That night, when Alexander had settled Venus and Thomas in their beds in Brian Junior’s old room, he looked out of the window before getting into bed himself. He saw that the only person left on the opposite pavement was Sandy Lake, sitting outside her tent.
She had made herself as comfortable as possible, supplementing her Karrimat with a cardboard and newspaper mattress. With the aid of a head torch, she was reading a magazine dedicated to angel-worshipping celebrities.
Alexander pushed the window sash up a little to let in some air. Sandy looked up immediately, and there was something about her stillness that disturbed him. He closed the window and locked it.
Sandy was down in the dumps tonight. Penelope had abandoned her and gone home to nurse her bronchitis. Sandy had been here for the longest, and still hadn’t had a proper audience with Eva. She needed more than a ten-minute session. Eva had been promising her another consultation, but for some reason it kept getting postponed, and Sandy was losing her patience. She needed to tell Eva her life story – how unkind people had been to her throughout her life, and how, when she went to the shops around the corner and talked to Mr Barthi about Eva and the angels, he would refuse to listen.
He had said to her recently, ‘Your nonsense is lost to me. I am an agnostic.’
It was Alexander’s fault. It was he who was keeping her from Eva. He was jealous, because Sandy had become the world’s self-appointed expert on the Eva phenomenon. Her scrapbooks had more press clippings than any of the other Eva fans, and she could recite, by heart, the highlights of Eva’s rise to celebritydom. Her iPad had links to every Eva-related site and blog, and she was proud of the efficiency of her news alerts, which constantly searched for Eva updates.
She was the main source for the dissemination of, and misinformation about, Eva’s supposed spiritual powers. Sandy was prone to exaggeration, describing a fictional audience with Eva as being, ‘In the presence of an unworldly being. She has an ethereal beauty that cannot be matched in the whole of the world. And every word she speaks is wise and true.’
When pressed by newcomers to the crowd to reveal what Eva had said that was so impressive, Sandy would wipe her eyes and say, ‘Sorry, I always mist up when speaking of Eva…’ Then, after what her audience found to be an infuriatingly extended pause, she would say, ‘Eva spake unto me and the words she did say were for my ears alone. But when I was backing out of her room, I saw her rise from the bed and hover there for a few seconds. She was giving me a sign! It was Eva’s way of telling me that I have been chosen.’
When cynics questioned Sandy and asked, ‘Chosen for what?’ the chosen one would reply, in sanctimonious tones, ‘I’m waiting for another sign, it will come from the sky.’
Sandy needed Eva to address the world and tell all the countries that were at war to stop. And to help all the kiddies who had no water or food. She was sure that the world would listen to Eva, and then there would be joy in angel heaven, and there would be no more fighting, no floods or famines or earthquakes. There would be peace and joy and love throughout the world, so it was imperative that she talk to Eva.
What could be more important?
She looked up at Eva’s lighted window, said a prayer and climbed inside her tent, where William Wainwright was sleeping like a baby on barbiturates.
It seemed to Eva that every time she looked out of the window, she saw Sandy Lake looking up at her with a beatific smile. The woman had ruined her view of the world outside.
Earlier that evening, Eva had cursed and said to Alexander, ‘Does that crazy woman never sleep?’
Alexander said, ‘Even when she does sleep, she keeps her eyes open. But don’t worry, I’m next door. Just knock on the wall if you need me.’
56
In late February, after the twins had returned to Leeds, they settled back into Sentinel Towers with relief- it was impossible to do any serious work in Bowling Green Road. According to Brian Junior, the doorbell rang on a mean average of 9.05 times per hour.
They decided that they would work together from now on. Each would help the other with their essays and assignments, leaving them more time to spend on their Special Projects.
They started with their finances and sold their mother’s gift of jewellery in a Cash Generator in the city centre. They agreed that in future they would not allow sentiment to influence their plans.
In the second week of their second term, they had successfully hacked into the university’s accommodation records and changed the status of their accounts from ‘Rent Arrears’ to ‘Rent Paid in Full until 2013’. The day after this triumph, which brought each of them an extra £400 a month, they went shopping for clothes.
They sat down on a sofa opposite the changing rooms in Debenhams and talked for a long time about their lives and what they wanted in the future.
Brianne confessed that if she couldn’t have Alexander, she wouldn’t have any man.
Brian Junior told Brianne that he would never marry. ‘I’m not sexually attracted to women or to men,’ he said.
Brianne smiled and said, ‘So, we stick together for life?’
Brian Junior agreed. ‘You’re the only person I can stand to be with for more than four minutes.’
When they had tried their new clothes on, they came out of their respective changing rooms and were astonished at how similar they could look. They were both wearing black and, after a few negotiations, and going back and forth to the rails, they ended up with a uniform. It was all black apart from a leopard-skin belt and the silver accessories on their black cowboy boots.
Mindful of their new and certain future wealth, they left their old clothes in the changing room. As they walked arm in arm through the shopping centre, they began to work on synchronising their steps.
A colourist at Toni & Guy obeyed their instructions and dyed their hair magenta red. After a stylist had given them both a severe geometric cut, they left the salon and headed to the best tattoo parlour in South Yorkshire.
When the operative asked them if they were related to the woman in the bed called Beaver, they responded, ‘No.’
He was disappointed. ‘She’s cool,’ he said.
They were given a rudimentary test for allergies and, while they waited for the results, they sat outside a coffee bar so they could smoke. Nihilists like them felt it was their duty to smoke.
They lit their cigarettes and smoked contentedly before Brian Junior said, ‘Will we ever go back to Bowling Green Road, Brianne?’
What, and have to interface with those awful people we used to call Mum and Dad? Or, as we now know them, The Great Adulterer and his wife, The False Prophet.’
Brian Junior said, ‘I used to love them when I was little – and you did too, Brianne, you can’t deny it!’
‘Little kids are idiots, they believe in the fucking Tooth Fairy, Santa, God!’
‘I believed in them,’ lamented Brian Junior. ‘I believed they’d always do the right thing. Tell the truth. Control their animal desires.’
Brianne laughed. ‘Animal desires? You’ve either been reading the Old Testament or D. H. Lawrence.’
Brian Junior said, ‘Disneyland hurts me. The thought that while we were queuing with Mum for the It’s a Small World ride, Dad was back at the hotel paying for a prostitute with his credit card.’
Brianne said, ‘We’ll say a final farewell to them, shall we?’
Neither of them had a piece of paper. Who used the stuff these days? Together they erased every parental reference from their laptops. Then, Brianne put a virtual fire on screen, and typed in ‘Eva Beaver’ and ‘Brian Beaver’. Brian Junior put his index finger on top of Brianne’s, and together they pressed the key that would cause their parents’ names to burn, and eradicate their memory for all time.