Last Bus to Everland, page 15
Though nobody’s asked me to, I start sorting through the boxes of records, sliding them into the right categories and arranging them in alphabetical order. In the first, I find RuPaul’s Supermodel of the World on vinyl. I take a photo to send to Megan, telling her to come into the shop to visit me if she’s around later. I haven’t seen her much since she got back from Manchester: I’ve been busy with drumming, making masks, texting Nico.
When I start digging through the second box, I find an album by Manel, another of Arnau’s favourite bands. That’s when I realize something. I’ve hardly thought about the place since I got here. I’ve thought about Nico a few times, but not really about Everland.
That shouldn’t feel weird, not when I’ve only been here a few hours. It does, though. It makes me feel sort of guilty, like I’m slipping away from the place. But that’s daft. I’ll be back there on Thursday, back where I belong. After working in here all weekend, I’ll have loads more song suggestions for Esther and the band, too.
Everything until then is just a placeholder. Even this.
Something is happening in Everland.
It clicks over the next month. Just little things at first, like the sky changing colour again, or the stars disappearing as if they’ve been blotted out with dark ink. But soon it starts to feel like something bigger.
One night, I’m walking down the hill, and the river turns a deep burgundy, a shade of red wine, like blood – but when I move closer, it’s back to the normal colour of water. Another time, the white-spotted deer who graze around the hills charge across the valley in a thousand-strong stampede. It only lasts a few seconds, but it makes the whole ground shudder. And a week later, the usual balmy temperature shoots up so high, it feels like we’ve been transported into the height of a Mediterranean summer.
‘This isn’t normal,’ Kasia says. ‘The temperature has never changed so drastically. Not in all the time I’ve been coming here.’
The five of us are lying out on a long stretch of sand near a bend in the river, parts of costumes scattered at the feet of the palm trees behind us. The sunless sky above is a perfect, cloudless blue; we keep having to dip our feet in the river to cool down.
‘It could be like this all the time,’ Zahra points out. ‘We’re only here on Thursday nights. Maybe it’s Club Tropicana the rest of the week.’
Kasia runs a hand over her forehead. ‘You know it’s not just that. That thing with the deer . . . and the river . . . Something is happening in here. I’m telling you, it’s not normal.’
Nico rolls on to his side, scattering sand around him.
‘Kash. For the thousandth time, there is no normal here. There are no rules.’ He lies back again, his arms stretched above his head. ‘You’re gonna have to go back to dreich February Edinburgh in a bit. Just enjoy it while you can.’
Kasia’s not one for relaxing. She gets up and brushes the sand off her jeans. ‘I’m going to the library. Maybe somebody’s got some information in there.’
Zahra offers to go with her to help; Nico pulls a face at me and mumbles something about her being paranoid. Even if I don’t want to, I agree with Kasia. It’s as if tectonic plates are shifting below us, transforming the shape of Everland, altering how it works. It feels like something’s about to change.
* * *
I wake up the next morning in a bad mood. That’s been happening a lot after my nights in Everland, almost like it’s leaving me with a hangover. Even so, the day gets off to an undeniably bad start. There’s nothing but cornflakes for breakfast – I hate cornflakes, tastes like eating soggy leaves – and Jake has a go at me for nicking his socks. And since my prelims start today, things at school are even worse.
My first one is Spanish. The CD player won’t start (big surprise, seeing as it’s older than anybody in the class), so Mr Velázquez has to run off to find a spare. He tells us to sit quietly and read over the questions until he comes back, which obviously nobody does: one half of the class whips out their phones, while the other drifts across the room to talk to their friends.
Anton Akande, who sits beside me, pulls out his textbook to cram in some last-minute revision, so I do the same. I should really practise this stuff with Nico, I think, as I read over environmental vocabulary. All I’ve learned from him are swear words and ‘aguafiestas’, something he always calls Kasia when she’s being a killjoy.
While I’m reading, the word ‘fairy’ drifts out of the hubbub. Without meaning to, I look up. Leanne is watching me from two rows over, a wide smirk on her face.
