‘Ah, Harry and Meghan,’ said Wilkes, putting his hands together, as if in prayer. ‘Their weekly press interviews complaining about press intrusion really force the media to take a long hard look at itself.’
‘I’m not deleting anything.’
Wilkes frowned. ‘I don’t feel that you’re appreciating me right now,’ he said.
‘Well, I don’t feel very appreciative.’
‘Why not?’
‘Gouge out my eyes, Wilkes. Rip off my toes. Pull the ears from my head. But don’t ever come between me and my followers.’
‘It’s that kind of talk that makes me wonder whether you might have a problem.’
‘Me? Look in the mirror, if you can stand it. If anyone has a problem, it’s you.’
He offered her his most insufferable expression. ‘If you say so. But look, it’s only been twelve hours and I already feel better. I feel cleansed.’
‘That’s because your body is literally leaking ectoplasm from every orifice. Where’s your phone anyway?’
‘I smashed it up with a hammer.’
‘What the fuck?’
‘Look, just trust me, Elizabeth, when we’re in Indonesia you won’t even be thinking about social media. Your fingers will be exactly where they should be. Cleaning the festering wounds of lepers.’
A long pause ensued and Elizabeth shook her head, more in sorrow than in despair. In order for him to truly understand the importance of her words, she spoke very, very slowly.
‘But what … on earth … would be the point … of going to a leper colony,’ she asked, ‘if I couldn’t … tell people … about it?’
Wilkes laughed. ‘Are you being serious?’
‘I’m being completely, one hundred per cent serious.’
‘You can just do good for its own sake. Pro bono, as they say. And God knows, Bono knows a thing or two about philanthropy.’
She stared at him as if he’d gone entirely mad.
‘I’m worried about you, Wilkes,’ she said. ‘Do you think you might be having some sort of breakdown?’
‘Why, because I suddenly have clarity of purpose?’
‘I wonder whether all of this is happening because you need a good wash. And a shave. And to cut your nails. And to put on some deodorant and some moisturizer. My God, you haven’t even put on any moisturizer, have you!’ She looked around and appealed to I Don’t Believe in Names (they/their), who was standing behind the counter now, performing a salutation to the sun, raising her voice to a pitch of hysteria. ‘HE’S NOT EVEN WEARING ANY MOISTURIZER!’ she screeched.
‘Jesus, Elizabeth,’ said Wilkes, reaching for her hand. ‘Calm down, will you?’
‘Don’t touch me,’ she said, pulling back from him. ‘I don’t know what kind of bacteria you’re covered in. I don’t want to be Patient Zero for Covid-21.’
He sat back, looking both disappointed and hurt. ‘Perhaps I’ve thrown all of this at you too quickly,’ he said. ‘Maybe when we’re in Indonesia—’
‘I don’t think I can go,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘I don’t appreciate this new Wilkes.’
‘You can’t fall out of appreciation just like that!’ he protested. ‘I’m still the same man I was yesterday, Elizabeth. Just without social media. I might be a little more pungent but—’
She threw her hands in the air.
‘I don’t know who you are any more. Or what you are.’
‘I’m Wilkes,’ said Wilkes. ‘The same Wilkes you fell in appreciation with. I’ve just disconnected from the grid, that’s all. Like Keanu, when he slipped out of the matrix.’
Elizabeth stared at him as if she’d never heard such nonsense in all her life and stood up, gathering her coat and bag.
‘You don’t get it, do you?’ she asked as she hovered over him, looking down at his greasy hair and dripping complexion. ‘The grid is life, Wilkes! THE GRID IS LIFE!’
I HAVE TAKEN A LOVER
Achilles was not accustomed to girls ignoring his messages, which made Rebecca’s infrequent responses all the more bewildering. He had thought they were getting on well, even welcoming the fact that she was proving to be more of a challenge than his usual conquests. And so, when he woke to discover a message from her at last, he felt considerable relief to learn that he was not, at the ripe old age of seventeen, losing his touch.
Rebecca Jones
Sorry for late replies. Been really busy. Want to meet up tomorrow night? My place? I’m alone for the weekend.
Although he immediately got a hard-on, there was a part of him that felt a little disappointed. He’d wanted to sleep with her from the moment they met in Schuh, of course, but he’d been rather enjoying the chase. Still, he wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth.
Achilles Cleverley
Yeah, I think I can make that. Eight o’clock? Text me the address and I’ll see you then.
He got out of bed and went to his wardrobe, opened the bottom drawer and removed the tin box that he kept inside. Ensuring the door was locked, and trying his best not to feel like Fagin in Oliver Twist, he indulged in one of his favourite pastimes: counting his money.
There was almost £35,000 in hundreds, fifties and twenties, all taken from lonely men who’d fallen for his tricks, and with any luck he’d have another £5,000 by the end of the weekend. He’d been stringing Jeremy Arlo along long enough, he decided. It was time to go in for the kill. He’d meet him tonight and put the squeeze on him, and get him to pay up tomorrow, which would set him up nicely for his date with Rebecca.
A knock came on the door and someone tried the handle.
‘Achilles?’ said a voice that he recognized as his brother Nelson’s. ‘Why is the door locked?’
‘I’m busy,’ he shouted, locking the box again and putting it back in its hiding place.
‘Can I talk to you?’
He sighed and unlocked the door.
‘What do you want?’ he asked.
‘Why are you still in bed at this time of the day?’ asked Nelson. ‘Why aren’t you in school?’
‘I had free periods this afternoon, if it’s any of your business, and I fancied a nap. What do you care?’
‘Just because I’m not a teacher any more doesn’t mean that I don’t care about the education of our young people. You’re our greatest natural resource, you know.’
‘What do you mean, you’re not a teacher? You were yesterday.’
‘I quit this morning.’
Achilles rolled his eyes and turned around, climbed back into bed and pulled the covers up to his neck.
‘Come in if you want,’ he said. ‘But close the door behind you. I wasn’t planning on being at home to visitors.’
Nelson did as instructed and stepped into the bedroom, looking around at the books, games, magazines and teenage paraphernalia that surrounded him.
‘What are you doing here anyway?’ asked Achilles, opening one eye. ‘If you’re planning on molesting me, just get on with it so I can go back to sleep.’