriend or something? Do you see what I mean?’

‘I haven’t got a brother,’ says Thea.

‘I’ve never had a boyfriend,’ says Anne.

‘You know what I mean,’ says Jamie.

‘We know what you mean,’ says Emily, nicely.

‘Does it have to be people we know?’ asks Thea.

‘I’m putting the Government at the top of my list,’ says Paul.

‘Right,’ says Thea. ‘That would be no, then.’

‘Whatever . . .’ starts Jamie. ‘Whatever you think.’

‘Can’t we do it in the morning?’ says Anne.

‘Yeah, I’m fucked,’ says Bryn.

‘I thought you said it was early,’ says Thea.

‘Yeah, well being kidnapped probably made me more tired,’ he says.

Everyone settles down again after that, getting warm under the covers.

Emily wonders if Thea feels self-conscious because of her period.

For no reason at all the tune from ‘Up Where We Belong’ by Joe Cocker and Jennifer Warnes enters her head and will not leave.

Paul wishes he could check his e-mail. It’s not like he’s expecting anything in particular, but it’s a habit. He wishes he’d picked up that magazine at Kings Cross, then he could be reading about ‘Final Fantasy VIII’ right now, rather than having to talk to this lot. He wishes he could have a hot bath. But nevertheless, he’s finding this whole experience interesting, and he’s determined not to lose his cool. Paul knows that whoever’s fucking with them will have won as soon as they all lose it, and he also knows that if this is some sort of test, then the least stressed-out person will win. Paul is planning to be that person.

‘What’s your favourite film?’ asks Thea.

‘Who are you asking?’ says Jamie.

The candles have almost completely burnt out now.

‘Anyone,’ says Thea.

‘All the Kevin Smith films, but particularly
Mallrats
,’ says Emily.

The candles both die. ‘It’s very dark,’ says Jamie.

‘What,
Mallrats
?’ jokes Emily.

‘No,’ he says. ‘In here.’

The darkness feels nice, like this is a campfire rather than a kidnap situation.

‘Duh,’ Emily says. ‘What’s yours?’

‘
Tetsuo
,’ he says.

‘
Tetsuo
,’ says Paul. ‘Hmmm.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ says Emily.

He doesn’t reply.

‘
You
like Tetsuo?’ Thea says to Jamie.

‘Yeah,’ he replies. ‘It was on BBC2 really late one night a few years ago and I thought the write-up in the paper made it sound like it was worth watching. I thought it was brilliant. I bought the video and I’ve seen it loads of times now.’

‘
Tetsuo
is cool,’ says Anne.

‘Doesn’t the cyborg get fucked by a vacuum cleaner?’ says Emily.

‘Yeah,’ says Thea. ‘That scene was hilarious.’

Paul doesn’t know if she’s attempting irony.

‘My favourite film is
Babe: Pig in the City
,’ says Anne.

‘You’re such a kid,’ laughs Emily.

‘That film is not for children,’ says Anne seriously.

‘What’s yours, Thea?’ asks Jamie.

‘
The Last Seduction
,’ she says. ‘John Dahl is my favourite director.’

‘Cool,’ says Emily. ‘Paul?’

‘What?’

‘Favourite film?’

Paul wants to say
Chasing Amy
. But there are two reasons not to. Firstly, it really is his favourite film and it made him cry. Secondly, Emily obviously likes Kevin Smith. How could she? The man’s a genius and she fucking likes him.

‘
The Curious Dr Hump,
’ he says instead.

‘Who?’

Paul summarises: ‘Mad scientist kidnaps people and forces them to have sex so he can extract some kind of love enzyme from them while zombies stand around banging tambourines.’

‘I read a book like that,’ says Emily. ‘About some scientist taking—’

‘Maybe that’s why we’re here,’ interrupts Anne.

‘Sorry?’ says Emily.

‘To have our organs harvested.’

‘Don’t be stupid,’ says Jamie.

‘Yeah, thanks Anne,’ says Thea. ‘I’m going to have great dreams now.’

‘Sorry,’ Anne says huffily.

‘Bryn?’ says Emily.

‘What?’

‘Favourite film?’

‘
War Games
,’ he says.

‘
War Games
?’ says Emily. The one with the—’

‘Two kids and the computer,’ says Thea. ‘I remember that.’

‘We are now at DEFCON four,’ booms Paul.

‘Isn’t that, like, a bit too retro?’ asks Emily. Paul imagines her frowning, trying to understand why anyone would choose what is basically an uncool film.

Bryn is silent for a moment.

It’s too dark to see anyone’s expression.

‘It was the last film my dad took me to see before he died,’ he says eventually.

Now everyone is silent. How do you follow that?

‘But apart from that, I like
True Lies
,’ he adds.

Everyone breathes a sigh of relief.

‘Action film classic,’ starts Thea. ‘Great, oxymoronic title—’

‘How did your dad die?’ interrupts Anne.

‘Anne!’ says Emily.

‘He was run over,’ answers Bryn. ‘By a pizza delivery bike.’

Paul can hear Anne trying not to laugh.

‘One of those mopeds?’ he says, to cover the choking sound coming from his right.

‘Yeah. My uncle Dave was driving it at the time. They had a feud. He finished it.’

Paul wonders what it’s like when your life is basically a black comedy.

