Blueeyedboy (52 page)

Of course I can’t
quite
be sure of this. I could be wrong about the radio station. I could be wrong about the time – she might still be in the car park, or by now it might even be over – and yet it feels completely right.

Sugar baby love
Sugar baby love
I didn’t mean to make you blue –

Perhaps there was something, after all, in Feather’s tales of walk-ins and ghosts and spirits and astral projection; because that’s how I feel now, lighter than air, watching the scene from a place somewhere on the ceiling, and the Rubettes are singing –
aaaah-oop shoowaddy-waddy, doop-showaddy-waddy
. And now I can see the top of Ma’s head, the parting in her thinning hair; the packet of Marlboros in her hand, the lighter poised above the tip; and I see the superheated air ripple and swell like a balloon inflated beyond its capacity, and she calls out –
Hello? Is anyone there?
– and lights a final cigarette –

She has no time to understand. I never really intended her to. Gloria Green is no wasp in a jar, to be caught and disposed of at leisure. Nor is she a seaside crab, left to die in the simmering sun. Her passing is instantaneous, and the hot draught sweeps her away like a moth –
Pfff!
– into oblivion, so that nothing, not even a finger, remains for
blueeyedboy
to identify, not even a measure of dust large enough to rattle inside a china dog.

From my room I can almost hear the dull
cr-crumpf
of the explosion, and it’s like crunching a stick of Blackpool rock, all sharp edges and toothache, and although there’s no way I can know for sure, I am suddenly certain, in a surge of wonder and indescribable relief, that I’ve done it at last. I’m free of her.
I’m finally rid of my mother
–

Don’t tell me you’re surprised,
Albertine
. Didn’t I tell you I knew how to wait? Did you believe, after all this time, that this could have been an
accident
? And did you really believe, Ma, that I didn’t know you were watching me, that I hadn’t clocked you from the first time you logged on to
badguysrock
?

She appeared on the scene some months ago in response to one of my public posts. Ma isn’t what you’d call computer-literate; but she accessed the Net through her mobile phone. After that, it can’t have been long before someone, somewhere, steered her towards
badguysrock
. My guess is Maureen, via Clair; or maybe even Eleanor. In any case, I’d expected it; and I’d expected to pay for it, too, though I knew she would never make any direct reference to my online activities. Ma can be strangely prudish at times, and some things are never mentioned.
All your nasty stuff upstairs
is about the closest we ever got to discussing the porn, or the photographs, or the fics that were posted on my site.

I have to admit I enjoyed the game: playing with fire; taking risks; taunting her to reveal herself. Sometimes I went a little too far. Sometimes I got my fingers burnt. But I had to know the boundaries; to see how hard I could push them both; to calculate the precise amount of pressure I could exert over the mechanism before it began to break down. An artist needs to understand the medium in which he works. After that, it was easy.

Don’t feel guilty,
Albertine
. You had no way of knowing. Besides, in the end she’d have gone after you, just as she did with those others. Call it self-defence, if you like. Or maybe an act of redemption. Anyway, it’s over now. You’re free. Goodbye, and thank you. If you’re ever in Hawaii, call. And please, look after my orchid. 401

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:

10

You are viewing the webjournal of
blueeyedboy
.

Posted at
:
05.17 on Friday, February 22

Status
:
restricted

Mood
:
sick

Listening to
:
Voltaire
: ‘Snakes’

At last. The door pulls away from the hinge. I’m free to leave. I pick up my bag. But the ache in my guts has worsened; it feels like a piece of bramble scoring my stomach lining. I go to the bathroom; I wash my face; I drink a glass of water.

God, it hurts. What’s happening? I’m sweating. I look terrible. In the mirror I look like a corpse: deep shadows around my eyes; mouth bracketed with nausea. What the hell is wrong with me? I felt so good at breakfast.

