Rollerskater: Anxiety

Jump to: I | II | III | IV | V | VI | VII | VIII | IX | X | XI | XII


For K-Os, the concept of sitting down for a meal was alien.

She understood the concept, of course, rationally – human beings would gather around a large chunk of dead tree or refined, flattened ore, and on the surface would be placed receptacles and vessels, some tall and slim or squat and round so as to hold liquids, some flat or curved so as to be piled with solids, and consume the comestibles placed thereupon. They took pleasure in this activity. They had evolved from the smallest mammals, and their brains had much the same reward pathways. She found it quite amusing that such simple beings had somehow blundered their way into becoming the masters of the Earth, or so they thought.

She supposed this was why he had invited her to the Japanese restaurant. She pushed the wooden door open. A bell rang. A young girl stood at the front, wearing a ruffled white blouse, black trousers and a ribbon necktie. She wore a name badge bearing her name: “Ayako”. K-Os towered over her, standing at least a head taller than her.

“Hello, miss,” the girl said, a little timidly. “Welcome to Yakitori. I’ll be your hostess for this evening. May I take your jacket?”

“No,” K-Os replied, abruptly.

Ayako seemed quite surprised. “I see,” she said.

“My friend is waiting for me,” K-Os said, though the accuracy of calling him her ‘friend’ was dubious at best.

Ayako opened the guest book and flipped to the current date. “Name?” she replied, in a way she probably would not have done with anyone but K-Os.

“Socks,” K-Os said.

Ayako put her finger on the page and looked for the name.

“There’s no Socks here,” she said.

K-Os rolled her eyes. “Try Stephen Oxford,” she said.

Ayako searched again, this time yielding results.

“Ah, yes. Right this way, please, miss.”

K-Os followed the girl in. She looked around her as she did so, at the tables. The primates sat around them, eating from bowls and plates with wooden sticks and spoons, chattering about their lives, making jokes, laughing, chewing and gulping and snorting and belching. Disgusting creatures. She was reminded at once why she rarely ate with them, even if she was fascinated by them.

At a table near the kitchen at the back of the restaurant, where chefs were preparing what smelled to her like seafood on a hot griddle, there was a young man with light brown skin and dark hair, checking his phone. He looked over his shoulder, saw K-Os and smiled. She hadn’t seen him since January. She would have preferred to have kept it that way.

“K-Os!” Socks said. He stood and opened his arms. “Glad you could make it.”

He was wearing a shirt with an illustration of a futuristic motorcycle on it, and beneath it, the word “AKIRA” written in block letters, with Japanese characters superimposed. She supposed this was the poster for some film that she had never seen.

“Not a problem,” K-Os said. “It’s not like I have better things to do.” She glowered at him.

Ayako handed them both menus. K-Os eyed the pictures contained within. Utterly bizarre. These decorative arrangements of charred, butchered carcasses, both aquatic and terrestrial, this dead vegetation arranged in bizarre, intricate patterns. What was the point of that, arranging the food just so? Its structure would only inevitably decay, when it served its primary function, that was, to be ingested, to be digested. In the stomach it would be a formless, near-gelatinous mass. (She was revolted, once again.)

To be polite, of course, when she did eat, she would ingest through her mouth, since her preferred method was one that human beings found rather upsetting. She had learned that lesson soon after taking on this form. Apparently they preferred their inelegant methods over her far more efficient one.

“Can I get you anything to drink?” Ayako asked.

“Two Asahis, please,” Socks said, before K-Os could say anything.

“Do you mind if I ask for ID?”

“We’re old enough,” K-Os said, looking intensely at Ayako.

Ayako’s face was blank for a moment. She blinked.

“Yes, yes…” she said, as though dazzled by some startling realisation. “Of course.”

She walked away, hurriedly.

Socks watched after her, over his shoulder.

“You Jedi mind-tricked her,” he said.

“I don’t carry ID,” K-Os replied.

“Yeah,” Socks replied.

There was an awkward silence. Ayako returned with the beers and poured them out.

“Are you ready to order?”

“No,” Socks replied. “Give us a few minutes.”

“Of course,” Ayako said, walking away to tend to another table.

K-Os watched her walk away, then turned her attention to Socks.

“So,” she said, folding her arms. “What’s this about?”

“Well,” Socks said, “I haven’t seen you in a while. Thought you might want to come out.”

K-Os curled her lip disdainfully. “Don’t patronise me, Socks. You want something from me. Spit it out.”

Socks sighed. “There was some trouble in the village the other day. Dolly came to meet me. She said you sent her to meet me in your stead. A guy with a magic car and a gun tried to kill me. You probably heard.”

“Yes,” K-Os said. “As I understand it, you handled it quite well.”

“That’s correct,” Socks said.

“Then what did you summon me for?”

Socks smiled, a little bitterly. “I want to know where you were.”

There was a pause.

What?” K-Os responded, with a ferocious indignance.

“There are people out here who want me dead, K-Os. I have no experience with this shit. Where were you?”

K-Os seethed. She knew. She knew this was what he was going to ask.

“You want to know where I was?” K-Os said. “I was trying to keep you out of harm’s way.”

“Well, as I recall, you were the one who told me we’d have to meet up, after I told you about the hand thing.”

K-Os was frustrated.

“Yes, I’ll admit that I did say that,” K-Os replied. “But you must understand something, Socks. You’re in terrible danger.”

