Page 18 of A Flash of Neon
“Who else?” I ask excitedly. “Anyone famous?”
“Loads of people. The March sisters, Miles Morales, Garfield… About a dozen different versions of Sherlock Holmes,” he adds, pointing to a copy ofThe Hound of the Baskervillesas we arrive at the classics section. “Those famous characters are the ones who stand out most in the Realm. The others all disappear eventually.”
“Disappear? What do you mean?”
“It’s just what happens there.” Neon shrugs and picks up an illustrated edition ofPride and Prejudice. “Some characters stick around forever, especially popular and well-known ones, but the rest fade away after a while. If everyone in the real world forgets about them, they get weaker and weaker, and then they dissolve into nothing.”
Neon says this matter-of-factly, but his words are steeped in sadness. I wonder how many friends he’s lost this way. Maybe even characters that I made up when I started writing his story – it was a while ago now, and I don’t remember all the friends and relatives that I featured in those complicated first few chapters.
Two older customers come in then, so Gio sends them to me for help while he searches the shelves with the thriller man. The couple are looking for a picture book for their granddaughter, so I take them to the kids’ section and talk them through some of my favourites. They choose a story about bunnies wreaking havoc on public transport and take it up to the till, which makes me happy – sometimes I spend ages talking through new books with customers and then they turn round and say they’ll buy them cheaper online.
When I come back, Neon is standing at the window. I tell him about my sale to the grandparents, but he doesn’t reply; when I call his name, he doesn’t even seem to hear me. Eventually he looks round, his face pale.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“I … thought I saw something weird.”
“What?”
I look through the window. The café across the road is closing up for the day, and two dog walkers have stopped to have a chat while their animals sniff round a lamp post. Nothing unusual.
“Just something – someone I thought I knew.” Neon gives a quick shake of his head. “Come on, show me the rest of the shop. I haven’t even seen the cookbooks yet.”
We hang out in Every Book & Cranny so long, the street is dark and the shops are closing by the time we leave. Martha is coming out of Bohemian Catsody as we walk past. Neon waves to say hi, then sings the Queen song that the shop was named after all the way to our house. A few people stare but I don’t mind too much. I even join in with the chorus, though not as loudly as him.
“You really are good, you know,” Neon says when we reach the end of the song. “We should definitely do that Friday Showcase thing together.”
“I don’t know…” The burst of bravery I felt back at school has faded now. “I get really bad stage fright. When I was six, I was one of the Three Wise Men in our school nativity play, and I got so nervous I threw up in Russell’s hair.”
Neon laughs. “I’ll stand a couple of metres away from you just in case. But lots of musicians and performers get really nervous, you know. It’s all about practice.”
We turn the corner on to our road and walk down the long line of houses with glowing windows and cars in the driveways. In the light from our kitchen, I see a red-headed figure standing on the front doorstep: Carrie.
I spin round and shake my head at Neon. “Hide!”
“What?” He blinks. “Where?”
“I don’t know! In the bushes or something!”
Neon flaps his arms in a panic but dives into the bush beside us as Carrie turns round. There’s a Pyrex dish in her hands and a sparkle in her eye. I know that look – it’s her gossip glint, the expression she gets when there’s a juicy bit of gen to be sniffed out.
“Hello, lovely. I thought I’d pop over and see how you’re getting on.” She moves down from the step as I walk up the path to our house. “Everything OK?”
“All good!” I take out my keys and squeeze past Carrie to unlock the front door. “Haven’t burned the house down yet.”
“So I see. Well done.” Carrie cranes to the left to peer into the hallway. “Is it just you and Joel in there? Only I noticed a boy coming home with you after school yesterday, and I don’t think I saw him leave.”
Oh no.I swallow and put on what I hope is a confused frown. “Oh yeah, that was my friend from school. He definitely went home, though! Unless he’s hiding in the bushes or something.”
I laugh, probably too loudly, and silently pray that Neon doesn’t choose this exact moment to cough, sneeze or get attacked by bugs and come rolling on to the pavement.
Carrie smiles and leans against the wall. “Laurie, I know it must be quite fun having the house to yourselves, but I don’t think Liv and Monika would be very happy if they knew you were having boys staying over.”
My cheeks go hot. “It’s really not like that! He’s my friend. Nothing else.”
I don’t know how many times I’ve said that since Neon arrived. Why do some people have trouble believing a boy and girl can be friends and nothing else? Apart from being annoying, it seems a bit rude to assume we’re both straight.
“Honestly, Carrie, he definitely went home. It was quite late, though. We were working on something for school.”