‘Heard your dad got his benefits cut, Fairy,’ she says, loud enough for the entire class to hear. ‘Is he gonnae have to finally get a job now?’
Thirty-odd faces turn to look at me. My body goes cold, but an instant heatwave hits my cheeks. I sink down in my chair, my eyes fixed on the vocab list in my textbook.
‘None of your goddamn business, Leanne.’
Leanne laughs. She swings back on her chair, her trainers tucked around the legs of the table. ‘He cannae, though, can he? Cos he’s mental. Hasn’t left their flat in five years.’
Beside her, Jamie Wight sniggers; Rongrong Li turns around and glowers at him. Anton mutters something about that word being offensive. I keep staring at the textbook, but the words on the page have become a blur. My pulse is racing. I open my mouth to tell Leanne to piss off again, but nothing comes out.
‘Heard your mum got rid of your cat, too. Poor Tinker Bell!’
My cheeks flare even hotter. A few people laugh. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Leanne fake a pout.
‘Aww, you gonnae cry, Peter Pan?’
Mr Velázquez comes back into the room holding another CD player. Leanne twists around in her seat, the legs of her chair hitting the carpet tiles with a bump. Five seconds later, she’s already blethering to Jamie about some boy she got off with at the weekend.
The listening test starts, but the blood is thumping in my ears so hard, I can hardly make out anything on solar panels or wind energy or whatever the hell the audio’s about. Leanne’s words keep looping around my mind. My own do, too. ‘None of your goddamn business, Leanne.’
That’s all I said. I didn’t even correct her. I didn’t do anything.
By the time we get out for lunch, Megan’s network of spies have already informed her about what happened in Spanish class. I find her waiting for me outside the canteen, her arms crossed tight over her chest.
‘I can’t believe you never told me about your dad.’
That’s the first thing she says. Not, ‘God, Brody, that must be really worrying for your family.’ Or even, ‘Leanne’s such a bitch for telling everyone like that.’ I grit my teeth to stop myself from snapping at her. This is typical Megan, making everything about herself.
‘Aye, well. Didnae want to think about it.’
I push past her and join the queue for lunch. Greasy shepherd’s pie on the menu, watery custard for dessert. Today is not my damn day.
Megan grabs a tray and puts an apple on it. ‘How long has this been going on for?’
I keep my eyes on the food and don’t answer. Megan lets out a long sigh.
‘You never tell me anything any more.’
Maybe because this is how you react, I want to snap. Going on at me about how I didn’t tell you, about how it makes you feel. One of the canteen ladies slides a portion of shepherd’s pie on to my tray, her gaze lingering curiously on my stormy expression. I swallow and hand it back to her.
‘No, thanks. I’m no hungry.’
I spend the whole lunch break angry-drumming in the music room, but even that can’t get Leanne’s – and now Megan’s – words out of my head. They follow me around like a swarm of bees, buzzing and pricking at me all through my last two classes. By the time I get back to Mackay House, I’m hungry and tired and in an even crappier mood than I was this morning.
My parents are the only ones home. Mam’s sitting at the computer, and Dad’s doing the ironing and watching something about astronauts. He glances over as I come in.
‘All right, Brodes.’ He slides the iron over one of Jake’s school shirts, sending a cloud of steam into the air. ‘How’d the exam go?’
‘Fine.’ I don’t have the energy to tell them the truth. ‘It was just a prelim, anyhow.’
I go to the kitchen to get a snack, but there’s nothing in except some tins and half a loaf of bread. I stick a slice in the toaster and make myself a cup of tea. There’s no milk, either, so I put in extra sugar to make it taste half decent. I slump down on the sofa, kicking my feet on to the coffee table. On the TV, a group of teenagers in blue overalls are exploring the inside of a spaceship.
‘They’re at a summer camp at NASA,’ Dad tells me. ‘Some of these kids might be the first people to live on Mars. Bloody mad, isn’t it?’
I take a bite of my toast. ‘Mmm.’