“Really?” Socks said, sniffing. “I hadn’t noticed.”

“Listen to me,” K-Os said, her voice low, commanding and vicious. “You don’t know what you’re dealing with, here. This is a war.”

Socks opened his mouth to speak, and K-Os silenced him.

“This is not a war of any sort you are familiar with. Not one of your petty human squabbles, over national prejudices and meaningless currency. This war will decide the fate of all reality. Not the precise way you draw some lines on a map. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Socks replied. “Dolly said as much. But that still doesn’t answer my question.”

“You don’t get it, do you?” K-Os replied, in disbelief. “Socks – the reason I wasn’t there in the village was because I want to keep you as far away from this war as possible. You are not experienced enough. There’s a very real chance you or I could be…”

She trailed off. “Listen. You’re in danger. You’ve learned things no human being is meant to know. You have crossed a threshold and you can’t turn back. Understand? Inviting me out on frivolous meet-cutes like this distracts me from my task.”

Socks looked at her. “Which would be?”

“Keeping you safe.”

“Well, you didn’t do a good job of that in the village.”

K-Os looked, and felt, somewhat sheepish.

“I admit that I made the wrong call there, yes,” K-Os replied. “But I did have your best interests in mind.”

“Yeah, I get that,” Socks said. “But here’s the thing: Avoiding me isn’t making me any safer than you being around me. So here’s what I think.”

Yes?” K-Os asked, exasperated.

“There’s a war going on. I don’t know much about your world. But I know that people want you dead and they want me dead. So here’s what I suggest: You stop all the games and the dodging around, trying to keep me out of harm’s way, and we work together. That way, we guarantee each other’s safety.”

K-Os mulled it over for a moment. “You really think this is a comic book, don’t you?”

“No,” Socks replied. “But I do know that we need to stick together if we’re going to make it through this.”

Ayako returned. “Ready to order?” she asked.

“Yes,” Socks said, before K-Os could answer. She glared at him. “I’ll take the pork donburi, please, and K-Os will have the duck ramen.”

K-Os found Socks exasperating. How he saw fit to speak for her. A mere human. At least, until recently that had been the case. His confidence did not charm her; it worried her. He was so unaware of the extent of his own abilities, and so utterly stupid. She could laugh, if not for how grave the situation was. And the poor thing was not even aware of the mess he was in.

Socks ordered a few sides, and Ayako dutifully jotted them down, and then walked away once again.

“So, what do you think?” Socks said.

K-Os sighed. “Alright,” she said.

“Alright,” Socks responded in turn.

“On one condition,” K-Os said. “Do as I say from now on. Understand?”

“You got it,” Socks said.

There came a sound from Socks’s person. It was a strange, alluring sound. Guitars, swirling and weaving around each other, reverberating percussion and a thick, langorous bassline, and vocals, barely intelligible, buried under walls of instrumentation, as though peripheral to the overall sonic experience. K-Os was immediately transfixed by it, fascinated, as though an infant discovering a mirror for the first time.

“What is that?” she asked, as though lost in reverie.

“It’s my ringtone,” Socks said, getting his phone out of his pocket.

“It’s…hypnotic,” K-Os said.

Socks laughed. “Yeah, they’re a band I’m into, called The Light Havoc. They’re a shoegazing band. Discovered them through BBC Radio 6. You’d probably like them.”

“Shoegazing…?”

Socks looked at the screen to see who it was, slid the little green indicator across, and answered it.

*

Daisy sat on the bedspread, which was patterned with a pink and purple Union Jack, and pressed her mobile phone, which was plugged into the wall, to her ear. On her lap sat a seafoam green Fender Squier bass guitar, which she had been in the process of tuning.

“You’ve finally decided to pick up, then,” she said.

“I’ve been busy,” Socks said.

“So it would seem,” Daisy replied. “I haven’t heard from you in weeks.”

“Sorry.”
“Don’t be. I’m just glad to hear your voice. What are you up to, then?”

“I’m out with K-Os at the moment, getting lunch.”

K-Os. Katherine the Weird Girl. The Rollerskater. Socks seemed to have become infatuated with her as of late. It was as though she was all he ever thought about, ever since that night in December when he had disappeared into the night with her, the exact details of what happened in between leaving Gina’s Christmas do and when they next met in class a mystery. She, of course, had filled in the blanks herself, as was her wont, but she didn’t understand why that meant he had to avoid speaking to her. For Christ’s sake, they were both adults.

“Oh,” Daisy said. “I see.”

“Yeah,” Socks replied, awkwardly. “What are you up to?”

“Getting ready for band practice. For the show next week. You haven’t forgotten, have you?”

“No, of course not!” Socks exclaimed. “You’re opening for The Light Havoc. You know I’ll be there.”

“I hope so, Socks,” Daisy replied.

“I promise.”

“Thanks, Socks.”

“I’d better go, but it’s been nice talking. Hope to see you soon.”

“And you, take care.”

And with that, he was gone in a puff of small-talk, possibly for another month.

Daisy sighed. She went into her contacts and dialed another number, and pressed the call button. The phone rang for a few seconds and then picked up.

“Hello,” a male voice answered.

“Hey Jules,” Daisy said, half-yawning. “I’m ready for practice. You ready to pick me up?”

“Yeah,” Jules replied. “Give me ten or fifteen and I’ll be right with you.”

“See you soon,” Daisy said, rising from the bed to notice that she, in fact, wasn’t dressed, and she was still barefoot and in pyjamas.