Breakfast
. Ah. I should have known. Too late, I remember the look on her face; that look of almost-happiness. She wanted to make me breakfast today. Cooked me all my favourites. Stood over me while I ate it. The vitamin drink tasted different – and she
said
she’d changed the recipe.

For God’s sake, it was obvious. How could I have missed what was happening? Ma up to her old tricks again – how could I have been so
careless
?

And now it feels like shards of glass are grinding away at my insides. I try to stand up, but the pain is too bad; it doubles me up like a penknife. I check the status of my f-list. There has to be someone awake by now. Someone who can help me.

A message through WeJay should bring help. Ma has taken my mobile phone. I type out my SOS and wait. Is there nobody online?

Captainbunnykiller is feeling OK
.

Yeah, right. The fucktard. Too scared to leave his house now in case he runs into the boys from the estate. In passing, I notice that
kidcobalt
has been removed from Cap’s f-list. Oh, well. Colour me surprised.

ClairDeLune is feeling rejected
. Well, yes, probably. Angel has finally had enough, and has written to her personally. His tone, which is cool and professional, leaves Clair with no illusions. Rejection hurts at any age; but to Clair the humiliation is even more of a blow.
sapphiregirl
is gone from her f-list. So, I see, is
blueeyedboy
.

And Chryssie? Once more, she is feeling sick. This time, I almost sympathize. Looking at her f-list this morning, I notice, with diminishing surprise, that
azurechild
has been deleted. I immediately check for
blueeyedboy
. There, too, I am absent.

Three strikes? It’s more than coincidence. I scroll quickly through the rest of my f-list, checking accounts and avatars.
BombNumber20
.
Purepwnage9
.
Toxic69
.
All
my friends. As if they had all decided as one to leave me marooned on
badguysrock
–

Of course, there’s nothing from
Albertine
. Her Webmail account is marked as
dormant
; her WeJay as
deleted
. I can still look up her old posts – nothing online is ever lost, and every word is hidden away in caches and encrypted files, the ghosts in the machine. But
Albertine
is gone now. For the first time in over twenty years – perhaps for the first time in his
life
–
blueeyedboy
is quite alone.

Alone
. A bitter, brown word, like dead leaves caught in a wind trap. It tastes like coffee grounds and dirt, and smells like cigarette ash. Suddenly I feel scared. Not so much of being alone as for the absence of those little voices, the ones that tell me that I’m real, the ones that say they see me –

You understand it was fiction, right? You know I never killed anyone? Yes, some of my fic may have been in bad taste, even a little sick, perhaps, but surely you don’t believe I could ever have acted out those things?

Do you, Chryssie?

Do you, Clair?

Seriously. It wasn’t real. Artistic licence, anyone? If it sounded genuine, if you were nearly
convinced
, then – surely that’s a compliment, proof that
blueeyedboy
kicks ass –

Right, guys? Toxic? Cap?

I try to get down the stairs again. I need to call a taxi. I have to get out. I have to escape. I have to be on that plane at midday. But I feel like I’ve been cut in half; my legs can barely hold me. I make it to the bathroom again, where I throw up until there’s nothing left.

But I know from experience that this doesn’t help. Whatever she used is in me now, working its way through my bloodstream, shutting down all systems. Sometimes it lasts for days, sometimes weeks, depending on the dosage. What did she use? I don’t know. I have to call that taxi. If I crawl, I can reach the phone. It’s in the parlour, with the dogs. But the thought of lying there, helpless, with those china dogs looking down at me, is more than my brutalized nerves can take. The snakes are loose in my belly, and now there is no stopping them –

Damn, I feel sick. I feel dizzy. The room is spinning choppily. Black flowers open behind my eyes. If I just lie here, quietly, then maybe things will be OK. Maybe in time I can regain some strength, enough to get to the airport, at least –

Bip!
It’s the sound of the mailbox. That bittersweet electronic sound. One of my friends has messaged me. I knew they wouldn’t leave me here. I knew they’d come round eventually.

