The Cult of Following, Book One

Percy smiled. Art was great, and he really would send him a decent message later. Maybe he should remind him of the invitation to visit, although it was quite soon for that. Perhaps it would be better next year. Next year. This was a notion Percy normally kept suppressed, the idea that he would still be here in twelve month’s time; at least twelve months, since Sal’s was a two-year contract and they were not yet a full year in. The experience was made easier by taking things day-by-day, rather than acknowledging the whole.

  Percy was just counting the months for an exact figure when something hard and wet smacked him in the face. Immediately came the rush of someone talking rapidly in the twanging language he knew was Tagalog, widely spoken in the Philippines. Quickly it changed to English and a string of apologies. Almost before Percy understood that a ball had hit him, a small boy was standing before him, arm firmly clutched in a helper’s fingers.

  ‘Sorry,’ the boy said.

  Percy looked at the child. He didn’t appear especially remorseful, sorry only that his maid was making him apologise for the accident.

  She repeated the apology and released the boy, who bombed straight back into the pool, sending plumes of water over Percy. The maid raised her hands in despair, apologised again, and with a shaking head rejoined her friend, who was laughing hard.

  There was no point changing his clothes, Percy decided, for they would dry in time and once he’d walked to The Tired Turtle might be dripping in sweat in any case. But it wasn’t a nice feeling lying there soggy, so he got up, checked his phone was okay, and set off early to meet Phrike, feeling an extra beer to fill the time was suddenly a very pleasant prospect.

  *

  Percy had enjoyed two bottles of cold lager before Phrike arrived, and he’d also managed to send Art a more full email describing how he missed proper beer. He offered a brief description of The Tired Turtle, comparing its open front with the enclosed feel of the pub he and Art favoured. As before, Art replied immediately. 

  Bad news mate. It’s for sale.

  As a pub? Asked Percy

  As anything.

  It was at this point Phrike arrived, Percy open mouthed with the shock of what he had just learned. That his old pub might become someone’s house, or a set of offices, was unthinkable. Part of what kept Percy feeling that living abroad was doable was the idea that nothing at home would change while he was gone.

  Phrike pulled up a stool. ‘You okay, Perc?’

  Percy explained.

  Phrike sympathised, but eased the blow by telling Percy of several Singapore microbreweries he knew of. ‘Maybe a good location for the Discussion Group?’

  ‘Yes! Good idea.’

  Phrike retracted the remark immediately. ‘But maybe not. Not everyone drinks.’

  ‘So?’

  The waitress took Phrike’s order. ‘Be a shame if some people didn’t come.’

  Percy stared at Phrike, surprised to find him thinking of others so readily. ‘Like who?’

  The big man shrugged. ‘Well, there’s that nice Indian girl…’

  ‘Is there?’

  ‘Sure. Meera, is it? She might not come.’

  ‘Oh her. She might though.’

  ‘Nice looking.’

  Percy nodded in agreement. ‘It’s up to Joyann, anyway.’

  ‘You say that Perc, but she was telling me she would like other people to have a say. It’s too much always having to think of somewhere to go. Especially for such a large group.’

  ‘Suggest it then.’

  ‘Nah. It would be shame to make some people feel they couldn’t come along.’

  Percy again stared at his friend. Phrike was always a little more inclined to think of others than Percy, but his behaviour seemed out of character. Percy expected him to leap at the chance of having the group meet in a bar, yet his reluctance was plain. ‘You okay?’

  Phrike grinned. ‘Great! Really good thanks.’

  Percy frowned inwardly. Phrike meant it. It seemed Percy himself might be the only one whose life currently felt like a broken rollercoaster, slowly rising and falling and creaking each turn, with no indication of when or where the crappy ride would end. He could see the afternoon stretching ahead of him, his evening shuffling into night, the following day a repeat, and he was grateful to Joyann for starting the group. 

  ‘Why don’t we go to a park?’ Percy suggested, the inspiration for this seemingly from nowhere.

  ‘What, now?’ Phrike held up his full bottle.

  ‘No. The group. Then we could take our own refreshments.’

  ‘Sounds like a plan.’