Thus began a frantic run to the bathroom (her housemates weren’t home, thank God) and a quick shower, followed by a run back to her bedroom. She quickly pulled on some underpants, then grabbed a pair of fish-net tights and put them on, then went into her wardrobe for a pleated skirt.

She heard a knock at the door and, realising she was still naked from the waist up, quickly grabbed a bra and pulled the straps over her arms, clasping it as she ran down the stairs, opening the door.

Jules was standing there. He was tall and very handsome, fair-skinned with long red hair, which he tied back into a ponytail. He was wearing green chinos and a brown leather wool-lined flight jacket over a v-necked beige shirt. He was smiling widely.

“Not a word,” Daisy said, noticing that she hadn’t even managed to dry her hair before he arrived.

“I like the fashion statement,” Jules replied. “It suits you.”

“Fuck off,” Daisy replied. She felt herself going red with embarrassment.

Jules laughed. “Sorry. You really do need to work on your time management.”

“I have dyspraxia, Jules,” Daisy replied. “Jesus. You sound like my therapist.”

“Sorry,” Jules said. He genuinely did sound remorseful. “Listen, get yourself sorted out. The other two will understand.”

“I’m just glad you didn’t bring Ollie with you. He’d have pissed himself.”

“Or worse,” Jules said. Daisy scowled at him. “Sorry.”

Daisy went upstairs and dried her hair, brushing it into the usual shoulder-length blonde curls, and then grabbed her guitar and put it in the case. She put on a blouse patterned with little pink flamingoes, and put on a faux-leopard print coat and a pair of Vans slip-ons, and then came back down. Jules was sitting on the couch in the living room. It was a ratty old thing, too far past the point of irreparability to be considered shabby chic. It was just plain shabby – the cushions were knackered and the legs looked as though they’d buckle any day now. She and her flatmates had bought it from a Saint Francis Hospice when they moved in, and regretted it almost immediately. She tried to avoid sitting on it as much as possible, fearful that the thing would give her some sort of flesh-eating skin disease.

“You ready?” Jules said.

Daisy ran through her mental checklist, which she habitually did in order to avoid forgetting things, which she did, nevertheless, often.

“Shit,” she said. “The bass amp.”

“I’ll get it,” Jules said.

“No, no,” Daisy said, if for no other reason that she didn’t want a boy she may or may not have had a crush on to see the pigsty that was her room. “Just look after the bass for a minute. I’ll be back in two ticks.”

“Okay,” Jules said, smiling again.

God, he’s pretty.

She ran back up the stairs and into her bedroom to get the bass amp, catching a sight of her face in the mirror on the dresser. She looked carefully at it.

“I hope you’re ready, Ella,” she said.

The reflection said nothing. It never did.

*

“Who was that?” K-Os asked.

“Hmm?” Socks said. “Oh, Daisy. You know her. You met her at Gina’s Christmas do.”

K-Os thought for a moment. “Oh yes, I remember. Yes, she didn’t seem to like me.”

“I think you were rude to her.”

“She was asking too many questions.”

“I think she was just making conversation.”

“I liked that music. What was it you called it? Shoegazing?”

“Yeah, it’s a type of indie rock that was popular in the early 90s. It’s made a comeback recently.”

“I see,” K-Os said. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard a guitar make that noise.”

“They use a lot of effects pedals,” Socks said. “That’s why they call it shoegazing – the guitarists spend a lot of the time looking down at their feet.”

“How interesting,” K-Os said. “I’m not familiar at all with these things.”

K-Os didn’t often listen to music – she was far too preoccupied with other things. She had little interest in the strictly-ordered, carefully-constructed classical music of old, nor the formulaic popular music that she would hear playing out of radios and shop windows. The “shoegazing” of which Socks spoke excited her. The multitextured melodies, distorted fuzzy chords and off-kilter rhythm had been at once arresting and beautiful. She felt a need to hear more.

“You mentioned that Daisy is playing a show with that band.”

“Yeah, I did,” Socks said. “You know, it’s not polite to listen in on other people’s phone conversations.”

“I’d like to go, if that’s okay,” K-Os said. “I liked that music on your phone.”

Socks blinked a couple of times. “Are you…serious?”

“You said we should stick together. I suppose I should start as I mean to go on.”

“Well, if you’re sure.”

“Of course I’m sure,” K-Os said.

Ayako returned to the table with a couple of small plates.

“Duck gyoza and fried chili squid,” she said. “Your mains will be along shortly.”

K-Os looked down at the plate as Ayako walked away.

“Why do you do this?” she said, inspecting the artful way the gyoza had been arranged, as though with a delicate, but firm hand.

“What?” Socks said, looking at the plate.

“The way the food is arranged, look. It’s like it’s not meant to be eaten. Why create structure if you’re only going to destroy it?”

Socks looked perplexed. “Well, I don’t know. It’s just nice to look at. A messy plate just doesn’t look very appetising.”

“But why?” K-Os asked, sounding almost frustrated. “It makes no sense. You’re only going to make a mess of it anyway.”

“Well, I don’t know,” Socks said. “It’s like you’re asking why they don’t bring the food over pre-chewed. It’s just how we do things.”

“Humans are very strange,” K-Os said.

“Hm,” Socks replied.

They sat in silence for a few moments.