One of the American girls starts talking about how they’re going to deal with the lack of water on the planet. Mam types slowly on the computer; upstairs, one of the neighbours is hoovering. Other than that, the room’s weirdly quiet. Something’s going on. I can sense my parents’ gazes lingering on me, feel them silently communicating behind my back.
‘So, Spanish went well, did it?’ Mam asks in a too-bright voice. ‘Maths next, right? That’ll be a tough one.’
The screen cuts to footage of a woman floating around in space. Her long black hair stretches above her head, swaying like sea grass without the gravity.
I take another bite of toast. It’s already cold.
‘It’ll be fine.’
She gives an airy laugh. ‘Will it? Haven’t seen you doing much revision, Brody.’
They’ve planned this, her and Dad: they’ve discussed how to bring this up; the best way to raise it without me closing off. Like I’m some problem to be handled. The feeling in my chest – that tight, angry knot that’s been there since this morning, steadily growing throughout the day – is ballooning.
‘It’ll be fine,’ I say again. ‘I told you, it’s just prelims.’
‘We’re no trying to get on your back, Brody. Just wondering how you’re getting on,’ Dad says. He picks up a jumper from the pile of clothes. ‘You might as well be living on Mars, the amount we’ve heard from you lately,’ he adds, in a jokey tone that’s not really a joke.
And suddenly, the balloon pops.
I spin around to face Dad. ‘What’s it like for you, watching stuff like this?’ I say. ‘Do you not find it weird, thinking about how huge the universe is, when yours is only a few rooms? That there are people out there planning on travelling to bloody Mars, when you cannae even walk down the street to buy a Mars bar?’
As soon as I say it, I wish I hadn’t.
Mam splutters out my name, but Dad doesn’t say anything. He just stares at me, his expression slowly morphing from shock to hurt. I’ve never spoken to him like that before. I know it’s stupid, and mean as hell, and as pointless as telling someone with broken legs to just try walking. He’s sick. It’s not his fault.
Funny how I can know all that and still be mad at him.
The door crashes open. We all turn around, Dad brandishing the iron mid-air like he’s ready to whack an intruder with it. Jake is standing in the doorway, his school tie loose, a baffled grin cracking over his face.
‘I got in.’ His voice is shaking. ‘I got into Cambridge.’
Just like that, the bad atmosphere evaporates. Dad leaps forward, almost burning Jake with the iron, and Mam trips over her handbag in her rush to go and give him a hug. My words are blown away in a flurry of cheering and congratulations; Dad starts asking a hundred questions, and Mam snatches up her phone to call everyone in a hundred-mile radius. Jake looks so happy he might burst. He even gives me a hug.
‘Well done, man,’ I tell him, patting his back. ‘You deserve it.’
He beams at me, his eyes bright. ‘Thanks, Brody.’
I should be happy for my brother. I am happy for my brother. Relieved that he’s taken the heat off me by distracting Mam and Dad from my outburst, too. But another part of me feels like this is just more of the same: like every time they really see me, something brighter and shinier catches their eye. I’m starting to feel like I could disappear, and they wouldn’t even notice.
My dad believes in premonitions. Not that he’s had any himself – if he had, maybe he could have avoided what happened to him six years ago. He’s been convinced they’re real since he saw some documentary about people who refused to board the Titanic because they’d had a nightmare about it, or Twin Towers workers who followed some gut instinct and decided to stay home on 9/11. I always thought it was rubbish, the idea that your body or your dreams could somehow predict the future. But when I walk into Everland on the first Thursday in March, I definitely have a feeling.
Something bad is going to happen tonight.
On the surface, everything looks normal. It’s felt that way for a while now. The temperature has dropped back down to its usual comfortable level, and it’s been weeks since I’ve noticed anything weird going on up in the sky. After I play a set with the band, I find Nico and the others hanging out down at the river. Kasia’s reading out the ‘best bits’ from a book on medieval history, which only Miyumi is politely pretending to pay attention to, and Nico is sketching Zahra. It’s just another night in Everland. Even so, I can’t sit still. Everything feels wrong.
‘What is up with you tonight?’ Nico asks me, scratching behind his ear.
