Authors: Matthew Formby
Highlake's star attraction was its Victorian man-made lake. A lot of Highlakers would perambulate it as they fed the ducks, geese and swans. It was pleasant enough but many of the strolling and jogging encirclers were uncouth. This town that was once a bolthole for Victorians seeking healthy waters had nothing left. Its soul had passed on. Its relevance was lost as people flew abroad for their holidays.
The townsfolk sauntered and jogged round the lake, the feeding station became full of loud kids, boastful fathers and fawning mothers. It was a spectacle of pointless expansion, transference of energy and matter. Why do people want children, Luke wondered. Why place so much value on living? Here Luke could sum up life as a joke with no punchline, so achingly dispiriting. Besides biological entities feeding and making noise, there was no sense to made of any of it. It was that typical youngster's phase of alienation that all parents dread that Luke was going through.
But there were advantages to living in the United Kingdom's most rural county. Luke went on fifteen mile return treks to the next town. Where he departed to was a famous resort for hikers visiting the Beckon Beacons. A hundred years ago people would have walked just like Luke to meet someone or on an errand. Now cars - and even buses, to a smaller degree even bicycles - made walking redundant. The quicker transport was always favoured. People had become impatient, travel was so easy. Seeing another person had become more blasé, unremarkable. Luke tired of walking so far for so little reward. There was nobody to talk to, nothing to do.
"I can't abide with life here," Luke said to his mother one day.
"I know. What worries me is what will happen to you when me and your dad pass away. It will happen someday."
A tear came to Luke's eye. She was right. It was important to bear in mind they would not always be there. He did not if he could survive on his own two feet.
"The longer I leave it, I fear I might never learn to be independent," said Luke. "I've read about people gaining independence and it sounds like it can be great. But it's all just stuff I've read. I don't know - it doesn't seem real somehow."
"I know. I know, love. And you don't want to jump out of the frying pan and into the fire," said Samantha.
"Yeah. I need to make sure I move to somewhere nice. It's just whether I would have stuff to do. I think I would. I think I could learn to get by even though I don't easily fit in with people."
"I hope so. I have faith in you," Samantha assured Luke and she cuddled him and smiled.
Months and months dragged on. Luke fretted about whether or not to leave the family home. An apartment listed on the social housing register in Duldrum had caught his interest. His sister, Lily, who worked in the town hall in Duldrum had helped him sign on to the housing list. Luke did not want to stay in Highlake - where frustrations were turning into constant bickering with his parents - but flying the nest was too difficult. Then an unexpected event occurred one day when suddenly Luke's half-brother Edward and his housemate Duncan texted Luke's parents to let them know they were driving down. They had never been to see Luke's family in Wales since they had moved. Since the two lived in Scotland it was a bit of a trek. Luke always enjoyed their company but also feared disappointing them, for they were far wittier and more lively than himself and so he quickly became agitated and scared.
"I've got to get out," he said to his mother.
"Don't be silly," she said. "They like you. And you get on really well with them."
"Yeah but they won't want to spend time with me. I'll annoy them."
Bruno heard what was being said and coming into the room added, "They'll cheer you up."
Luke nodded. They were probably right. He just did not feel very confident. Surprises were hard for him to cope with too. When they arrived, the visit was a pleasant one and Luke had no complaints but he did regret he lacked control over his affairs; being told who to meet and when on the request of his parents was becoming too stifling. "I don't want to hate myself," said Luke to himself in his bed after they had left. "I really hope there's somewhere out there where I can feel happy in my own skin."
In this time, the only thing that kept Luke happy was watching Lawson's Creek DVDs he had. No matter how bad things ever were, there was always hope, laughter and universal truths about life to be found in an episode of Lawson's Creek. So it was that after some consideration on the matter he approached a lawyer to legally change his name to Racey Witty. Racey was the name of his favourite character, a carefree flirt with a pocketful of adventure in his heart. Strolling on docks where he would bump into unlikely conquests, making everyone laugh in class... no matter how bad things ever got for Racey he put a smile on people's faces.