Socks broke apart a pair of chopsticks that had been sitting on a napkin to his right, and picked up a gyoza dumpling, dipping it in a small dish of sauce and taking a bite out of it. Then he looked at K-Os.

“You’re not human, are you?” he said.

K-Os was startled by the directness of the question.

“Is it that obvious?” she said.

“A few things clued me in,” Socks said. “You’re different to other people. Even people like Dolly. You don’t think the way we do.”

K-Os sniffed. “You’re very observant,” she said, picking up one of the gyoza dumplings with her own chopsticks. “Most people don’t pay me half as much mind as you.”

“What can I say?” Socks said. “You’re interesting.”

“Better than finding me frightening, I suppose,” K-Os said, a little wistfully.

“Very little fazes me these days,” Socks said.

“Have you worked out what I am?” K-Os said, a little hesitantly.

“At first my money was on space alien,” Socks said. “I half expected you to have a TARDIS somewhere on campus. But, no, you’re not an alien.”

K-Os smiled slightly, which was generally the closest she came to laughing.

“I am alien, in the sense that what I am is foreign to you,” she said. “I’m—”

Ayako returned to the table with a bowl of ramen and a bowl of pork donburi.

“Anything else I can get you?” she asked, kindly.

K-Os looked up at her. “No thank you,” she said, with a politeness that surprised even her.

Ayako smiled. “Enjoy your meal,” she said, walking away.

Socks watched after her. “So, what were you saying?” he asked.

“Oh, the moment’s ruined now,” K-Os said, smiling.

*

Jules lived a fifteen minute drive away on the other side of the student enclave. The houses and blocks of flats were all mostly the same: Squat, brownish-grey bulks of stone and wood panelling, hastily erected between the late 1950s and 1970s, designed by architects of the contemporaneous schools that believed that buildings ought to contain no aesthetic but the pure functionality of their components. All of which was a roundabout way of saying that the neighbourhood was hideous.

Daisy found her mind wandering back to Socks and K-Os and the nature of their relationship.

“Do you know K-Os?” she asked, as Jules drove his 1997 Ford Ka down the residential streets.

“Heard of her,” Jules said. “She’s that girl who wears rollerskates everywhere, right?”

“Yeah,” Daisy said. “I’ve got a friend who knows her quite well. I think they might be dating.”

“Really?” Jules said. “Boy or girl?”

“Boy,” Daisy said. “Socks. You might know him.”

“Oh yeah, the guy with the John Lennon sunglasses. Yeah, I’ve seen him at a few of our society dos.”

“That’s the one. He’s being really weird. Almost seems to be avoiding me.”

“D’you think she’s one of those ones that bans her partners from talking to other women?”

“Maybe, I don’t know. She’s really strange. I’ve spoken to her once. She was really rude to me.”

“Yeah, she mostly keeps herself to herself, from what I hear,” Jules said. “Surprised to hear she’s dating someone, in all honesty.”

“Well, I never said they are definitely dating, just that it seems that they are.”

“If it waddles, quacks and swims,” Jules said.

He turned down a side-street.

“He says he’s coming to the show,” Daisy said, gazing out of the window, watching the terraced houses roll by, each one looking more or less exactly like the others.

“Oh, he’s a fan of The Light Havoc, eh?”

“Yeah. He seems excited that we’re playing with them.”

“That’s good.”

They said nothing for a few metres.

“Jules,” Daisy said. “I’m anxious.”

“What about?” Jules said.

Daisy shrugged a little. “Just worried I’m going to fuck it up somehow.”

“You won’t,” Jules said. “You’re an amazing bass player. And you can sing while playing bass. That’s a rare talent.”

“Hmm,” Daisy said. “I always say, though – that’s not me you see on stage. That’s a persona, it’s a…it’s a mask. Behind the mask I’m terrified. It’s not me that plays that guitar. It’s her.”

“Well, if it’s all her, why do you practise?”

“It’s not like that, it’s…” Daisy couldn’t find a way to put it into words. She was frustrated. “I don’t know how to explain it. It’s just something I do to cope with the anxiety. I play a character, and she…takes over.”

“Well, she wouldn’t know what to sing if you didn’t learn it first,” Jules said. “Being that you are her.”

He turned down another street and rolled his car into a parking space outside a nondescript house with an unkempt, untended, overgrown front garden.

Daisy opened the passenger side door and stepped out on to the pavement, unlatched the gate and let herself up the garden. Jules followed, fumbling for his keys.

“Is that guy who called the cops on us still here?” Daisy asked.

“He’s fucked off to Berlin for the semester,” Jules replied. “And you know Sonny?”

“The guy who gets through a three-litre of Coke in an hour?”

“Yeah, he’s been playing a lot of Dark Souls in his room lately. Doesn’t really talk to any of us. If the noise bothers him, he doesn’t say anything.”

Jules opened the door and they walked into the living room.

Sitting on Jules’s sofa, which was upholstered with leather and looked a damn sight more pleasant than Daisy’s, were two men, one gaunt and squirrel-like, with long, curly brown hair, and the other a stockily-built man with a shaved head, wearing a Black Flag T-shirt.

“Hey Lewis, Ollie,” Jules said. “What have you been up to?”

“Waiting for you two to get here,” Ollie said. “Hey, Daisy.”

“Hey,” Daisy said.

The living room wasn’t very big, but sitting by the window was Ollie’s drumkit and Lewis’s guitar, an imitation of a Les Paul, perched against the kick drum, next to an amp to which was affixed a board of effects pedals. It was clear that more of his student maintenance loan went on pedals than on food.

