MILLIONAIRE GURU

P ak counts out my first month’s wages onto the desk. 3,800,000 rupiah. A millionaire at last. But only a little over two hundred quid in real money.

‘Thank you, but shouldn’t there be more?’ I ask.

He looks up at me. His tongue licks the mole under his lip.

‘No. I think that is all. As agreed in your contract.’

‘I haven’t had my contract yet.’ My voice is calm, despite a little anger cooking in my chest. ‘But yes, it’s the right amount for teaching here. And what about Mr Charles’s children?’

‘Oh yes. I’m sorry. You have been once?’

‘Twice.’

‘And he is happy?’ He starts counting off some more notes from the pile in front of him.

‘I think so. I’ve only spoken to him once but the kids seem to like me.’

‘Good. It is good. Here you are. Tell Julie she can come now.’ He hands me more cash which I count to be two hundred thousand.

I leave the office without saying more and go to the staff room. Julie is drawing squiggles across a nearly completely squiggled-on piece of paper.

‘In you go,’ I say.

‘Great. Hope you double-checked yours. That Pak’s a cunt.’ She gets out of her chair with such speed it spins twice after she’s left it.

‘She’s got such a way with words.’

‘She’s losing it,’ says Kim, sitting at his desk, counting out small chewy sweets from a bag. ‘Gonna bribe these little fuckers today. One sweet for every time they use irregular past.’

‘She never had it to lose.’ Jussy-boy is adjusting a Tweety-Pie tie. ‘Bribes won’t work. I’ve offered them money just to make a noise, even a fart would be welcome.’

‘Justin, you’ve got low-level little kids. They’re never going to talk. You’ve got to get them moving, get them active to enjoy learning.’ Geoff is bent over the photocopier, trying to pull a jam out of the front. There’s a sweat patch in the middle of his back.

‘Whatever. Why do you insist on calling me Justin?’ He sips from a mug of black coffee.

‘Isn’t that the name your mum gave you?’

‘Yes it is, Geoffererey, but things evolve, Geoffererery.’

Kim and Jussy giggle into their drinks. I smile.

‘Nob,’ mutters Geoff as he slams the front of the copier shut and presses start. The machine whirrs, clicks and then triple beeps. It’s still jammed. ‘Bastard.’

I sit at my desk and look in the course book. The last lesson of the week: a brief history reading about the Beatles. The Beatles? Jesus, I’m sure there’ve been other groups since them.

‘So you ready for the jungle, Newbie?’ Kim gives the side of his desk a kick and fires himself and his chair across the staff room to me.

‘Now I’m paid I am.’

‘Early start tomorrow, but me and the gang are still thinking about hitting the town for a bit tonight. What do you reckon?’ He spins in the chair. His coffee sloshes on his shirt. ‘Fuuuuck.’

‘Why not? It’s payday and it’s the weekend. I’m up for it.’

‘Fucking that’s my boy. Give me five.’ Kim holds his hand in the air.

‘No. I don’t do that high-five stuff.’ I step away from the hand. ‘We should never have given you lot Jerry Springer and all that’—I twirl my closed fist in the air—‘whoa-whoa shit.’

‘High fives are pre-Jerry, man. And what do you mean? Jerry’s a fucking homeboy.’

‘No. He’s English,’ I say as I move some bits of paper around my desk.

‘No fucking way.’

‘Way.’

‘Way,’ says Julie as she comes back in. ‘Born in Highgate tube station during a bomb raid in the war. Everything you boys have got was British first.’

She slumps into her chair and flicks her wages across her face. ‘Tried to diddle me two thousand. Cunt.’

Geoff kicks the front of the photocopier.

‘I second that. He hasn’t even given us a working copier. Cunt.’ Geoff screws up whatever it was he trying to copy and throws it against the wall.

We all look at him.

‘What?’ he says. ‘Well, he is.’ With that he picks up an armful of books and heads to his class.

‘There goes your catchphrase, Jules,’ says Kim, while sucking coffee from his shirt.

‘Never liked the word anyway. Far too rude.’