  ‘I’ll text her,’ said Percy.

  ‘Good idea. I can’t make the next one though.’

  ‘Shame.’ Percy forgot his pledge to think more about others, and didn’t ask why.

  ‘I’m working.’ Phrike said anyway.

  Percy swigged his beer.

  ‘But I’ll make the next one, Perc.’

  Chapter 10

  NORM

  Norm had been looking forward to meeting in the park. He had ambled along earlier than most, keen to find himself and Cocoa a comfortable place to sit. 

  His first choice was overrun with ants, but not the large orangey-red sort that he had learned to avoid. One of these aggressive beasts had once clamped its jaws onto the loose skin of his scrotum, after climbing his leg unseen, glossy friends crowding his shoes in an effort to follow. No, these ants were different, small and black, and if they were the biting sort or not was irrelevant because he would not be sitting anywhere near them. 

  Ants were a feature of life in Singapore. From time to time, Norm would have to wash them from his toothbrush before he could use it, the tiniest he had ever seen; little creatures having sneaked in from somewhere for the sweet residue of paste. And it was because of ants he had learned always to check his headphones before listening to music. Once, he’d put them on only to find one ear and his hair suddenly swarming with the insects. The horde had been merrily constructing a nest in one of the foamy earpieces, but when Norm-the-giant snatched up this new home and squashed it against his head, they’d burst into frenzy. One even raced inside Norm’s ear canal where it had bitten his eardrum. His wife said it probably wasn’t his eardrum, as Norm tore about the apartment clutching his head, shouting, screaming and batting writhing black dots from his white hair, all at the same time. But Norm remained convinced that it was, for the discomfort centred deep inside his head, the pain-equivalent of a long, long whistle.

  The spot in the park Norm settled on was seemingly ant-free, a shady expanse of short, springy coarse grass beneath a large tree. He spread his tartan blanket and pulled it close to the trunk, so he could lean. Cocoa instinctively lay down on it. Because it was a coastal park, a light breeze drifted in providing some relief from the stuffy day. The night before, a thunderstorm had barged across the entire island, but in its wake, rather than freshness, another storm brewed.

  While Norm waited for the others to arrive, he sat back and watched a large group of adults playing games, the sort involving everyone and lots of laughing. As he watched one sari-clad woman trying to bite an apple that was dangling by a piece of string from a tree, he smiled to himself. How nice to be part of something, he thought, just as he, Norm, was part of something. Since a child, the church had given him a sense of place, and now the group did also. He scanned the area for members, but saw none. He checked the time using his phone, and reread a text, confirming for himself that he was indeed waiting in the correct location.

  Not too much later, members started to arrive, and soon it was clear there would be a full turn out. This necessitated dividing people into several groups. Joyann, who had also thought the idea of a park meeting was excellent, set to work, randomly picking who would sit with whom. She issued a single topic, and after the usual chatter everyone began talking in earnest.

  The only problem, Norm felt, was Percy. Where was he?

  Norm had sent three messages already, none of which elicite
d a response. He was used to this and coped with it in one of two ways. Sometimes, he decided Percy’s phone was not receiving messages, other times that quirky Percy was poor at replying. Only occasionally did Norm consider the third possibility, of deliberate avoidance. This option took his train of thought to a place he did not want to be, so he chose never to explore it. As a distraction, he would occupy himself some other way, perhaps with a prayer, until he had forgotten the thing he was avoiding.

  He had just stopped waiting and put Percy from his mind, when the man himself appeared. Dressed in navy linen chinos and a white short-sleeved shirt, he strolled as if he was early rather than late, casually waving to Joyann when she called his name. Norm felt relief flood over him.

  Pleased he had maintained a place for Percy next to him on the blanket, Norm waved. Joyann then indicated it was the only space left. Percy sat down, crossed legged. Norm opened a small rucksack he’d brought, and drew out a bottle heavily wrapped in cloth.

  ‘What’s that?’ Percy asked, without apology or excuse to anyone for his tardiness.