“I’ll just go and grab my kit,” Jules said, leaving to run up the stairs.

“Ready for the show?” Daisy said, uneasily.

“Trying to be,” Lewis said. He had a high-pitched, almost boyish voice.

“We’ll be fine,” Ollie said. “Trust me.”

“If anyone but you was saying it, I’d believe it,” Lewis said.

Ollie grinned at him. He had a slight overbite, and it produced something resembling a Cheshire Cat grin.

Jules came back in with his guitar, a Fender Stratocaster that his uncle had given him for his twentieth birthday.

“Everyone ready?” he said.

“Yeah,” Daisy said, unzipping the case and removing her guitar. She slung it around her shoulders as Lewis and Ollie walked over to assume their positions.

Lewis picked up his guitar, revealing the band’s name, hastily painted on to Ollie’s kick drum. The first two words were in pink, cursive letters, and the other three were in small, black capital letters.

“We’re Ella Foe and the Oscillations,” Daisy said, imagining herself standing on a stage. As if by some magic incantation, she felt herself recede, and her alter-ego took over. In that moment, she really was Ella.

Ollie began to tap out a rhythm on the cymbals and there was a burst of guitar feedback from Jules’s amp, and then her hands, as though puppeteered, were playing a bassline. Walls of jangling, wailing fuzz screamed from Lewis’s guitar, and the vocals began to flow from her mouth like a dam bursting.

*

“How’s the food?” Socks asked.

K-Os was surprised by how much she enjoyed it. She could see now why people went out for meals. She was grateful to herself for blessing her own mouth with tastebuds.

“Good,” she said. “Very good.”

“I told you it’s a nice restaurant.”

“Yes. I still find the concept of aesthetics difficult to understand.”

“You don’t have to understand it. Tons of people don’t understand aesthetics.”

“Yes, but human beings have an intrinsic understanding of it. I don’t. It’s not just your food. Your art and culture is strange to me. It’s like building a house made of wood while the forest is on fire.”

Socks pondered it for a moment. “I think the whole reason we make art is to make something permanent, you know?”

“But it’s not permanent,” K-Os said. “Things rot, burn and decay. Caves collapse in on themselves. Even your most treasured books will one day be food for bacteria.”

“Permanent on a human scale,” Socks clarified. “When you make art, it’s like becoming immortal. Even after you die, people remember your name, maybe for hundreds or thousands of years.”

“But eventually, you will be forgotten,” K-Os said.

“Eventually,” Socks said. “But that’s like saying eventually the Sun will blow up. It’s too far away for anyone to care.”

K-Os nodded. “Yes, I see,” she said. “But that doesn’t explain why you consider cooking to be a form of art. Food is designed to be destroyed, chewed up.”

“Well,” Socks said, “The food in and of itself is a kind of art, but food is like a multi-sensory experience. We see the food, smell it, taste it and feel it in our mouths. We even hear it through our jawbones as we chew on it. The act of destroying it is what makes food into art. Looking at it makes us want to destroy it. There’s no other art that does that, really. So the skill is in making stuff that people want to tear to pieces, so much that they’ll queue out the door for it.”

He looked over at the front of the restaurant. It was getting to be evening now, and the punters were arriving in their droves.

“Does that make sense?”

“Yes,” K-Os said. “I suppose it does.”

“We should come back here sometime,” Socks said.

“Hmm,” K-Os replied.

K-Os was still annoyed at him, but she found him interesting. She had met people like him before, people who had tried to explain the ways of the human world to her. There was still a lot she didn’t understand. Her job was not to be a philosopher. Her job was to protect philosophers.

“Are you worried?” she asked, out of the blue.

“What do you mean?” Socks said.

“The war is heating up.”

“Yeah,” Socks said. “I’m ready.”

“I don’t think you are,” K-Os said. “I don’t think anyone is.”

“Nobody can say what the future holds,” Socks said.

K-Os inhaled sharply.

“If only you knew what it was like to be me,” she said. “To see eternity every day.”

“Comes with the territory of being immortal,” Socks said.

“Not immortal, no,” K-Os said, idly inspecting a wooden chopstick. Socks couldn’t see it, but she could: The wood had already begun to putrefy and rot, its components being mulched by minuscule creatures, broken down and devoured, as all organic materials must one day be. “Just…very old.”

“Tomayto, tomato,” Socks said. “Must be hard, being a god.”

“In some ways, yes,” K-Os said. “Not that I would ever claim to be a god. I am nothing so puny.”

“Well, you’re anything but arrogant,” Socks said, sarcastically. “Fancy another beer?”

K-Os deliberated for a moment. “Go on, then.”

Socks made eye contact with Ayako, who returned to the table.

“How was your meal?”

“Lovely, thanks,” Socks said. “Could we get some more beers, please? And the dessert menu, if you wouldn’t mind.”

“Certainly,” Ayako said, walking away.

For perhaps the first time in her long, long life, K-Os felt like she was getting the hang of food.

*

Daisy’s fingertips burned, as they always did after playing her bass for an extended period of time. A good burn told her that she, or rather, Ella, had played well. Not a bum note. Yet the anxiety lingered. She had convinced herself that a single wrongly-played note would lead to public ridicule and the end of the band.

She tried her best to quell these worries as they sat in Jules’s living room after practise, watching old DVDs of The Simpsons on Jules’s PlayStation. The episode ended.