He’s dressed as some sort of arty unicorn: this amazing cape cut out of material printed with a renaissance painting, and a gold headpiece made from dozens of chocolate-coin foils. I don’t have as much time to make new costumes any more, now I’m working in Rusty Records at the weekends, so I’m wearing my jeans and an Adidas jumper that I nicked from Jake with my old Anubis mask.
‘I dunno. I’m just feeling weird.’ My eyes skate over the sky. It’s a purplish blue tonight, with strips of pale violet clouds just behind the mountains. ‘Like the atmosphere’s different or something. Can you really no tell?’
They look at each other, then shake their heads. Kasia’s looking at me with this concerned expression that makes me grit my teeth. Probably thinking that this is a sign of something. That I’m going to refuse to leave Everland and have a breakdown like her ex did.
‘It’s probably nothing,’ I say quickly. ‘Forget I said anything.’
Then, from somewhere in the distance, someone begins to scream.
Before I can think about it, I’m running.
Then we’re all running, past the giant metal animals, through long stretches of meadows and into the gardens, the landscape shifting fast around us. We end up back in the square with the terracotta buildings and the floral paving stones, the same one we arrived in back in January the night Nico was drunk. But something’s different. The door, the bright yellow door that stood between the buildings, has disappeared.
Standing in the space where it used to be is a man. I’ve never seen him before: he’s tall and pale, wearing board shorts and a Nike T-shirt. He keeps pacing back and forth, babbling in a thick Australian accent about how this can’t be happening; this can’t be possible.
Zahra’s hand clamps to her mouth; Miyumi whispers something in Japanese. I stare at the man for a few more seconds before it clicks.
That was his door. And now it’s gone.
He’s stuck here.
The man claws at his hair, frantically rambling to himself. Other people run around the square, checking in and around the buildings as if somebody could have hidden the door for a joke. ‘Try another one, Louis!’ someone shouts. The man nods for a moment then takes off out of the square. With dozens of us following him, he moves through the market, through manicured gardens and into a meadow of flowers, where a white door is half-hidden in the long grass.
Just a few steps in front of me, Nico stops.
‘That’s Dani’s door,’ he says. ‘Was Dani’s door.’
The Australian man, Louis, sprints up to it and pulls on the handle as hard as he can. The door slides open; a few people around us gasp. For a second, I think he’s done it: he’s opened a door to Argentina. Beside me, Nico tenses. He could run through there, I realize with a jolt. He could find Dani—
But the door only opens an inch before it slams shut again. Louis lets out a strangled cry. Two more people run up to help. With three pairs of hands on the knob, they yank the door open. The same thing happens: it only opens an inch before it’s pulled shut.
Beside me, Kasia has gone pale. ‘It won’t work. You can only leave where you came in. He won’t be able to get out that way.’
Overhead, the sky is changing again: red clouds roll over the mountains, turning the sea the colour of blood; in the distance, flashes of lightning whip towards the horizon. It starts to rain. I’ve never seen it rain in Everland before.
Louis staggers backwards from the door, clutching his head in his hands. ‘What do I do? What do I do?’
A few people go to comfort him. Others hurry away, perhaps back to their own doors and their real lives, or maybe just to some place they can pretend this isn’t happening. Though we’ve only been in here a short while, or what feels like it, I already feel the tug pulling me back towards our own green door.
The others do, too. We all say goodbye to Miyumi and quickly head back up the hill. Everyone is quiet. I can’t stop thinking about that guy, scouring the square for a route home that’s not there any more. He’s probably got a family waiting for him back home . . . friends . . . a job. Will he just disappear from his real life, now he can’t get back?
Beyond the pine trees, the green door is waiting for us as always. Zahra lets out a gasp of relief.
‘This isn’t supposed to happen.’ Kasia pushes the door open, her hands shaking. ‘It doesn’t make sense.’
‘This must b-be a mistake,’ Zahra stammers. ‘It’ll come back. It has to.’
Nico follows them out into the cool, crisp evening. ‘It’ll be back by this time next week. We’ll feel stupid for panicking about it then. Bunch of drama queens.’