The dark room doesn’t seem so cold any more. The thing that worries Paul is the silence. He likes it when people are talking, because then he doesn’t have to listen to the nothingness. Irrationally, he wishes a bus would pass, or a plane would fly over, or someone going past the window would laugh, just out of the pub. He misses the electric whirr of his flat and the flats of everyone he knows; the noise of fridges, freezers, computers, TVs. There is the odd sound here and there, but they are exactly that – odd. They’re countryside noises, the kind of thing Paul’s only ever heard on holiday: crickets, night insects and the occasional moth hitting the windows.

The favourites game continues. Paul’s playing a game of his own, trying to second guess everyone’s choices. And of course he’s going to pick the most ridiculous thing he can in each section. For music he chooses 5ive. Trouble is, both Anne and Emily instantly start raving about how cool they are. Emily’s obviously being ironic, but Anne? Paul’s not sure if she’s being ridiculous for the sake of it, like him, or if he’s misjudged her and she’s just like Emily. Or maybe she actually likes 5ive. In a way, Paul quite likes then, too. Particularly now Anne’s jiggling up and down next to him singing ‘Everybody Get Up’. This is too confusing.

Emily chooses Take That.

‘But which one was your favourite?’ asks Anne, still bouncing up and down.

‘Robbie, of course,’ she replies.

‘Passé!’ squeals Anne. ‘And Robbie’s way too obvious.’

‘Which one did you like, then?’

‘Mark Owen,’ says Anne. ‘I would have fucked him.’

For some reason her words sound shocking, as if a seven year old has said them.

Thea chooses Blur. As soon as she does, Emily tries to unchoose Take That and claim them for herself. Clearly the ironic choice wasn’t the one to go for this time. They start to bicker about which single came out in which year, when they bought each one, which is the best album (
The Great Escape
vs 13) and who’s met Damon. They’re neck and neck until Thea scores a point with a rare Japanese import.

‘Well, I’ve still got the issue of
The Face
with the Union Jack cover and the first
ever
Blur feature,’ Emily says.

‘Like I care,’ says Thea wearily, clearly tiring of this.

‘I love Blur,’ says Jamie. ‘But if I had to choose something different, it would be um . . . in second place, Prince, but in first place, definitely Pavement.’

‘Pavement?’ says Emily. ‘Isn’t the lead singer really sexy?’

‘Stephen Malkmus,’ says Jamie. ‘Yeah. He is.’

‘He looks a bit like Paul,’ says Anne.

‘Thank you,’ says Paul. ‘I’ll take that as a compliment.’

‘I love Pavement,’ says Anne. ‘But my choice has to be Billie.’

Paul’s certain she’s playing the same game as him now.

‘Delakota remixed “Honey to the Bee”,’ says Bryn. ‘Cool tune.’

‘Oh, I love Delakota,’ says Emily to Bryn. ‘What other stuff are you into?’

‘You know, mainly DJs like David Morales, Richie Rich, Frankie Knuckles, Norman Jay,’ he says. ‘And some of the lot who used to DJ at The Edge in Coventry, like Randall and whoever.’

No one says anything. He lights a fag, his unhealthy-looking face orange in the black.

‘Apart from that, I’m into Chicago house, happy house, handbag, happy hardcore, ordinary hardcore – although not what people call hardcore now; that’s what we all used to call
dark
and it’s shit – a bit of R&B, although not with all those fat girls singing about love and all that when-you-walked-out-that-door bollocks. TLC are all right, and I liked Eternal before Louise left. Mariah Carey. Ragga. Bit of jungle. I don’t like drum and bass much. Some people reckon it’s the same as jungle but it isn’t. I think they’re calling it UK garage or speed garage or whatever now. Fuck knows, though. I stopped following all the new stuff when it became really shit a few years ago.’

‘I don’t like current house music much,’ says Thea. ‘I know what you mean.’

Bryn sighs. ‘There was a time when Kiss FM had only just started, and you could get it in Essex if you were lucky. They had really cool stuff on late at night, and sometimes guest DJs like Cold Cut and Norman Jay. And during the day they had Dave Pierce, you know, that Radio One DJ? Right, he used to be called—’

‘
Dangerous
Dave Pierce,’ says Emily. ‘I met him in a club recently.’

‘Right,’ continues Bryn. ‘When he was at Kiss his show was really sorted. I don’t know what’s happened to him since then. Of course, in those days most people thought Radio One was bollocks, but it was all right really, because the house scene was still quite new and they got people in who really knew about it and played top tunes, and because it was still sort of underground no one really bothered about being, you know,
popular
. They certainly didn’t have any of that phone-in jukebox crap where Tracey calls in with a big fucking shout out to all the hardcore crew in Ingatestone and requests whatever her and her mates have heard while some bloke from Liverpool’s been fucking them up the arse in some Ibiza toilet. I quite like Danny Rampling, but all the other tossers on there at the moment are total wankers. All the tunes are fucking mong-out dark shit. I’d rather listen to my mum nagging me than listen to Radio One at any time from six on Friday until Sunday morning. It’s fucked. But the worst thing is that now you’ve got all these eighteen year olds who don’t remember anything about 1988 – they haven’t even heard of A Guy Called Gerald or anything that started it all off. You say A Guy Called Gerald to them kids and they’ll go, “Who?”. I don’t even know what they’re really into. Yes I do. Fucking Moloko, and those stupid fucking Ibiza albums with all that trance shit on. Have you seen
Top of the Pops
recently? It’s full of stuff like Alice Deejay, ATB . . . all that crap. I like Phats and Small, though,’ he concedes. ‘And Faithless.’