“Anyone for another drink?” Jules said. Jules himself was teetotal, as a matter of personal choice, but had been gentlemanly enough to buy some cans of Magners, knowing he’d have company.

“Yeah, I wouldn’t mind,” Ollie replied.

“Anyone else?”

“Yes please,” Daisy said.

Jules went into his kitchen. Daisy sat in the living room.

“Are you nervous?” Lewis asked her.

“About what?”

“The show. Meeting The Light Havoc. Everything, really.”

“Yeah,” Daisy said. “I’m quite nervous.”

“Me too,” Lewis said. “I just don’t want to disappoint them. I’m worried they’ll think we’re not cool.”

“That’s unlikely,” Ollie said. “They were interviewed on Radio 6 the other day. They’ve only ever done one other interview and it was with – are you ready for this? – Gardener’s World.”

Gardener’s World?!” Lewis exclaimed.

“Yeah,” Ollie laughed. “They like to grow veggies on an allotment, apparently.”

“Never would have expected that,” Daisy said.

“Yeah, they seem like down-to-earth blokes,” Ollie said.

“That’s good to hear,” Lewis said. “I was worried we’d look like knobs next to them.”

“They’re still pretty new at this, same as us,” Ollie said. “Though, between you and me, I think they’re a bit overrated anyway.”

“You would,” Daisy said. “Ever the contrarian.”

Ollie gave another Cheshire Cat grin.

Jules brought in some more cans of cider, then popped open a can of Diet Coke for himself. “How comes you don’t like them, Ollie?”

“I never said I don’t like them. Just think their tracks are a bit samey. Wasn’t a huge fan of their EP. Every song sounded the same. No variation.”

“The bassline on ‘A Dream to Die For’ is gorgeous,” Daisy said.

“Maybe it’s just the drummer in me,” Ollie said. “All the beats sound the same. Doom-doom-kat-da-doom-doom-kat. Not like us. We vary our rhythms.”

“I’m going to tell them you said that,” Jules said, smiling.

Ollie gave him a sidelong glare. “I’ll kill you,” he said, with a wicked grin.

“Do it,” Lewis said.

“I’ll kill both of you,” Ollie said, before bursting into a wheezing laugh.

“It’s been a long day,” Daisy said.

“It really has,” Ollie said, wiping tears out of his eyes. “It’s not even that funny. I’ve just got the giggles.”

“We’re going to smash this,” Jules said, sipping the Diet Coke. “Trust me.”

“I hope so,” Daisy said.

“You will,” Jules said. “You’re ready for this.”

I’m not, Daisy thought. But Ella is. That’s all that matters.

*

The sun had begun to set, and Socks had just finished his dessert. The two were sharing some post-dinner sake.

“It’s getting late,” K-Os said. “I should head back.”

“Of course,” Socks said, slurring slightly. “We have to pay first.”

“Yes,” K-Os said. She had genuinely forgotten. “Right.”

“What, no Jedi mind trick this time?”

“No. That was a nice meal. We should pay them.”

“Right,” Socks said. “I was gonna say I should walk you back but the last time I got drunk and walked with you, my shadow tried to kill me.”

“That is true,” K-Os said.

“That feels like years ago,” Socks said. “Christ.”

“It only gets worse from here,” K-Os said. “Trust me, I’d know.”

“Don’t you get tired, being that old?” Socks asked, bluntly.

“Sometimes,” K-Os said. “That is the curse. I have seen buildings from the first brick to the last shattered timber. You people always assume things will last forever – that you will last forever. And then it’s gone, as though there was nothing there to begin with. You are so small, and so fragile. Yet you keep ploughing on, despite your anxiety.”

“Very poetic,” Socks said. “Shall we get the bill?”

K-Os was lost, as though in a trance. “Do you know,” she said, “It’s like I can see every atom that makes up every fibre of your being. I can trace a line back to the very beginning, if I look hard enough. Look at you. Made of dead stars. You know, very few atoms in your body are the same ones that were present when you were born? And the ones that are there have been on a round trip. Been other people for a while. Now they’re you again. They’ve come home. Until they leave again. It’s fascinating. Me, I look human, but…I am an imitation. You’re the real deal. I find you people so confusing and frustrating sometimes, but just look at you…”

Socks appeared confused.

Ayako came over, Socks asked for the bill and paid it. He tipped generously, and they left, walking into the night. The clocks had not yet gone forward.

“What’s got you feeling all…sentimental?” Socks asked.

“I don’t know,” K-Os said. “I suppose it’s because, as annoying as humans are, there’s a reason that I assumed this form. I have watched so many of you live, get old and die. But you are all made of the same matter.”

“Hmm.”

“You know how I was born, don’t you, Socks?”

Socks stopped in his tracks, and turned to her.

“What?”

“Don’t pretend. You know. You have seen.”

Socks’s mouth moved uncertainly. “Well, yes, but, I—”

“Good,” K-Os said. “Then you will know what this is.”

She reached into her satchel and pulled out a small, rubbery, rectangular object.

“What is that?” Socks asked. He seemed to recognise it.

K-Os turned it over in her hands, looking down at it. She looked back up at Socks.

“It’s the Product,” she said. “My progenitor.”

Socks reached out for it, but K-Os swiped it away.

“I am its sworn protector,” K-Os said. “The fate of all reality depends on the safety of this object.”

