All The Lonely People - David Owen Page 0,9

a Doctor Backwash poster on the wall. The logo showed through like a paling tattoo.

‘I’m a leaf on the wind,’ she whispered, urging herself to be calm.

Automatically she reached for her phone, and then pulled away as if it would scald her.

It hit her like a blow to the chest; the reason this had happened. For so long, Kat had only been her real self online – or as close to her real self as it seemed possible for her to get – where she could escape the indefinable stress of everyday life. Now those proxies into which she had poured herself were gone, and hardly anything of her was left behind. The posters on her walls, the figurines and the merch lining her shelves, were mere covers for her lack of substance.

It almost made her laugh. It was pathetic.

She grabbed her phone and opened the self-facing camera, averting her eyes as she snapped a selfie. There was no mirror in the room – looking at her face wasn’t Kat’s favourite pastime – but she had always taken a selfie once a week to post online. It felt like a way to keep in touch with herself, every photo throwing down the gauntlet to her continuing existence, fortifying her online life.

This selfie was different. Every inch of her was affected. Her body, her physical self, had become . . . what? Less corporeal; less present; simply less.

Kat focused on a single point on the far wall, a dent from a rogue yo-yo years before. The beast of panic was awakening, clawing. At the end of a long exhale she threw a fist sideways into the wall.

‘Ow!’

Pain throbbing in her knuckles was proof enough that she still existed, in one form or another. She had faded, like a chalk drawing in rain, but she was still there – just a little less there than before.

4

Building a Snowman

The block of flats Wesley called home was longer than it was tall, two storeys of brown brick that ran the length of a car park before dog-legging away to pull up short at a railway bridge. The top floor doors lined a sheltered walkway, almost like a shared balcony, so he could see his front door as he crossed the tarmac and came around the grubby metal bins.

His anger had only spiralled on the walk home, every hard step stoking the fire hotter, so he was fuming by the time he reached the main entrance. He fumbled in his pocket for his keys. Before he had it open he heard a soft mew behind him, and a scrawny, tawny cat appeared at his heels.

‘Hey, Buttnugget,’ Wesley cooed in reply.

Buttnugget was probably not its real name. The cat belonged to one of the old ladies on the ground floor, and was mostly allowed to roam freely. It had taken a liking to Wesley as soon as they moved in, possibly because he was always keen to offer prolonged head scritchings. Lately it had been spending some nights curled up with him in his room. The cat wound around his ankles now, mewing insistently, and Wesley scratched its ears and sank his fingers into the animal’s warm fur. It always seemed like a small marvel, to have his touch so welcomed.

It was enough, at least, to calm him down a little, and by the time he made it upstairs and picked his way along the walkway’s obstacle course of flowerpots and chained bicycles, he knew he wouldn’t shout. Like he’d promised Evie he never would.

The door opened straight into the sitting room, and he shut it too hard behind him, sending his little sister scurrying away from her usual position in front of the TV. Mum was through in the kitchen, wrapping a sad-looking sandwich in tin foil.

‘Do you want me to work there or not?’ Wesley said.

Mum dropped the sandwich into her bag. ‘Shady Acres care home needs an extra assistant for the night shift, and we need the money. I’m sure Dave doesn’t mind.’

‘I mind,’ Wesley said, following her back to the front door. ‘It’s embarrassing.’

‘What do you want me to do?’ Mum turned on him, voice officially raised. ‘I have to work.’

Wesley shrunk back, knowing there was no arguing with that. Even after all this time it surprised him how powerless she could make him feel.

‘I’ve tried to get a job,’ he said, quieter now.

‘You know that doesn’t matter. I want you to focus on your exams.’

Wesley had let her down there too