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The book:
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Excerpted from The Dying of Delight by Clare Sudbery. Copyright © 2004. Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
Disclaimer: Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is unintentional and purely coincidental.
Chapter One - Fin de Siecle
I was born the day Neil Armstrong landed on the moon.
I grew up the day my mum went to Mars.
Which is one of those things I remember vividly, like my first kiss, or when I handcuffed my boss to a radiator, but it's not the right place to begin.
This story started the day I rescued Andy from a frenzied tampon attack.
It isn't over just yet, but things are going badly so it won't be long. Mum's dead, Andy's missing and I've relinquished control.
Perhaps I'm mad. My mum was. She probably was. Other people said she was. She's guiding me now though, towards the darkness. Tomorrow's the solar eclipse.
***
Some people say Neil Armstrong never went to the moon.
My mum never went to Mars; she just climbed onto the roof of the British Legion and said it was her spaceship.
Andy wasn't attacked by a tampon. He was attacked by a woman wielding a tampon. She took it out from under her skirt, which was green and shiny. I think it was probably extra large. The tampon, I mean, not the skirt. But I'm no tampon sizing expert. I don't know much about fish either, so I couldn't tell you exactly what her face reminded me of. Just that it was flat, shiny and, well, fish-like.
It was Sunday 3rd January, and we were all round at Milo's house. I'd been there three days already. He was having one of those New Year parties that never quite ends, and Andy arrived with Fish Face and a load of other people some time in the afternoon. I didn't know who he was though, not then.
We'd been up all night, and it had reached that point where the booze, after at first taking the edge off things, was really kicking in. Things were getting messy.
"Oh God I'm pissed," I said. "I can't believe I've got work tomorrow morning."
"Dunno why you bother," said Milo. "Bunch of computer nerds with more money than sense."
"Oh, piss off."
Milo raised his eyebrows, and the rest of his face followed.
Milo's face is made of rubber. When he talks, all his features shift in synchronisation with his mouth. When he's thinking, his eyebrows leap up and down and his forehead magically summons up an extra few feet of skin that crumples in deep folds across his brow. The whole effect turns his constant aggression into something comforting - as though at any minute he might mould himself around you like a lump of putty.
"It's a talent though," said Milo. "Shame to waste it."
"Huh. I think you're mistaking me for someone who actually reads the computer magazines."
"Nah, I mean the respectable thing. Going to an office every day and fitting in with the normal people."
The thing I love best about Milo is the way he hates people. He's a misanthrope. Even the word sounds good. Misanthrope. He hates the government for being capitalist thieving bastards. He hates the kids next door for being noisy brats. He hates computer programmers for being boring Trekkies.
That's my official reason for liking him. Because of that edge of his. But really it's much simpler than that. It's my ego. He hates everybody else, but he likes me, and that makes me special.
"I don't fit in, I'm just me," I said.
Special I might be, but he still knows how to wind me up, the sod.
"Reminds me of that film about phone boxes," he said.
"Eh?"
"It's Spanish. Short. They used to play it on BBC2 when the schedules were buggered up. A bloke gets kidnapped while he's on the phone. They cart him off to a warehouse full of skeletons in phone boxes. Leave him there to die."
I was beginning to feel confused. I was sure he was laughing at me.
Saffron, a small woman with an irritating habit of prodding you and breathing in your ear, was sitting next to me. She leant over.
Oh no. Please don't.
Hot breath on my ear, and two large prods to the shoulder. "Ooh Silver, did I tell you..."
I ignored her. "You've lost me," I said to Milo.
"I had this dream the other night - dreamt it was you in the phone box. Except you were just going to work. You were wearing, like, you know, those matching clothes normal women wear."
"A suit."
"A suit? Do women wear suits?"
"Yes. I don't, though."
"Don't you? Oh. Well you did in my dream. Loads of red boxes, all full of nerds tapping away on their computers. Then at the end of the day you got picked up and taken home again."
"Oh fuck off, that's just depressing."
"You love it. You want to be exploited by those capitalist thugs. They all do."
"No I don't. Sometimes I hate it."
"Don't do it then."
Prod prod. Saffron again. "But Silver..."
Every time she touched me I winced, shivered and pulled away. My shoulder felt bruised. I tried to zone her out.
"It's the only thing I'm qualified for," I said to Milo.
"Bollocks. You could be an artist."
Prod prod. "Yeah, Silver..."
"Oh yeah, right. Like Mum. And then maybe I could go insane like her, too?"
"If anything'll drive you insane it's working in that place."
Prod prod. My head was swimming. Milo was making me feel completely stupid and got at, but Saffron was the easier target, so I rounded on her.
"For fuck's sake, has no-one ever told you that being poked at like that is just about the most bloody annoying thing in the world? Are you really that stupid? Can't you even take a hint? Every time I see you you're pawing at me, you drive me insane!"
Saffron gave out an eerie wail, burst into tears and ran from the room. Suddenly I was the focus of the wrong type of attention, as several reproachful eyes stared me down.
Read the second extract.
Read some autobiographical extracts.
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