I crawl back to the keyboard. I click on the symbol for
message
.

Someone has commented on your post!

I flick back to my most recent entry. A single line has been added there. No avatar. Just the default pic; a blue silhouette inside a square.

Post comment
:

JennyTricks
:
NOT BAD AT ALL FOR AN AMATEUR. NOT TOO REALISTIC, THOUGH.

She ends it with an emoticon: a little winking smiley.

No way. No
way!
A finger of sweat runs down my spine. My stomach’s filled with broken glass. It has to be a joke, right? Nothing but a bad joke. Right from the moment she first logged on, thinking she was so clever.

Oh, please. As if I could have missed her, with that ridiculous username –

JennyTricks.

Genitrix.

And its colour is sometimes Virgin-blue, and sometimes it’s green, like market-stall baize, and it smells of L’Heure Bleue and Marlboros, and cabbage leaves and salt water –

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:

blueeyedboy
:
Ma?

No. No. Of course not. I heard the explosion, for God’s sake. Ma isn’t coming back, not today, not ever. And even if she had escaped somehow, then why would she choose this medium, instead of simply driving home and dealing with me face to face?

No, someone’s trying to mess with my mind. My guess is
Albertine
. Nice try,
Albertine
. But I’ve been playing these games for much too long to be freaked out by an amateur.

Bip! Someone has commented on your post!

I consider deleting the message unread. But –

Post comment
:

JennyTricks
:
SO HOW ARE YOU FEELING,
blueeyedboy
?

blueeyedboy
:
Never felt better, Jenny, thanks.

JennyTricks
: Y
OU NEVER COULD LIE TO SAVE YOUR LIFE.

Well, that’s a debatable point,
JennyTricks
. In fact I’ve survived for as long as I have by doing precisely that. Like the princess Scheherazade, I’ve consistently lied to save my life for rather more than a thousand and one nights. So, Jenny, whoever you are –

Post comment
:

blueeyedboy
:
Tell me, do I know you?

JennyTricks
:
NOT AS WELL AS I KNOW YOU.

Seriously, I doubt that. But now I’m beginning to be intrigued, in spite of the pain that comes and goes like the waves under Blackpool pier.
In pain
. What a phrase. Like a mouse inside a bottle. In any case I’m trapped here, and rather than think about my circumstances – which, let’s face it, don’t look good – it’s easier to stay here, to grab the line that’s being offered, to keep up the dialogue, which at least is preferable to silence.

Post comment
:

blueeyedboy
:
So, you think you know me?

JennyTricks
:
OH YES. I KNOW YOU.

blueeyedboy
:
Is that you,
Albertine
?

She responds with another smiley. The pixellated yellow face looks like a grinning goblin. It hurts to type, but the silence is worse.

Post comment
:

blueeyedboy
:

Albertine
? Is that you?

JennyTricks
:
NO, THAT BITCH IS GONE FOR GOOD.

Now I’m convinced it’s Bethan in there. How did she get Ma’s password? Where is she logging on from? It’s good she doesn’t know I’m sick. She may not even know I’m here. For all she knows I’m at the airport, logging on from the business lounge.

Post comment
:

blueeyedboy
:
Well, it’s been fun, but I have to go.

JennyTricks
:
YOURE NOT GOING ANYWHERE.

blueeyedboy
:
Oh, but I am. I’m flying south.

JennyTricks
:
NOT IN THIS LIFETIME, YOU LITTLE SHIT. WE HAVE THINGS TO TALK ABOUT.

Bitch, I’m not afraid of you. In fact, I’m feeling better. I’m going to get up in a minute, pick up my bag, call a taxi and then I’ll be off to the airport. Who knows, I may even find the time to deal with those dogs before I go. Still, for the moment I think I’ll stay here, crunched up like a contortionist, keeping the pain at bay with words as it opens its jaws to swallow me –