I laugh with the others. My laughter is genuine and real, and I’m surprised by its appearance. Perhaps I’m finally getting over things, finally moving on. But somewhere, deep inside, there’s a hope I’m not. There’s a little whisper saying I don’t want to move on. I’m not ready to forget.

We watch and listen to more rock covers at Hotel Garuda. We drink beer. Kim rocks from side to side and finger-drums on the table, Jussy swivels his head in near three-sixty turns to eye up the female customers, winking and twiddling his tie like Oliver Hardy. Marty strokes his beard and holds his beer to the light every now and then, as if examining an antique. Unusually, Geoff is here tonight, sat forward with his chin on his hands, examining the guitarists’ fingers for missing notes and fluffs. Julie shuffles on her chair like she’s sat on a pile of thistles and looks as if she wants to be somewhere else. Naomi knocks legs against mine; this time I don’t mind. My head feels like it’s on the verge of floating. Beer and the heat work well together, drunkenness seems to thrive in these conditions.

More Bon Jovi, more Guns N’ Roses, the Final Countdown, even some Clapton. Orange hair twirls, guitarists kneel and wank guitar necks while a packed room smokes and claps and sings along. The music and noise fill my ears. I’m smiling.

The day rolls over into the next without the blink of an eye. Time passing isn’t noticed, or perhaps it never passes and this is its natural state—uncertain and unrestrained. The moments continue to pile up or lie down side-by-side or do whatever they do, but no one is counting. Not tonight.

‘I hate this song. Come on, let’s go.’ Julie stands and moves from foot to foot. She tips the last of her bottle of Bintang down her neck.

‘What’s the rush, Jules?’ shouts Kim over a slightly sped-up version of ‘Wonderful Tonight.’

‘This song’s shit. Come on, let’s go to Ghekko. I want some obat.’ She’s poking all of us in succession, as though trying to turn us on. ‘It’s the weekend. This is shit. Come on.’ She’s moving about like she’s about to wee herself.

‘I think the lady wants some rave,’ says Jussy, who is also standing, ‘and that’s not a bad idea.’

Naomi moves one up in the body parts contact game and puts her hand on my leg. ‘Yeah, come on. Let’s get stupid.’ Her voice stabs through the music into my ear.

—She already is stupid.

—Back again?

—Not leaving you alone with this man-eater.

—Nothing to worry about. I’m not interested.

—Right.

‘But what about the jungle?’ I ask. I want to get wasted, clear my head of impossible conversations and impossible people. But I also don’t want to screw up my first trip out of the city. New Me versus sensible Old Me. I’m getting annoyed he’s still hanging on in there.

—Leave him alone. At least he’d never have fallen for Bright Teeth there.

‘We’ll still do it. Sleep on the bus.’ Naomi is pulling my hand. ‘Come on.’

—Sleep on the bus, sounds good.

‘OK. That suits us.’ I stand.

‘What?’ she shouts over the cacophony of noise.

‘That suits me,’ I say. ‘That suits me.’

We arrive at Ghekko in two taxis. Julie’s is there first, and by the time we pull up she’s yelling at a confused-looking taxi driver. Geoff is standing slightly back from the scene looking worried as always and Marty is rubbing Julie’s back trying to calm her down. The rest of us drop out of our taxi; I’m the only one who actually falls onto his hands and knees.

‘Whoa there, Newbie. You OK?’ Kim helps me up.

‘Yes. Thanks. Not used to the drink.’ I brush myself down and see Julie throwing three notes onto the bonnet of the taxi.

‘And fuck you, you fucking racist,’ she says as she walks away, shaking her hair back and sticking her chin up in the air. The driver pounces on the notes before a warm breeze can float them off his car.

‘What was that about?’ Kim says as we all try to catch up with Julie. She’s already going through Ghekko’s doors.

‘Taxi quoted ten thousand and then charged twenty. Said ‘cos we were white we could afford more,’ Marty explains.

‘Then?’ says Kim.

‘Well Jules didn’t like that. Said he was a racist and she wanted the Indo rate.’

