Bright Young Things Read Online Free

and lets himself into the small terraced house he shares with Carla and Nick. He wishes they’d do something interesting. He always makes an effort to come home slightly earlier than he is expected, hoping he will find them fucking. The thought turns him on in a peculiar way. Not that he’d really want to see Carla fucking Nick, just that it would set him free. If only he could hate them, he would be free. He could stop looking after Nick and dump Carla. All he needs is a
reason
. And tomorrow he will be twenty-three. Things will have to change.
    He’s bought the
Guardian
and a packet of Marlboro from the shop at the end of the road. He hasn’t smoked since he was about ten. He goes up to his room and puts both items on the bed.
    His bedroom is the only room in the house with a TV. Carla never watches it because she prefers the radio, and Nick just reads, when he’s in. Carla says that TV is for the working classes, to keep them entertained and to stop them having any revolutions. What stops this theory being interesting is that she actually thinks this is a good idea, and she’s proud to be part of the class that makes TV, rather than the class that consumes it. God, he hates her. He checks his watch: six o’clock. She’ll be at choir practice right now.
    He flicks the TV to Sky One and watches
The Simpsons
. It’s an episode he’s seen before: Lisa falls in love with her teacher and nobody understands her. He cries during the scene when the teacher reads out a bit of
Charlotte’s Web
, Jamie’s favourite childhood book. He cries when the teacher leaves town at the end. This is another thing: he has to stop crying all the time.
    Carla comes in at about seven. Her choir practice is over and she’s looking for an argument. She walks into Jamie’s room wearing M&S cream trousers and a cotton blouse. He wishes she would wear something nylon for once. Lycra, or whatever. For a moment he imagines her dressed in whore’s clothes: a mini skirt, high heels and a boob-tube. Is that right? They don’t wear boob-tubes now, surely? Too seventies. Maybe just a little vest top with no bra. And she’d have to swear. Not that this really turns him on – quite the contrary – but it cheapens her. And she’s so fucking expensive that she really needs a price cut.
    While Jamie’s been thinking, she’s been talking.
    ‘Are you listening to me?’ she demands, her voice clipped and precious.
    Cunt
, thinks Jamie. Are you listening to me,
cunt
?
    ‘Sorry?’ he says.
    ‘I thought we might go to that concert tomorrow.’
    ‘Did you?’
    ‘It’s your birthday.’
    ‘I’m aware of that.’
    ‘It’s a recital.’
    ‘I thought so.’
    Jamie stares at the TV screen.
Don’t be mean
.
Don’t be mean
. Give her another chance. Give her . . . a challenge.
    ‘I want to go clubbing,’ he says.
    ‘Sorry?’
    ‘Clubbing? It’s what young people do.’
    ‘It’s what plebs do. God, Jamie, what’s got into you?’
    He stays silent, watching the images on screen.
    ‘Could you turn that thing off?’ she says, pissed off.
    He doesn’t move. He doesn’t want to hurt her, but he can’t help it. On reflection, she probably isn’t hurt, just confused. He wonders how you would actually hurt Carla. She sighs and leaves the room, slamming the door behind her. Jamie still doesn’t move.
    Later, he hears her on the telephone, talking to some other public school bimbo.
    ‘He’s just changed
so
much.’ Pause for commiseration. The other girl probably asks for details, over-stressing at least one word in every sentence. They all do it.
    ‘He’s been playing computer games and watching
TV
.’ Maybe the friend tells her that’s normal. ‘Yes, I know, but all the
time
? And he’s so
distant
. Earlier on he said he wanted to go
clubbing
.’ She giggles conspiratorially. ‘I
know
. It
could
be quite good fun, I suppose. But I think he wants to do it
seriously
. Last week he told me he wanted to go to a
rock
concert. Sorry?