Read Online Bright Young Things by Scarlett Thomas - Free Book Online Page B

here.’
    ‘The coffee’s the last thing I remember, too,’ says Jamie.
    ‘Same,’ says Emily.
    Jamie looks at the coffee he’s drinking now. Maybe a sip of this will take him back.
    ‘I don’t even drink coffee,’ says Anne. ‘I only drank a little bit to be polite.’
    ‘No one asked us if we wanted it, did they?’ remembers Jamie.
    ‘That’s right,’ says Paul. ‘Usually they ask if you want tea or coffee.’
    ‘That weird guy just sort of gave them to us all, didn’t he?’ says Emily.
    ‘There wasn’t any receptionist either,’ says Paul. ‘Just that buzzer thing.’
    Jamie remembers not being able to find the place for ages. He had the right street he just couldn’t find that right number. It had eventually turned out to be a small office above a betting shop, with a grey, rusting intercom and a pile of mail inside the door. Jamie remembers being disappointed that this wasn’t a cool media place, that it was more a place for dull old things than bright young ones. He’d felt a lump in his throat as he was buzzed upstairs, knowing this had been his one chance of adventure. He’d suddenly realised that you really shouldn’t respond to those vague job ads, and you certainly shouldn’t go all the way to Edinburgh for an interview for a job you know nothing about.
    He remembers how excited he felt when the application from came back to him in the envelope he’d addressed to himself. There’d been the extra thrill of hiding the envelope from Carla; getting up early every day for weeks to intercept the mail. He’s aware that the interview seemed more exciting because he’d
made
it seem more exciting. Because he was applying for the job in secret it had started to feel more like an affair or a drug habit or something glamorous, and he’d had a purpose every day, sneaking around, feeling increasingly distant from Carla. Maybe that was his whole purpose, he suddenly thinks; to distance himself from Carla without actually telling her he didn’t love her.
    The application form had seemed extra-thrilling because of all the questions Jamie hadn’t expected. There was the one about his greatest fear, his favourite book, and there were even a couple of those ink-blot pictures where you have to say what you think they look like. The form had led Jamie to believe he was applying for something at a big company that was interested in people, not some small, smelly outfit that may or may not have just kidnapped him.
    ‘Maybe it was the receptionist’s day off,’ suggests Anne, smiling.
    ‘It was a horrible place,’ says Paul distantly. ‘Reminded me of my flat.’
    Everyone’s quiet for a moment.
    ‘So we all get there for ten o’clock,’ says Emily.
    ‘It said ten on my letter,’ says Jamie.
    ‘And mine,’ says Thea, sitting back down at the table, looking scared.
    Everyone else nods.
    ‘That was pretty much all it said,’ says Jamie. ‘Just the time and place and stuff.’
    Everyone nods again.
    ‘Yep. We all got the same letter,’ confirms Paul.
    ‘And there’s just this guy there handing out coffee in a dingy office,’ continues Emily.
    ‘Not saying anything,’ adds Bryn.
    ‘Didn’t he speak at all?’ asks Jamie, trying to remember.
    ‘Yeah, he did,’ says Thea. ‘Didn’t he say, “I’ll be with you in a minute”, or something?’
    Paul frowns. ‘Yeah, something like that. I think he said “someone” rather than him.’
    ‘Maybe
he
was the receptionist,’ suggests Emily.
    ‘There must have been more than one person there,’ says Jamie. ‘The application form seemed too detailed. I thought it was a big company. I was sure they’d have a panel, or at least a couple of people.’
    ‘I thought so too,’ says Bryn. ‘I thought it seemed well professional.’
    ‘We weren’t really there long enough to find out,’ says Paul.
    ‘Did the guy have an accent?’ asks Jamie.
    ‘Can’t remember,’ says Anne. ‘Did he?’
    No one else seems able to remember