‘Driver’s got a point.’ Naomi is now knocking elbows as we go into the club.

‘Has he?’ I ask. ‘Shouldn’t we all be treated the same? If it happened back home…’

‘But we have got more mon…’ Geoff’s voice is lost on the other side of the door as deafening sound and blinding darkness engulf us.

I feel a flutter of panic in my chest. I wonder if it’s because of Old Me or the place, but Old Me stays quiet and keeps himself to himself; it must be the place.

We’re huddled together like worried sheep until our eyes adjust and a waiter comes to us with a torch. We follow and are shown some near-invisible tables and chairs that appear every now and then in the minimal disco lights. I grope for the back of my chair and lower myself onto the plastic. It feels like it’s been nicked from a classroom. I try to blink the darkness from my eyes and it works a little. There are only two sets of disco lights and a neon strobe in the corner of the room, which gives us all glowing purple eyes and skin and surreally bright white teeth. Naomi is sat next to me again and her face is suddenly covered in freckles unseen before. I give her a wide toothy grin and she laughs.

‘You look freaky,’ she says.

‘So do you. You’ve got so many freckles you’ve got a pizza face.’

Her smile falters for a second but then comes back, albeit less confidently.

I’m not too bothered. So what if I hurt her feelings. Get in there, Newbie; time to not give a shit. Even if I have to force it.

Drinks come. My eyes get used to the dark and people start appearing at the tables around us and in gloomy corners like beasts coming out of a mist.

Julie tugs on the waiter’s sleeve and says something in his ear. He nods and walks off.

‘Sorted,’ she yells across the table.

‘Good girl,’ Kim yells back, but I see the words more than hear them above the thump of bass.

‘What’s she asked for?’ I ask Naomi.

‘Obat.’

‘What’s that?’

‘Medicine.’

‘Medicine?’

‘Ecstasy.’

‘From the waiter?’

‘It’s how it works here. All these clubs push their own drugs.’

The waiter returns and hands Julie something. She hands over some money then offers pills out around the table. Geoff shakes his head and pushes his chair away from our circle. Jussy takes one and pops it in his mouth, Kim and Marty also. Naomi shakes her head. I shake mine; so much for not giving a shit. Wimp.

Julie gets up and comes round behind me, leans down and yells in my ear.

‘Go on. They’re good stuff in here.’

I shake my head again.

‘Go on. Chill out.’

I shake my head again.

‘Maybe later,’ I mouth at her.

She shrugs her shoulders and dance-walks her way back to her chair, little white bits of fluff glowing in her hair under the UV.

‘Never done it?’ asks Naomi.

Shake and point back at her.

She nods and says, ‘A couple of times. Not tonight though. Don’t want to be too stupid. Want to enjoy tomorrow.’

Julie and Jussy are now on the dance floor. There are three girls in tight jeans and a man dancing together and that’s it. Jussy has his eyes closed and is mostly dancing with his arms and Julie is spinning in circles, interweaving her hands above her head like some hippy chick in an old Woodstock documentary.

Kim rolls his head around on his shoulders while tapping along on the table. Marty is smiling to himself, watching Julie. Geoff gets up and raises his hand to us all.

‘You off?’ I shout.

He says into my ear, ‘Not my thing. You want to share a taxi?’

I squeeze a little don’t give a shit out and tell him I’m staying, even though something or someone in me is desperate to get out and go home to a safe bed.

‘OK.’ Geoff pats my shoulder and leaves.

One song, if that’s what they are, melts seamlessly into another, the same beat continuing from tune to tune. Beers become whis-keys and the taste stirs up the unwanted.

—You enjoying this? asks Laura.

—Sort of.

—You should take a pill. Be really stupid.

—I will if I want.

—Be a big boy. Shag old Freckles here later.

—I might. Can’t exactly shag you, can I?

—Think of me while you’re doing it.

—I probably will.

—That’s not very nice for Freckles, is it?

I get up and nearly knock my chair over, staggering away to leave Laura to her jealousy. I trip out onto the dance floor. Julie is still spinning but her eyes are now open. She sees me and smiles and runs her fingers through her hair, lifting it and letting it drop down over her face. She looks relaxed for the first time since I’ve met her.

