Chapter Thirty-Four
Our reptilian-mammalian overlords
It’s been nearly a week. Merlyn and Peach Jumpsuit are trying to find out where Dr Marcus is, with no success so far, and the whole thing is really worrying me. I feel as though I have made, not just a mistake, but a catastrophic error of judgement. What if they can’t find him? What am I going to do? How can I go and see Mother Pells again looking like this? And not just that, Merlyn has already told me Devon is coming back in September, so even though I’m now back in her flat, it’s not going to be for much longer. I don’t have any money since Yuvana stopped paying me and the Instagram was suspended, so I can’t afford to rent somewhere else in London and I doubt Merlyn has a list of empty properties up her sleeve for me to live in rent-free.
The alternative, of course, is going back to Wiltshire. But how can I, having burnt so many bridges down there? I suppose I’ll have to approach my old editors for some work again, but will they even commission me to write about menopausal insomnia and vaginal dryness when I look like this? JEEZ. Maybe I’ll have to pitch to younger titles likeSinorBravurabut from what I hear, magazines aren’t even that popular with Gen Z. It’s all about social media – and I’m pretty sure my influencer days are over. I did send an email to Gabe’s friend Maxine, because I couldn’t stop thinking about how cool it would be to write some funny lines that weren’t about hair conditioners. But having messed things up with Gabe I’m not really expecting a response. She’s probably heard what an idiot I am.
One small mercy is that the#whereswultymedia furore seems to have died down, helped in part by vegan Instagrammerand wellness podcaster Polly of@pollyonlyeatsplantsfame being papped at Greggs in Hemel Hempstead buying a Steak Bake. She might have got away with it and claimed it was for someone else if she hadn’t wolfed down a sausage roll chaser while she was paying. The press is having a field day, although I’ve yet to see any of the available pun opportunities taken. Surely something about the ‘steaks’ being high would be a shoo-in? Regardless, it means that I am old news, which is a relief – although probably also reflective of my standing amongst my friends and family too. I’m quite the ray of sunshine, aren’t I?
And speaking of family, it turns out that Simon has not been microdosing since the not-so-micro incident that prevented him from going to see Mother Pells. Which is surprising, as he is being quite pleasant to me so I assumed he must still be under the influence of psychedelics. He’s got a new obsession though, called the sharing economy, which I know about because I read an article inGracemagazine about a woman who rents out her designer dresses and handbags. I’m pretty sure nobody would be interested in my Brie-stained Zara offerings, but it seems like a good idea. According to Facebook, Simon has so far rented out his A4 laminator (for home, school and office use) to someone called Suzanne, and his attic to a man named Jason – although I have concerns about what Jason is actually storing up there, and why.
Simon is now visiting Mother Pells every day, and explaining my absence with work-related excuses, at least until I can get the treatment reversed. Or should I say,ifI can get the treatment reversed. All I can think about is finally getting to see her – I don’t even care if all she wants to talk about is the potholes on Forest Lane. It also looks like when she gets out of hospital she might be moving straight into the flat we went to view (as long as they let her bring Eartha the cat). Simon has been organising this along with a carer to come in twice a day because her headinjury has left her with dizziness and balance problems and they’re not sure if these will improve at her age.
Josie has sent me a couple of short messages asking about Mother Pells, and Channing has finally realised I don’t want to go clubbing with him again so has gone quiet. The only other messages I get, apart from hospital updates from Simon, are on the ‘Find Dr Marcus’ group chat that Peach Jumpsuit set up, the latest of which said, ‘Nothing to report today.’ This was from Merlyn – Peach Jumpsuit seems to mainly post really dated GIFs, the most recent being one of Dwight fromThe Officelooking for something unspecified in a car park.