  ‘I thought as it was quite a late meeting this time, we might enjoy something special.’ He watched Percy’s expression as he peeled away the layers. ‘I put some ice-blocks in my bag. Quite heavy and lumpy to get here, but at least it will be a little lighter going home.’ He grinned, and passed the bottle to Percy. ‘Could you open it please? I’ll get the cups; plastic, I’m afraid. Drink anyone?’

  Once Norm had enjoyed the first mouthful, he was rather relieved the only takers were Percy and himself. The homemade lemonade was delicious and refreshing, lending the late afternoon a pleasant sort of melancholy with its hint of times-gone-by. In this newly relaxed state, Norm found himself more able to offer opinions than usual. Between small cupfuls, he made sure to prop the bottle back amongst the ice-blocks. 

  The topic Joyann issued had everyone pulling out smart-phones to search the Internet. Norm wondered aloud if, as with a few other topics, it should have been given out ahead of time, and much to Norm’s delight Percy agreed. The topic was in fact a question:

  If William Shakespeare had been a woman?

   

  To pause for thought had been the initial reaction of most, but this had lasted only a moment. Members found themselves turning to face the person next to them and asking where on earth anyone could start with a question like that. Some brows rose in delight, others furrowed irritably; some people felt it was too broad, others too specific. But it achieved the purpose of all Discussion Group topics: it got people talking. And once they were talking so debate began, and once debate was underway no one any longer considered Joyann’s topic anything other than perfect. Before the members, the Bard’s work had become a mix of unravelled spools, heaps of loosely tangled threads ready for sorting.

   In the midst of banter about whether Romeo rather than Juliet might have taken the toxic draught had the play been penned by Wilhelmina, Percy grabbed Norm’s arm. 

  ‘What is it?’ Norm had expected some deep revelation about gender roles. It was nothing so expansive.

  ‘I keep forgetting to look from something to see with Sal. I said I’d take her to the theatre.’

  ‘Look something up now,’ Norm suggested, saddened to discover Percy’s theatrical thoughts had drifted to his wife.

  ‘Nah. I’ll do it later. We’re doing this.’

  Norm smiled. ‘Top up?’

  *

  It all passed by too quickly, leaving Norm with a sense that while something lovely had been shared, it would come only this once. He shook off the feeling. Both he and Percy were part of something bigger than them both and they would see each other many times yet; the Discussion Group as an entity was not likely to end soon, and so by default nor would their friendship. But as they packed up to leave so the lemonade induced melancholy hardened itself. Was this it, he questioned? Was this all he could be, all he might ever share with Percy? In his head he conversed with God, seeking strength to bear the test that had been placed upon his shoulders. After, he felt a little better.

  Not far away, Phrike was standing and stretching his huge frame, a cloth shopping bag filled with what Norm knew were empty beer bottles in hand. At the last minute he’d been able to come and was smiling broadly, talking with his group; they’d stood up while still forming the circle they’d been sitting in on the ground. Just as Norm’s own circle had chosen to sit upon blankets or cushions, so had they; save for one older lady who had the foresight to bring a foldout chair, and Meera who had done the same. Another group, Norm noticed, had all brought chairs. Why had he thought only to bring chilled lemonade?

  Phrike reminded Norm of action films, specifically the hero, though sometimes in modern films the baddie might look that way too. Tall, broad, lean and strong; short hair, clean-shaven. And he had Percy’s ear. Phrike was a man’s man, as was Percy. Norm was not sure what category he himself fell into, though he doubted he could be classed as a man’s man in the same way.

  Action films.

  Heroes. 

  Norm’s mind drifted momentarily, wandering back in time to a Hollywood blockbuster he knew well, though could not recall exactly when he had seen it or with whom, since film watching was not a regular part of his youth. Yet somehow he had watched The Greatest Story Ever Told more than once. Charlton Heston’s masculine portrayal of John the Baptist, his lone voice crying out in the wilderness, had moved the young Norman Sullivan, helping to shift unsettling feelings about who he was into a more manageable space. He wondered if he might find the film somewhere on the Internet and watch it again, awakening from his mental stroll to find himself gazing at Percy. Here was the man whose very existence had prompted an older Norman Sullivan to revisit that space.

