Free In Real Life by Chris Killen Page A

failure, that all that hard work that Julian and everyone else had put into establishing Paul as an ‘extraordinary new voice’ a couple of years ago hadn’t gone completely to shit.
    Paul reads ‘Anything to show me yet?’ again, then flips off the covers, gets out of bed, and scuttles into the living room, where it still reeks of smoke eventhough the windows are jammed open, cold air whistling into the room.
    I don’t have to write, he tells himself.
    I could just work in a bar again. Or a shop.
    At least when I was working in a bar there was no real pressure to do anything I didn’t want to.
    Maybe I was just a person with one novel inside them.
    I should just stop.
    Do something else.
    Go to Australia.
    Grow a beard.
    Buy a car and crash it into the sea.
    He picks up the packet of fags on the coffee table and shakes it, feeling the last three or four rattle inside.
    He sits down on the sofa, teeth chattering, and picks up his laptop.
    â€˜Hi Julian,’ he types. ‘Almost there! I should have a pretty decent first draft to show you in, say, another week or two? Maybe a month, tops. Sorry for the delay but I just want to make sure it’s all perfect. Sound okay?’
    What the fuck am I doing? Paul thinks as he clicks send.
    â€˜It’s freezing in here.’
    This is the first thing Sarah says when she gets in that evening. Then she sniffs the air and her face darkens.
    â€˜Before you say anything,’ Paul whimpers, ‘I haven’t been smoking. It was Damon. Damon came round lastnight and we got drunk and he ended up smoking in here before I could stop him.’
    â€˜I thought you said you had an early night.’
    â€˜I did. I mean, he came round and we got drunk, but it was still early when he left. I just went to bed at, like, ten. That’s how drunk I was.’
    â€˜Great,’ Sarah says.
    â€˜Hey,’ Paul says. ‘Don’t be like that.’
    â€˜Like what?’ Sarah says.
    â€˜How were your parents?’ Paul says.
    Sarah leaves the room. Paul hears her stomp down the corridor and into the bedroom, slamming the door behind her.
    He knows he should go after her.
    He sits down on the sofa instead.
    We should just break up, he thinks.
    He stands, heads down the corridor, gingerly opens the bedroom door, and looks in at Sarah who is now untangling a huge black ball of tights.
    â€˜I love you,’ he says from the doorway.
    Sarah doesn’t reply.
    â€˜How were your parents?’
    â€˜Fine.’
    â€˜What’s the matter?’
    Sarah turns to look at him.
    â€˜Nothing’s the matter.’
    Something is definitely the matter. Her face is crumpled and sad-looking in a way that Paul hasn’t seen before.
    â€˜Have you eaten anything apart from pasties anddoughnuts and peanut butter on toast while I’ve been away?’ she says.
    â€˜I had some pizza too,’ Paul says, wandering over to her, not really sure what he’ll do when he gets there.
    He stands behind her and slips his arms round her waist in a loose, awkward hug.
    â€˜I love you,’ he says again.
    â€˜I’ll do you a curry later.’
    He wonders if her face is still all crumpled.
    Why is she still going out with him?
    â€˜You’re too nice to me,’ he says into her clean, pale neck.

LAUREN
    2004
    L auren woke with a thick, sour taste in her mouth and an arm that wasn’t hers hanging heavily against her hip. The air in the room was stale and clammy and when Lauren tried to slip herself out of the bunk and away from Per, she found that her ankles were tangled in her underwear and she had to cling to the bedframe to stop herself falling, face first, onto the floor.
    She could only remember some of what happened last night, and she winced at what she did remember.
    Fucking idiot, she chided.
    Her head was throbbing and she needed water. Water, and a nice clean hotel bed.
    Canada . You are in Canada now and you are