X
A year and a half passed from the family's arrival in Highlake. The sun in its rise woke a pair of bleary-eyed rabbits. As they bounded happily on the common, at the top of the steep road newborn light brushed its fingers on the banks of the Victorian lake. Hot to trot, the sun rays brushed the houses opposite the trees in the muddy, dew-bespattered grass. Swallows bickered over a worm while a jackdaw
caw, caw, cawed
.
In one of the semi-detached houses Bruno stirred a teaspoon in his tea. One hand tucked into his underpants, his white vest afforded a glimpse of his grey chest as he tinkled the spoon noisily. The sound percolated in an echo to the neighbouring house and rooms. A floor above, Luke groaned and rolled on his mattress.
Luke's hair was tousled and unkempt and he ran his hand through it irritably. He could feel his gorge rising and stale, cold sweat in his armpits. "Well, soon enough I'll be out of here," he mumbled. He had only lived here just over a year but it felt more like five.
Three days later a train gathered momentum and steam foamed into the sky. Samantha began to cry - her only son was leaving. Her husband, Bruno, also began to shed tears. They had thought through this scenario many times. But this was it. This was really it. Luke was flying the nest and leaving for England. They would remain in Highlake, the small Welsh spa town. They would decorate it - like they always did wherever they moved. The stress would nearly kill them but as ever they would get one rung further up the housing ladder, sell and move on. Eventually a retirement would usher them to a northern seaside town near all the kids. But that was light years away. Luke was leaving. Their very flesh and blood. His mother’s only son… just like that. Gone.
His new apartment was in Duldock. It was a city bordering Woecaster that had previously been two towns. Duldrum, the more provincial town and Hardock, the one directly adjacent to Woecaster, had merged in a period of cutbacks. Central government was slashing funding to local councils and becoming joined meant they could get rid of a courthouse. They could also pool costs on running garbage disposal, recycling and social services. Many of the residents did not notice much of an improvement - trips to access services became longer with smaller neighbourhood services moved to larger centralized ones.
Some people said the change had been politically motivated. They said it was the government's plan to be re-elected easier by changing boundaries. No one took much notice. There was not much of an interest in politics. The number of people voting was at record lows, people just shrugged. It was precisely for that reason that the boundary change would prove so effective. People rarely realize how manipulative people in power can be.
Racey's new home was in the more provincial town of Duldrum. It did redeem itself by being on the very border with Hardock. His apartment was provided by a housing association - the only kind of accommodating he could get hold of. He had searched for privately advertised lettings for months but could not find any. It was not for a lack of quantity but so many did not accept anyone receiving benefits. He had looked for house shares too but had never applied as the requirements listed dispirited him - "No weirdos, no misery guts, normal people only, young professionals." Luke wondered how such blatant discrimination could be legal.
The bare walls of his new apartment were stark. The paint was fading. The colours were uneven; the tone uninspiring, provincial. In the bathroom, exposed gas pipes contravened the recommended practice of boxing them in. Well, it was home! If freedom had to taste like lead, so be it. His own space to grow was his.
For the first night, Racey slept on the floor. He shuffled and readjusted himself exhaustedly. Though he tried not to, he couldn't help but bawl. His soul's plates were crashing and quaking him to an eruption. In the darkness tinged by amber street lights he peered at shadows , eavesdropping at cars cruising by. The murmurs and whines were new, strange. He turned his eyes to a corner. How he would have liked curl up into a ball there. His neck hair bristled, his stomach turned but he did fall asleep eventually.
Proof came nature is not wholly cruel the next morning. He woke to bright sunshine and a clear head. Gazing in disbelief at his new bathroom closet, Luke washed himself and dashed off. He could not wait to explore the labyrinthine city of Woecaster.