  Percy was talking with Joyann nearby. She had swiftly cleared up her own mini camp and come over. Is that what he, Norm, looked like when talking with Percy, so happy and at ease? Because while it was true that he felt happy when he was with him, Norm did not always feel easy. He often felt unable to say the right thing, while Percy, on the other hand, always managed to say exactly what was required. Percy could be short, often brusque, but he was never wrong. If Norm could have Percy speak for him then he would gladly relinquish his voice, because Percy, in his own sullen way, appeared to understand everyone and everything.

  Chapter 11

  SOCIABILITY

  When the various subgroups started breaking up, Norm invited Percy home for a drink. It was late, and, as Norm explained, his home was en route to Percy’s. They could enjoy a glass of fizzy by the pool and perhaps admire the pretty lights the management had put up, since they were likely to be sitting outside after nightfall. His wife was not teetotal, he revealed, so Percy’s fizzy could be wine even if his own was more lemonade. He could have the maid rustle up a poolside dinner, Norm added, excitedly. 

  ‘Isn’t that one of the great treats of this climate, and of having domestic help?’ he cried. ‘A meal made by someone else by the pool; I think it’s pure luxury.’

   Without saying a word, Percy looked to Joyann. Being alone with Norm would not be anywhere near as relaxing as spending time with Art or Phrike, far from it. While at some level he appreciated Norm’s well-intentioned company, it made him wary. A forgotten feeling stirred, the one he used to get at the prospect of his grandmother’s homemade earache curative; part of him had wanted it, and part him felt revulsion at the idea of pouring urine into his ear. His mother’s fix was considerably more pleasant: a warm hot water bottle wrapped in a soft towel and one junior aspirin. 

  The instant Percy’s gaze landed on Joyann, Norm invited her too. She nodded, brightly, smiling at Percy as if also agreeing on his behalf. Until that moment, Percy had been considering going straight back home to try and persuade Sal to have an early dinner with him somewhere nice. For once she was working from home, and Percy was concerned that despite spending time around him she still hadn’t reminded him about the planned theatre trip. In fact, there had bee
n no nagging of any sort, which he considered was very unlike her. Her increasingly distant mood was making him apprehensive, though in an ill-defined way. 

  He was about to say to Norm that he really should to go home, thinking he must book something up at the theatre if nothing else, when he stopped. Norm’s face bore a strange look of appeal, and Joyann’s her usual unfailing good humour. Being honest with himself, Percy thought the idea of wine and dinner by the pool was a pleasant one. Of course it would be good to have dinner with Sal and sort out the theatre trip, but the most likely outcome of heading back now would be sitting alone, whether by the pool or otherwise. So with limited grace, he agreed.

  Percy phoned for a taxi, which arrived within a few minutes. ‘Don’t you love that?’ he remarked, climbing in.

  ‘Love what?’ Norm said, getting in next and shuffling up alongside Percy.

  ‘Taxis.’ Percy replied. ‘They come so quickly. I reckon one day a cab might turn up even before I know I need it.’

  ‘Is it different in England?’ Joyann questioned, taking the front passenger seat at Phrike’s instruction, after he’d asked to share the ride.

  ‘Is it different in England?’ Percy repeated. ‘Yes it is different. Where Sal and I used to live you had to book days in advance.’

  ‘Is this true?’

  ‘Yes. Weeks, even.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘In some places, yes.’

  ‘Percy!’ Joyann chuckled. ‘You are teasing me.’

  ‘I am not!’

  ‘You are. I have been to London and there were taxis everywhere.’

  ‘Then why did you ask? Anyway, I’m not from London. And while you were there did you try phoning for one?’

  ‘No…’

  ‘Then how can you know?’

  The driver interrupted their banter, ‘No vomiting, huh,’ he said.

  ‘Why would anyone vomit?’ asked Percy, looking partly to Joyann for the answer, thinking that since she was local she might shed some light on what seemed an unusually specific request. 

  Looking equally puzzled, Joyann shrugged and shook her head.

  ‘Him.’ The driver’s dark eyes, reflected in the rear view mirror, were anchored on Phrike. They narrowed, accusingly.