So now, I just wait. And I eat (not very good cheese from Sainsbury’s). And I rewatchThe Good Place. And I try not to bump into Zoe and her friends (specifically Kai) in the lift. And I avoid looking at myself in the mirror. This clear, bright complexion, this skin that bounces back immediately, this tight-as-a-gnats-chuff jawline – I don’t associate it with anything good anymore. But this is my existence. I might have to get back into the wine soon, as I’m feeling quite miserable, and neither Peach Jumpsuit’s GIFs nor the Wensleydale with cranberries are helping in the slightest.
Sitting on the balcony one afternoon, I watch two crows, or maybe rooks – they’re black birds of some sort. Maybe they’re blackbirds? Anyway, they are either fighting or mating. Maybe not mating, that’s earlier in the year, I seem to remember from a David Attenborough documentary. How do they mate? Do birds have penises? I might google that. But more importantly, are black birds some kind of bad omen? It reminds me of the taxi driver in Wiltshire and I realise I never listened to all the messages I got that day. I wonder if they’re still in my phone? Picking it up to check, it appears they are.
Voice note:
‘Hey gurl it’s Chan.’ ‘We’ve ended up at a house party in Walthamstow and OMG there’s someone fromMarried At First Sight Australiahere. OBSESSED. Anyway, big yikes someone just showed me the newspaper article about you – what the hell? Hope you’re okay gurl. Love youuuuuuu.’
Voice note:
‘Hi Erica, it’s Zoe. I just wanted to say I’m sorry for turning up at your door last night, or should I say this morning. I was just a bit shocked when I saw the newspaper. I… …I’m not really sure why I’m phoning. I suppose I’m trying to get my head around the fact you’re the same age as my mum. I just wanted to say, I’m not angry with you. I mean, I’m not happy that you tricked me, it’s just, I’m sure you had your reasons. The news stories don’t seem fair. I think you’re a nice person. I’ve enjoyed our conversations. Um… Call me if I can help. Okay. Bye.’
You have eight new voicemail messages:
First new message:
‘Hi, message for Erica Pells. This is Tony, producer onRise & Shine, we’d love to get you on the sofa this week with Howard and Wendy. Would Thursday morning, around eight-thirty a.m. work? The team will take care of everything, including wardrobe – we’ve got some great figure-enhancing dresses and court shoes and we can get your hair done too. Carol Vorderman might be on at the same time, which I’m sure will be exciting for you. Let us know if that works, and we can discuss.’
Next new message:
‘ This is Mark. Hey, just saw your pictures online. Love to meet up in person… Or maybe you have a webcam? Do you have a webcam? ’
Next new message:
‘Erica, it’s Alannah. Have you heard from Simon? Been trying to get in touch with him all day but he’s not responding. It’s eleven p.m. here now so heading to bed – if you speak to him can you tell him to call me tomorrow? Thanks.’
Next new message:
‘Message for Erica Pells. This is Professor Graham Crosland. I’ve been analysing the Yuvana Labs logo, and I’m of the belief that it contains coded messages. If you hold it at an angle and squint slightly, you can make out a pyramid, which is a clear nod to our reptilian-mammalian overlords. I’d like to discuss this with you, as well as Beyoncé’s involvement: she’s pulling the strings here of course. Let’s chat further – in person is probably best as I suspect our communications are being monitored.’
Next new message:
‘This is Brent from Grillers in the Mist. Your card payment didn’t go through on Wednesday night on your order for… hold on… Gouda Grill artisanal sandwich with a side of dirty fries. Can you call back and make the payment, thanks.’
Next new message:
Next new message:
‘Hello Ms Pells. This is Francesca, one of the research team from Future Flow. We’re producing a documentary series that explores the intricate frameworks of intersectional feminism, focusing on the multi-layered and concurrent forms of systemic oppression. We’re particularly interested in featuring you as a case study of the problematic aspects of modernbeauty standards and their detrimental societal impacts. Please give me a call at your convenience. Thank you.’
Next new message:
‘Girly-pop, it’s Keith. I just wanted to say sorry about pitching up yesterday unannounced. Just want you to know your friends miss you. On my way back to Wiltshire now. The play wasn’t that brilliant to be honest. Hope you had a better night. Think about what I said.’