XI
There were so many people to meet. Something was always happening - a film launch, musical, boxing or international football match. Immigrants, high flying businesspeople, hairdressers, bohemians, artists, drug addicts, comedians, beggars, purveyors of electronic cigarettes, scholars... they were all here. American, European and Middle Eastern tourists crowded the trams to and from the sports stadiums and shopped in the malls. There were chocolate hotels, everything for a £1 stores, a barrel-load of buffet restaurants, open mic nights and nightclubs where photographers snapped the clientele. A political protest occurred almost every week, police sirens sounded every five minutes and shoutings of nonsense, laughter, arguments and buskers were a feast for the ears.
The initial excitement soon wore off soon and for a few years Luke struggled to adapt to his surroundings. At times he drank heavily. He had lost a sense of who he was. He could spend hours thinking about it, turning over whether he was Luke as he had once been or Racey; yet why could he not be like the Racey he loved and knew in Lawson's Creek? No matter what he did, he felt he could not live up to what he wanted to be and he began to feel like a fraud. Anxiety and depression filled his days and thoughts of suicide were never far away. He would stand on a bridge near his apartment, overlooking the motorway. It had eight lanes of traffic and he wondered how easy it would be to jump in. Sometimes he would drink himself to oblivion in the hope something, anything would happen. Some human interaction might take place! But his nature was too quiet, his palette too refined; he did not speak in the grim sociolect of the locals. His efforts were largely fruitless. Days of sadness and longing turned into weeks and years.
An acquaintance in Canada he had known for years on the internet invited him over for a stay. He jumped at the opportunity. It was just what he needed to get out of his rut. He paid £1000 for a return ticket and was extremely excited - but when he arrived at the airport in Calgary and could not show any hotel tickets, the staff became suspicious and called the acquaintance up. She told them she had not given him permission to stay at her home which was a lie. Luke never found out why but suspected she had probably done that because she was intimidated by their suspicions. Having to go back, never having set foot in Canada, only having seen it through an airport window was a bitter blow. The betrayal and loss of so much money left Luke at rock bottom.
Life felt as though it could well be over - before it had began. And so he decided perhaps he ought to chase the only thing that made sense, the American dream. He had already changed his name by deed poll to Racey Witty. It was his way of rejecting the bland, humdrum reality people lived in. Why not go the whole way and move out to Bayside? Because it was unreachable, Bayside was a fictional place. Although it was supposed to be based in Cape Cod in Massachusetts it was actually filmed in Wilmington, North Carolina hundreds of miles south. As a result, when Luke flew out to Boston, Massachusetts - a few miles west of Cape Cod - although he had never been somewhere so exciting it was not quite what he expected.
He flew out to Boston in the summertime in two consecutive years. On his first visit, he had no idea what to do and found himself wandering the streets in search of conversation. At length he saw an approachable looking man in a wine shop and entered. To Luke's amazement, the man was willing to talk beyond a few pleasantries, even to a stranger like him. Luke had never found it easy to strike up conversations before. The man was called Mason and let Luke serve people on the checkout while he stocked some shelves. A couple of German tourists with a baby came in, asking Luke where the local beers could be found; he had never felt so grand! Later Mason closed the shop early, inviting Luke to go out drinking with him. "Won't you get in trouble?" asked Luke. "Don't worry about it," replied Mason, "I'm the only employee and the boss is hardly ever around."
Before their drinking session, Mason took Luke on a subway train to his home in a nearby suburb. Where Mason lived was a mosaic of streets that were dotted with clapboard houses of myriad shapes and sizes. Some were tall and Belgian, others defiantly stout with exposed bricks, and most spectacularly there were inviting porches leading to cosy unsymmetrical shacks and three-storey apartments with balconies. Mason's house was covered in neatly fitted horizontal green planks and had large sliding windows. On a tour of the house Luke was impressed at how it had been converted into apartments: Mason's mother and father occupied the ground floor, their grandparents the first floor and Mason and his brother the second floor. The family had renovated it themselves. It was very unlike a British living situation though Greeks still favoured such a lifestyle and sometimes even the Italians.