My body parts move in no particular order. By luck one or two of them find a beat to follow. Naomi dances next to me and moves the right parts to the right time. Julie turns me back around to face her and her finger is between my lips, pushing something in. It’s small and round and sits on my tongue for a second seeping bitterness until Julie pinches my nose and I swallow.

‘Take your medicine,’ she yells into my ear. ‘Relax. Go with it.’ She ruffles my hair and spins off across the floor, bumping into the man with the three girls. They all laugh and Julie is part of their group now.

I turn back to Naomi and she is only inches away. Perfume and fresh body odour waft around her. Laura gets up and leaves.

Yeah, good. Bugger off.

The moments are flying around like leaves caught on a breeze; circling, rising, falling, circling, rising.

I catch one and me and Laura are running in the rain, laughing. I squint to try and see where we are. But the moment is blown from my hand. I go to grab another and I miss. There is only me and these moments flitting around, out of my grasp. I am reaching out in all directions but I can’t get hold of one, no matter how high I jump or how fast I move. I don’t want to lose them. I need them.

I finally close my fist over one and open it. I see her holding a melon to her nose in a supermarket. Then that too is lost, impossible to hold as a gust picks it up. It swirls off and joins the others spinning around in front of my eyes. The beating of his heart is loud and fast in my ears. I want to block it out, I want to be left alone and gather all these pieces up in my arms and hold them close so I can never lose them. I only manage to get my fingers on one sole moment: we watch James Stewart running up a street in the snow yelling, ‘Merry Christmas, merry Christmas everybody’, and she is curled up under my arm with her head on my chest. She says the lines along with Jimmy. Dampness through my T-shirt.

‘Are you crying?’ I ask.

‘Aren’t you?’ she says.

And I touch my eye and there is a drop of moisture in the corner.

The moment flits off. Darkness. I can see nothing, but I hear crisp little sounds around my ears, near and far, like bats circling in the night, audible in the blackness even though the drum of his heart is so strong I can feel it vibrating through me.

I grab out blindly, hoping to find something to hang onto, to fill this void. What am I without these moments I’ve guarded and kept and cherished? What is my reason for being if I haven’t got them? How is he doing this to me? Why is he doing this to me? Does he even know what he’s doing?

I manage to get another and the darkness falls away. It’s squashed in my palm and I turn away from the wind and open it up, keeping it in my hand with my fingers pressed down hard against it. I watch as it shows me the moment, a lump in my throat, feeling small and stupid again.

‘Why were you kissing him?’

‘I wasn’t, I was hugging him.’ She shakes my hand off her shoulder and yanks open the taxi door.

‘Hugging, kissing. Why were you doing it?’ I push myself in beside her before she has a chance to shut the door on me. She slides across the seat until she is elbow, hip and knee against the far door. The gap between is full of ice.

‘Because he’s a friend. And I don’t have to explain it to you, but I will if it makes you shut up.’ She pulls her skirt down over her thighs. ‘I’ve known him since I was ten. I haven’t seen him for about a year and his sister died six months ago.’ She shrugs her shoulders. ‘So I gave him a hug.’

I say nothing. An embarrassed blush heats my face.

‘Where to, mate?’ asks the driver.

‘I’m sorry, you know,’ I say, ignoring him, ‘I just came back into the room and you were hugging. I didn’t know. I’m sorry.’ I go to touch her leg but she somehow makes herself even more compact against the door.

‘The meter’s running. Where to?’

I find myself looking at the driver’s eyes in the rear-view mirror. I can even feel him accusing me.

‘Beacon Avenue,’ answers Laura.

‘I’m sor…’ and I lose it. My fingers haven’t the strength to hold it anymore. I’m back in the darkness, my arms swirling around me, feeling for anything, hoping for the rest of that moment to fall into my fingers so that it is resolved, or for a moment of laughter or love or intimacy. But I’m flailing, like a man without his parachute, falling through a vacuum.