When Luke woke up on Wednesday morning he had that feeling like he’d forgotten something important. It was a weird feeling, because Luke’s never really forgotten anything in his life. There’s not exactly much for him to forget. All his memories are collected around him in this room. Luke’s never out; rarely unavailable. He may well be the most organised person on earth. At least, he may well have been, before he decided to drink beer.
If an e-mail comes through, the computer makes a noise. If someone wants to speak to Luke on the phone, the computer makes a noise. When Wei tried to get through on the phone at eleven last night – as arranged – the computer didn’t make a noise. Luke had muted the sound when Chantel was looking at websites because she didn’t like the music. Then he got drunk and forgot to put the sound back on.
Charlotte came over soon after Luke woke up, looking like she’d just got up herself.
‘I’ve fucked it up,’ he said to her. ‘I’ve let Wei down.’
She made a phone call.
‘We’re going to see him,’ she said. ‘In Wales.’
It was as simple as that.
Then she showed Luke how to do the Hero, the Tree, the Cobra and the Cat instead of his usual exercises. While Luke stretched himself into these positions he considered the possibility not only of leaving the house, but also of going to Wales, wherever that was, and felt oddly sick at the thought of everything.
It’s almost nine when Julie rings. It’s dark and raining. Charlotte’s gone home.
‘We’re on our way over,’ Julie says.
‘We?’ says Luke.
‘Me and David.’ She sounds breathless. ‘We left The Edge.’
‘What, as in . . .’
‘As in walked out.’
‘Why?’
‘The manager was being a dick. David told him he was exploiting us.’
‘Good for David.’
‘We’ve got Leanne with us as well.’
‘Lucky you.’
Julie doesn’t say anything. Probably because Leanne’s there.
About ten minutes later, David walks into Luke’s room alone.
‘All right, mate?’ David says.
‘Oh – David. Hi. Where’s Julie?’
‘Out in the car with Leanne still. Leanne’s having a “mare”.’
‘A what?’
‘A nightmare. A crisis. She said she had to talk to Julie.’
‘Maybe she’s broken a nail or something,’ Luke says.
David laughs. Luke motions for him to sit down.
‘I’ve had a bit of a weird day,’ Luke says.
‘Join the club, mate.’
Luke’s breathing feels funny. There’s an unfamiliar uncertainty swirling around inside him like clothes in a washing-machine in one of those whiter-than-white commercials. Julie’s not here. David’s here and Luke likes David but he doesn’t know him very well. He’s not sure what to say to him. Julie’s not here. She’s late. She’s left her job. How is Luke going to tell her that she’s got to go with him to Wales? Where is Wales? Luke sees a street sign in his head, like the ones in American films: You Are Now Leaving Essex – Welcome To Wales. Will it take ten minutes to get there? Half an hour? It can’t be longer than that, surely. If it takes ten hours to get to California, then it can’t take that long to get to Wales. Maybe fifteen minutes.
One of Luke’s favourite programmes is starting on BBC2. It’s this thing about a group of people connected to a new Internet company. Luke found the first episode a bit tedious, then got hooked. He understands the Internet-related elements of the plot, and the narrative drive is very strong. They should have more TV shows based on the Internet, or people shut in houses. Usually, Julie would be here, and they’d watch the show together, in silence, like they always do, with their agreement – more than ten years old now – to discuss a show only after it’s finished. One of the many things they agree on is that if you discuss something while it’s happening, you miss it. Luke suddenly wonders if journalists feel they don’t experience the events they report because of this. He thinks of mentioning this thought to Julie, but she’s not here, and David is.
‘I hate this fucking programme,’ David says. ‘Sad fuckers.’
Luke switches over. A Will Smith film is on. There are aliens.
‘I like this,’ David says. ‘Bang! Shit! Fucking kill it!’
Luke sets the video to BBC2 and presses the record button on the remote.
‘Where’s Wales?’ he asks David.
‘Down the M4, mate.’ David stares at the TV. ‘Behind you! Fuck! Kill it!’
‘What’s the M4?’
‘A road.’ David looks confused for a moment. ‘Shit, I forgot. You wouldn’t know about roads and stuff, would you? You’ve probably never been on a road, have you?’
‘No.’
‘Why do you want to know where Wales is?’
‘I’m going there.’
‘Seriously?’
‘Yeah. But don’t tell my mother.’
David laughs. ‘Yeah, OK. But . . .’
‘What?’
‘Isn’t it like . . . Won’t you die if you go out?’
‘I’m going at night.’
‘Oh. Do you usually go out at night, then?’
Luke remembers when he was a kid and his mother joined an XP parents’ support group. One time they sent through some leaflets advertising something called the Moon Kids Club where children with various photosensitivity problems went out and had picnics and played in sandpits late at night. Luke nagged his mother for weeks asking to be allowed to go: he tried to be really good; then, when that didn’t work, he resorted to being really bad, throwing several tantrums a day. But the answer was always no. ‘It might be all right for those other children,’ she’d said. ‘But your disease is more complicated than theirs.’
Luke looks at David. ‘No,’ he replies. ‘I’ve never gone out at night.’
‘Shit. So you still might die?’
‘Yeah. But I probably won’t. I’ll make a . . .’ Luke looks at the TV. ‘A space-suit or something.’
David can’t seem to keep still. Every time something happens on screen he flinches, says ouch or leans forward a bit more, gripping the sides of the chair. Luke watches him, and the TV, alternately for five minutes or so.
‘You’re ill, aren’t you?’ Luke says eventually.
‘Yeah. Cancer, mate.’
‘I’m really sorry.’
‘Yeah, well.’ David keeps looking at the TV.
‘Why don’t you come with us?’
‘Who?’
‘Me, Julie and Charlotte.’
‘Where?’
‘To Wales.’
David thinks about this for a few seconds. ‘Yeah, why not? I haven’t got anything better to do. No fucking job, anyway. And the college is flooded so there’s no lectures for a week or so. Yeah, all right.’
‘We’re going to see a healer. Maybe he can help you.’
‘Yeah? I doubt it, mate. But I’ll still come, though. It’ll be a laugh.’