I make a cigarette. My phone shakes.
Alice to me: wer r u? I want to come home now. Let’s watch evry Wes Anderson in my bed.
There’s a bald man in the television saying that another man has died. Cher Lloyd comes on and a blonde woman asks her questions about nothing. Cher Lloyd smiles and looks at a camera and says something about being yourself. I don’t want to be myself, Cher. Leave me alone. The bald man appears again. The bald man says things about money and debt. None of it is real. None of it is happening. The only real thing is Alice. Alice is the only thing that exists. Alice doesn’t exist any more. Alice and Aaron Mathews. They are still sort of having sex in my head. He is extremely well endowed. Big feet. The bald man points at me. He knows everything.
‘Following the emergence of leaked information regarding Alice Calloway, Etgar Allison has suffered considerable loss of motivation, energy and interest in his usual pursuits (Wikipedia,YouTube, Kurt Vonnegut). He has been seen to spend long periods of time staring at inanimate objects and will occasionally stop whatever he is doing to lie face down on the floor and sing “One Thousand Miles” by Vanessa Carlton (a song he has described as “all that’s left”).
‘In an official statement given earlier today, he described bed as “better than sex” and Alice Calloway as “the horriblest bitch I know”.’
I go back up to my bedroom and sit in the middle of my carpet with Mum’s computer. Macy’s online.
‘Hi,’ she says.
‘Hi.’
‘Are you at work?’
‘Yes.’
‘What can you see?’
I look at the bonsai tree Mum bought me for Christmas. Its leaves are composting in piles along my windowsill. The sky behind is grey and empty.
‘The whole of London. It’s raining a little. There are red lights on the tops of buildings. The sky is pink and orange.’
‘Sounds beautiful.’
‘It is but there are people next to it, and things with people next to them aren’t fun.’ That sounds too bleak. Stop being bleak. ‘I mean too many people. There are a lot of people and I don’t want to see them.’
‘At least you get to meet girls if you want to.’
‘You don’t get to meet men?’
‘Sometimes, when my ex takes the kids. Usually there’s no time.’
‘So you cyber?’
‘Sometimes.’
‘I don’t really go out and meet girls.’
‘Why not?’
Because they tend not to go for fifteen-year-old boys with back acne and anxiety issues.
‘Because I’m not very good at it.’
‘You’re fine at it,’ she says. ‘And you’re young. You probably pick them up in clubs by sliding drinks down bars and winking.’
‘I don’t do that,’ I say. ‘I don’t slide glasses at people. I’d worry about the glass smashing and pieces going on the girl and her suing me.’
‘A man did it to me once and I slid the drink back to him.’
‘I’d be scared of that.’
‘But it’s nice to have drinks slid at you.’
‘I guess.’
‘Yes.’
‘What are you doing now?’
‘Just chatting. Kids in bed.’
‘I still wish people could climb through computers.’ ‘Me too. Just not to here. You should try.’
‘I’m trying. My face is against the screen. It isn’t working. Maybe there’s like something you need to press. Like F5 or something.’
‘Haha. Do you have cam?’
‘It’s broken, sorry.’ It’s not. I have one. I don’t want her to realise I’m a boy. I want to see her. ‘You could put yours on.’
‘Not if you don’t. I’m not a cinema.’
Nothing happens.
‘What would happen if you could climb through the computer?’
‘I don’t know. I’d appear in your bedroom. Would you be scared?’
‘No. You’re not scary.’
‘I’m scary.’
‘Haha.’
‘I’ve killed people with my hands. I’m wanted in several exotic countries and there is a fatwa on my head.’ ‘For?’
‘Stealing yachts and liberating circus animals.’
‘Did anyone die?’
‘Not this time.’
‘Okay.’
‘I think I’d stare at you for a while. If I appeared.’
‘I feel sort of horny imagining you appearing.’
‘Oh.’
‘Stop staring and come over here.’
‘Wait. What are you wearing?’
‘Jeans and a black lace bra.’
‘You look nice.’
‘What are you wearing?’
‘A suit.’
‘Are you going to kiss me?’
‘Okay. Sorry. I’m doing it. Kissing.’
‘It’s nice when you do that.’
I don’t understand.
‘I’ve moved to your neck. It’s warm.’
‘I’m pulling your hair.’
‘Stop pulling my hair and take off your trousers.’