father’s kitchen and his fridge. He was hungry, kind of, but couldn’t decide what he fancied. What he really wanted was a fresh-out-of-the-oven chocolate croissant from Prêt à Manger. The one on North Street in Brighton where his friend Jake worked. But that wasn’t going to happen. His dad had left him with a dried-out wholemeal loaf and some rank jam. There was cereal too, for the kids. Some heinous organic stuff with ‘all natural sugars’. But no fresh milk. There was a packet of eggs, but Luke couldn’t be arsed to cook anything. Eventually he settled on a packet of Quavers and an overripe banana, which he ate at the counter, staring blankly through the window at the street outside.
And it was only then that his aloneness here really hit him. Properly. The sensation lifted his spirits momentarily, like a surge of fresh air. He poured himself a glass of grape juice and then he flipped open the lid of his dad’s laptop and logged straight on to Facebook, straight into a world that hadn’t changed, even when his had, beyond all recognition. There they were, all his friends, just as he’d left them a week ago when he’d moved away; posting from pubs and bars he used to go to, their arms around the shoulders of people he knew, smiling as if he were still there. His gut clenched with envy. He hadn’t appreciated it when that was his life; he’d mooched about and moaned and gone to the pub under duress, talked to these people out of a sense of duty. He’d always felt there was somewhere else he was supposed to be, other friends he should be hanging out with, some amazing life he was supposed to be living. And now that he was living a different life, the one he’d left behind glittered in his wake like dropped diamonds.
Charlotte Evans had posted on his timeline. ‘Hey, gorgeous. Where’ve you gone to? Bumped into Austin last night and he told me you’ve moved to the smoke????’
Luke sighed. Of all the people to have noticed that he’d left town, Charlotte was the last one he wanted to open up a communication with. They’d dated on and off for a year or so back in 2010. She was hot beyond belief. He’d thought he was in love with her for one crazy week when the sun was shining. And then he’d cooled off and finally pulled himself out of it three months later than would have been ideal and she’d screamed and pounded his chest and called him names that left dark blots on his psyche even to this day. She’d got over it eventually, told him she’d like to be friends and he’d said, basically,
Whatever
, and she showed up at the pub sometimes and posted stuff on his timeline and tagged him on photos she posted of herself posing half dressed. It was just one of those things, one of the many scourges of modern technology. It was so much harder to shake people off. He thought about ignoring the comment, but then sighed and thought: Throw her a bone, maybe she’ll run off a cliff with it. He typed in: ‘Yes. Mum and Dad staged an intervention. I’m here until further notice.’
He went back to his newsfeed and scrolled idly for a while. There was Otis, posting some crappy YouTube link. He’d changed his profile photo again; he seemed to change it every two and a half hours. This one showed him staring intensely into the webcam, his face slightly bloated by the lack of depth. He looked psychotic. Luke sometimes wondered if Otis wasn’t a bit psycho. He found it quite hard to relate to his younger brother these days. He was a closed book, like Pearl, but the difference was that Pearl had always been inscrutable, ever since she was a tiny toddler, while Otis had started off easy to read and become inscrutable over time. And it didn’t suit him.
Luke clicked on a few links, added to a couple of comment threads and then he got bored. He glanced up from the screen. His eye found its way to a framed photo of Maya further along the kitchen counter and he felt that familiar thump of despair, that kick of
And it was only then that his aloneness here really hit him. Properly. The sensation lifted his spirits momentarily, like a surge of fresh air. He poured himself a glass of grape juice and then he flipped open the lid of his dad’s laptop and logged straight on to Facebook, straight into a world that hadn’t changed, even when his had, beyond all recognition. There they were, all his friends, just as he’d left them a week ago when he’d moved away; posting from pubs and bars he used to go to, their arms around the shoulders of people he knew, smiling as if he were still there. His gut clenched with envy. He hadn’t appreciated it when that was his life; he’d mooched about and moaned and gone to the pub under duress, talked to these people out of a sense of duty. He’d always felt there was somewhere else he was supposed to be, other friends he should be hanging out with, some amazing life he was supposed to be living. And now that he was living a different life, the one he’d left behind glittered in his wake like dropped diamonds.
Charlotte Evans had posted on his timeline. ‘Hey, gorgeous. Where’ve you gone to? Bumped into Austin last night and he told me you’ve moved to the smoke????’
Luke sighed. Of all the people to have noticed that he’d left town, Charlotte was the last one he wanted to open up a communication with. They’d dated on and off for a year or so back in 2010. She was hot beyond belief. He’d thought he was in love with her for one crazy week when the sun was shining. And then he’d cooled off and finally pulled himself out of it three months later than would have been ideal and she’d screamed and pounded his chest and called him names that left dark blots on his psyche even to this day. She’d got over it eventually, told him she’d like to be friends and he’d said, basically,
Whatever
, and she showed up at the pub sometimes and posted stuff on his timeline and tagged him on photos she posted of herself posing half dressed. It was just one of those things, one of the many scourges of modern technology. It was so much harder to shake people off. He thought about ignoring the comment, but then sighed and thought: Throw her a bone, maybe she’ll run off a cliff with it. He typed in: ‘Yes. Mum and Dad staged an intervention. I’m here until further notice.’
He went back to his newsfeed and scrolled idly for a while. There was Otis, posting some crappy YouTube link. He’d changed his profile photo again; he seemed to change it every two and a half hours. This one showed him staring intensely into the webcam, his face slightly bloated by the lack of depth. He looked psychotic. Luke sometimes wondered if Otis wasn’t a bit psycho. He found it quite hard to relate to his younger brother these days. He was a closed book, like Pearl, but the difference was that Pearl had always been inscrutable, ever since she was a tiny toddler, while Otis had started off easy to read and become inscrutable over time. And it didn’t suit him.
Luke clicked on a few links, added to a couple of comment threads and then he got bored. He glanced up from the screen. His eye found its way to a framed photo of Maya further along the kitchen counter and he felt that familiar thump of despair, that kick of
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