Bright Young Things Read Online Free Page B

mathematician doesn’t mean he has to be one. Anyway, it’s only his ex-tutors and Carla who really care.
    He browses the Appointments section of the newspaper, looking for something to get him out of all this. Something far away – further than London, if possible. He’s not qualified for any of the creative, arty jobs he’d really like. But then he sees something that intrigues him.
Bright Young Things wanted for big project
. The address is in Edinburgh. Bingo. He sends an SAE on the way home, scared that he’ll lose his nerve otherwise. He doesn’t tell anyone that he’s applied, because when he disappears, he doesn’t want anyone to know where he’s gone.

Thea
     
    ‘Push it back in, dear.’
    ‘Sorry?’
    ‘Push it back in.’
    Thea considers the situation. She’s in a small toilet in an old people’s home, with an old woman, Mabel Wells, bent over and waiting to be wiped. Blocking her way to the door is a big wheelchair, reminding her of her previous dilemma: how to actually get the woman on the toilet. She has never taken anyone to the toilet before; never even pushed a wheelchair. Her whole right side still hurts from being squashed against the wall by the substantial weight of the old lady, after the struggle to get her out of the chair. Now Mabel is balanced precariously, leaning on Thea’s left shoulder, and there is a big red turnip-shaped thing hanging out of her anus. It looks like an internal organ.
    Thea sweats, steadying herself on the silver hand-rail.
    ‘Push it back in, dear.’
    Mabel has a voice like a witch.
    ‘Push it back in?’
    ‘Yes, that’s right, Veronica.’
    ‘It’s, um,
Thea
.’
    Mabel squints, wiggling her large bottom.
    ‘The-a,’ she says, pretending to struggle with the word. ‘What a peculiar name.’
    Thea doesn’t say anything.
    ‘Are you new?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘I like Veronica.’
    ‘I’m sure you do. She’s back on tomorrow morning.’
    Mabel shifts her hand on Thea’s shoulder, grunts, and says, ‘It’s a prolapse, dear.’
    ‘What, you mean that’s your bowel?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘And you’re sure I should push it back in?’
    ‘Yes, dear.’
    ‘Won’t it hurt?’
    ‘Just get on with it. There’s a horrible draft.’
    Thea scans the room for some plastic gloves. Those things are like gold dust in here, although it’s supposedly Rule 1:
Always Use Gloves
. But there are none. Taking a deep breath, she leans over and gets behind Mabel, scanning the prolapse briefly. After counting to three in her head (a habit picked up as a child as a strategy for pulling off plasters), she cups it in her right hand and pushes. It glows purple and wobbles around like a jelly. It’s like trying to push a jelly through a straw.
    ‘It won’t go,’ she says.
    ‘Push harder, dear. It won’t hurt me.’
    Yeah
, thinks Thea,
but what if it explodes?
She says nothing and pushes harder. Eventually it sucks itself back up. Thea wipes the perspiration from her head with her left hand.
    ‘Now take me back,’ squeaks Mabel impatiently. ‘
Big Break
is on.’
    ‘You just finished watching it.’
    ‘Really?’ She sighs. ‘Oh dear.’
    The day room is full at this time of the evening. The TV is on, but not many people are watching it. The current programme is some kind of thriller, the sort that is shown in two parts over a weekend. On screen a young woman walks down an alleyway, unaware of the man following her. He catches up and pushes her against the wall, pressing a knife to her throat. You can’t see his face. Thea turns away; the scene makes her uncomfortable. She’d change the channel, but Rule 17 says that the TV must always stay on BBC1, except for half an hour on each weekday when the old people watch
Countdown
.
    Thea wonders why she doesn’t find the day room depressing. Normal people find this kind of thing depressing. Her problem, or perhaps her advantage, is that she sees things through a camera in her head. And because her camera is objective,