“Coral,” Socks said. “It used to be…coral.”

“Used to be,” K-Os said. “Until the umbric began to wage war on life itself.”

Socks sat down on the kerb.

“I need a moment,” he said.

“Of course,” K-Os replied.

After a time, he was okay to walk, and together, they went into the dark.

There were no threats, in the end.

*

The evening had drawn in, and the burn in Daisy’s fingers had faded.

“It’s getting late,” she said. “I should probably head back.”

From the sound of the living room came the sound of intermittent bursts of gunfire. The other two were very drunk, and had somehow managed to load up a first-person shooter on the PlayStation. Daisy had decided to stop after a couple of drinks, and was beginning to sober up with one of Jules’s cans of Diet Coke.

“I’ll drive you back,” Jules said.

“If you could be so kind,” Daisy said.

Jules went to fetch his keys, and Daisy took a sip of the Coke. She walked into the living room to collect her bass and amp.

“Right,” she said to the other two. “I’m off.”

“Great seeing you,” Ollie said, slurring.

“See ya,” Lewis said, not taking his attention from the screen.

“You are so fucking good at bass,” Ollie said, before laughing, adding: “I am pisssssssed.”

“It’s very sweet of you to say so, Ollie,” Daisy said, smiling.

“Can’t wait for the show next week,” Ollie said. “You’re going to be fucking amazing.”

“Yeah,” Lewis said.

Ollie became more talkative when drunk, although he was normally rather talkative, while Lewis tended to become more staccato, only offering brief bursts of speech. Daisy was quite used to this.

“Keep practising,” she said.

“We will,” the two said, together.

Jules came back in from the hall. He’d put his flight jacket back on. “Shall we go?”

“Yes, let’s,” Daisy said. “See you later,” she said.

“Bye,” the other two said, and with that, Daisy followed Jules out into the street, into the blue-dim of twilight.

“Looks like it might rain,” Jules said.

“Yeah,” Daisy said, looking at the sky.

“I hope it’s not a thunderstorm. Did you hear what happened back in December?”

“No.”

“There was a freak lightning storm not far from here, maybe five minutes’ drive away. A guy was walking in the middle of the street, so I heard, and he got struck by lightning.”

“That’s awful! Did he die?” Daisy asked, loading her bass and amp on to the back seat.

“Die is an understatement,” Jules said, climbing into the driver’s seat. “He, er…exploded.”

Exploded?”

“Yeah, from what I heard. They had to close down the whole street while they cleaned up all the charred bits of him. Bit grim, I know.”

“Fucking hell,” Daisy said, sitting in the passenger seat and doing up her seatbelt. “When was this?”

“Late December, not long before we broke up for Christmas.”

“Weird,” Daisy said. Something lit up in the back of her head, but she wasn’t quite sure what.

Jules started the engine and put the car into reverse, executing a three-point turn.

“Weird thing was,” Jules said, “They found this guy nearby. Jogger, by how he was dressed, and it looked like he’d been gutted with something sharp. Police kept it quiet, but it scared the life out of the neighbours.”

“Any connection?”

“Not as far as I’m aware,” Jules said. “Guess it’s one of those things. Like that guy who got shot in New York on 9/11, after the buildings collapsed. More than one crime can happen at a time, I guess.”

“Yeah,” Daisy said. “This is pretty morbid, can we change the subject?”

“Yeah, of course,” Jules said.

Daisy looked out of the window. Droplets began to fall from the sky and collect on the window.

“A spring shower,” Jules said. The car was now on its way back to Daisy’s place.

“I’m glad things are warming up,” Daisy said.

The rain came down on the car roof, making gentle, somewhat soothing pek-pak-pok sounds.

“Ollie was right, you know,” Jules said. “You’re really good at bass.”

“I know,” Daisy said. “Rationally, I know I’m going to be fine. But my hands and my brain don’t always talk to each other well. My biggest fear is that I’m going to get brain fog.”

“You won’t,” Jules said.

They pulled up to a red light at a crossroads, and Jules turned to her.

“You’re one of the smartest and most talented people I know,” he said. “Honestly, I admire you. You have dyspraxia and you play bass like a pro. I don’t think you realise how talented you are.”

“But that’s not m—” Daisy began.

“It is you, Daisy. You keep downplaying your talent by saying ‘No, no, it’s Ella.’ Daisy…Ella isn’t real. She’s a character that you play. Ella Foe and the Oscillations is just make-believe, up to the point you pick up your instrument. You shred that fucking thing. You are talented, believe me, okay?”

“Okay,” Daisy said, quietly.

“I’m sorry,” Jules said. “I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

“It’s alright,” Daisy said. “I should really stop downplaying my abilities, you’re right.”

The light turned yellow.

“Trust me,” Jules said. “You’re better than you know.”

The light turned green.

Jules put his foot on the accelerator and the car began to move.

“Thanks, Jules,” Daisy said.

She saw something out of the corner of her eye. A flash of headlights. A shape – something moving – getting closer!

“JULES!” she screamed, but Jules’s animal instincts had already kicked in. The car jolted forward and spun out of the way as the oncoming car, having tried to run a red light, clipped the back of Jules’s car and then spun for a few metres before finally coming to a stop.

“Shit,” Jules said, putting his hazards on. “Fucking idiot.”

He climbed out of the driver’s seat and walked over to the other car. He left his door open.

The other car’s engine was smoking.

Daisy was sitting in shock, only able to watch through the window, as though floating outside her body. She watched as Jules swore at and berated the other driver, then got out his phone and called the police. He then typed something on his phone. She realised it was the other driver’s reg plate, trying to make sure the other driver had insurance.

The other driver tried to make off, but Jules blocked his path. The other driver became irate, so Jules swore at him some more. Daisy became acutely aware that she was now shaking, and her eyes had begun to brim with tears.

“-e like that then, you twat!” Jules shouted, climbing back into the car. The other driver again tried to make off, but then his engine popped and hissed and he was stranded.

“Stupid bastard,” Jules said. “I’ve called the cops.”

“That’s good,” Daisy croaked.

Jules looked over at her. “You alright?”

“Yes. No,” Daisy said. “Sorry, I…it’s anxiety. I don’t feel safe.”

“It’s alright,” Jules said. “The police are on their way.”

“It’s not that, Jules,” Daisy said. “He…if we’d been a moment later…he could have killed us, Oh God…”

“We’re safe,” Jules said. “I’ve got my hazards on. Just take it easy.”

“Okay. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologise. It’s normal to react like that.”

After a short time, a police car rolled up and took Jules and the other driver’s details. As a precaution, Jules was breathalysed, and when it came back clean they let him go. The other driver was arrested after refusing to be breathalysed.

“On your way, sir,” said the constable. “Very sorry about all this. Will you be alright on your way home?”

“Yeah,” Jules said. “I just hope he has insurance.”

The constable laughed. “I’m sure your student loan will cover it, sir.”

He went back to the police car with the driver, and the police directed traffic around the stranded car as they called in a tow service to move it.

Jules drove off. His rear bumper had been dented but the car was otherwise serviceable.

“I’m sorry for freaking out,” Daisy said. “I was just really upset.”

“Don’t be,” Jules sighed. “It happens, right?”

“I’m just glad you don’t drink.”

“That’s why I don’t drink.”

The car pulled up on to Daisy’s road and drove up towards her house.

Daisy still had that feeling of floating, like she was elsewhere. She realised she had probably had an anxiety attack in the car.

“Christ, I’m so sorry,” she said. “I’m so embarrassed. I must look so stupid.”

“Not stupid,” Jules said. “Like I said, it’s normal. We had a car accident. Of course you’re a bit shaken up.”

“Yes,” Daisy said. “Of…of course.”

The car parked. Jules opened his door, walked around to the passenger door and offered his hand to Daisy, helping her out of the car. She felt her legs wobbling.

“Steady,” Jules said.

He opened up the rear door and pulled out the guitar case and amp.

“Might be worth giving it a tune,” Jules said. “After a jolt like that I imagine all your tunings will probably be off.”

“Yeah,” Daisy said.

Jules walked with her up to her front door, carrying her bass guitar and amp. They stood and looked at each other for a while.

“Well, see you soon,” Jules said.

“Wait,” Daisy said.

Jules was confused.

He was even more confused when she suddenly kissed him on the mouth, then let go.

Jules blinked a couple of times.

“What just happened?”

“I don’t know,” Daisy said.

Jules put down the bass guitar and amp, leaned forward, and kissed her again, then, after what felt like hours, he pulled away again.

“I, erm…I should go,” he said.

“Y-yes. You should,” Daisy said.

“Right,” Jules said. He cleared his throat. “Erm. Be seeing you, then!”

“You too,” Daisy said, calmly picking up the guitar and amp, and walking into the house. She closed the door without waving to him, put the bass and the amp down, and then stood in the middle of the living room.

“Ohgod,” she said, quietly.

*

Socks was lying in bed sobering up when he heard those familiar guitars from his phone. He picked it up and slid over the green control.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hi, Socks,” came the answer. “It’s Daisy. How was your meal with K-Os?”

“Great, yeah,” Socks said. “How was band practice?”

“Good,” Daisy replied. “Listen, er…I had a car accident earlier.”

“Shit,” Socks said. “You alright?”

“Yeah, fine,” Daisy said. “Had my nerves jangled about a bit. I just thought I’d ring to say…I miss you a lot. I’m looking forward to seeing you next week.”

“You too.”

Daisy paused, as if there was something else she wanted to say. “That was it, really,” she said. “I just miss you.”

“I’m definitely gonna be there,” Socks said. “Oh, er, and so will K-Os.”

There was a brief pause. “Oh,” Daisy said. “I see.”

“Is that a problem?”

“No, no, not at all, it’s just…I can’t really imagine her dancing.”

“Trust me, Daisy. She’s full of surprises.”

“Hm,” Daisy said. “So are you.”

Socks laughed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” Daisy replied. “You’ve just been very weird lately.”

“Yeah,” Socks said. “I’ve been going through some shit.”

“Yeah,” Daisy said. “Well, hopefully you and I talk again soon. I miss having you in my life.”

“Mm,” Socks said.

“Well, goodnight,” Daisy said. She sounded annoyed.

“Goodnight.”

With that, she hung up on him. Socks looked up at the ceiling and sighed.

“I’m gonna have to tell her eventually,” he said.

After a while, his eyelids grew heavy, and he couldn’t think any more. Before he knew it, he had nodded off, and he had, for once, a restful sleep.


Another time, another place…


Creative Commons Licence
This work is distributed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License.


ARC ONE: UMBRIC SPRING
I | II | III | IV | V | VI | VII | VIII | IX | X | XI | XII