Little Star

At twelve o’clock she helped Theres put the radio on, then they sat in silence on the sofa as song after song was played. Teresa listened behind the music, behind the words. There was nothing there. Yet another song was introduced as a really great track from an exciting new band, and the only thing it expressed was its complete lack of content.

It was a few minutes away from two o’clock when a crackling, buzzing sound was heard. The jingle for this week’s Bullet: the highest new entry, ‘Fly’, by Tesla. The song had gone from nowhere straight to number two, beaten only by The Ark with ‘The Worrying Kind’.

When Teresa switched off the radio, Theres said, ‘We didn’t win.’

‘Maybe next week.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘It doesn’t matter.’

‘Why are you unhappy?’

‘Can you stop asking me that?’

‘No. I want to know.’

Teresa took out her mobile, scrolled through until she found the clip from the garage, pressed play and gave it to Theres, who held the little screen close to her eyes as she carefully followed the course of events. When it was over she gave the phone back to Teresa and said, ‘Being sick is not good.’

‘Is that all you’ve got to say?’

Theres pondered for a couple of seconds, then asked, ‘Why did you do that? With the boy?’

‘I was drunk.’

‘You’d been drinking alcohol.’

‘Yes.’

‘Alcohol is not good. Why are you unhappy?’

Something had been silently building up and now Teresa jerked as a clearly audible ‘click’ reverberated through her body. A switch was flicked on, a hatch opened. She leapt to her feet and screamed.

‘Why can’t you understand anything? Can’t you understand that’s just about the most disgusting, ugly, revolting thing you can do and it’s on film and it’s me who’s doing it and every single fucking person in the entire fucking world can watch it and see how ugly and how completely fucking disgusting I am throwing up all over his cock and I already felt like shit beforehand and I thought I was totally empty then I had a drink so I wouldn’t be empty any more and then that happened and it turned out that it’s actually possible to be even more fucking empty. It’s possible to be so fucking empty that you really don’t exist any more and I don’t exist any more and this isn’t me standing here and this isn’t me talking and you don’t know me any more and I don’t know you.’

During this entire screaming monologue, Theres sat straight-backed with her hands resting on her knees, listening attentively. When Teresa flopped down in the armchair, her face bright red, and wrapped her arms tightly around her body, Theres said, ‘Those were good words. That you wrote.’

‘Which fucking words?’

‘I live in another world, but you live in the same one.’

‘And do you understand what that means?’

‘No. But I laughed.’

‘I’ve never heard you laugh.’

‘I’ve started.’

‘What do you mean, you’ve started?’

‘Some of the girls laugh. Then I laugh too. Sometimes. Otherwise they get scared.’ Theres looked over at the window. ‘We’re going now.’

‘Going where?’

‘I’ll show you what to do.’

Five minutes later they were standing by the loading bay at the back of the local shop, which had closed at two o’clock. Teresa looked at the hammer Theres had brought with her from home, and which was now dangling from her hand.

‘Are we going to break in?’

‘No. He’s coming now. I know.’

Just as Theres uttered the last word, the door opened and a man in his forties came out. He looked remarkably like Teresa’s English teacher. The same sparse beard and slightly bulging eyes, the same clothes: jeans and a check shirt. In his hand he was holding a small metal box, presumably the day’s takings. He caught sight of Theres and Teresa as soon as he opened the door.

‘Hi girls, and what-’

He didn’t get any further before Theres smashed the hammer into his temple. He staggered backwards a couple of steps into the shop, then went down full length on his back. Theres grabbed the door before it swung shut, and walked in. Teresa followed her. She had not yet begun to feel anything.

The heavy metal door closed behind them, and the room was in semi-darkness. Only the light from the shop windows filtered in through a doorway. Teresa found the light switch, and a couple of fluorescent tubes on the ceiling came on. The man was lying on the floor with his mouth open, one hand pressed to his temple. A small amount of blood was seeping through his fingers.

Theres gave the hammer to Teresa and said, ‘Make him dead.’

Teresa weighed the hammer in her hand and looked at the man. She tried a practice blow in the air. The man started to scream. Inarticulate noises at first, and then with words.

‘Take the money! There’s almost eight thousand! Take it and get out of here! I’ve never seen you, I don’t know who you are, my mother’s ill, she needs me, you can’t, please don’t do anything stupid, just take the money…’

Theres found a roll of packing tape and tore off a strip, which she wound twice around the man’s mouth. Teresa was surprised that he offered no resistance, but his hands were moving in an odd, jerky way. Presumably the blow to the head had sabotaged something to do with his bodily functions. The man snorted and snot ran out of his nose and down over the packing tape. It looked a bit like Hostel. That was probably where Theres had got the idea of the tape from.

Teresa took a step towards the man and his feet scrabbled on the floor as he tried to move backwards. She raised the hammer; asked herself how she felt. Then she held it out to Theres.

‘I can’t.’

Theres didn’t take it. ‘No. You have to do it.’

‘Why?’

‘You say you’re empty. You need to.’

Theres turned to face Teresa and looked her in the eyes. Teresa gasped. She stared into those dark blue voids as Theres’ voice flowed into her ears. ‘You make him dead. Then you take him. There will be a little bit of smoke. Red smoke. You take it. Then you’re not empty. Then you’ll be happy and you’ll want to do things again.’

Theres’ voice had taken on something of the same quality as Teresa’s; it was coming from a different place in her body, not from her mouth, and everything she said was true. When Teresa turned back to the man, he had managed to turn on his side and grab hold of something on the floor. A Stanley knife for opening boxes. He was holding it up with the blade pointing at Teresa as he tried to get to his feet. His eyes were staring insanely and snot kept spurting out of his nose.

Teresa gritted her teeth and raised the hammer. The man’s hand flew out and the blade sliced through her top, making a superficial cut on her stomach. The movement overbalanced the man, and he fell on the floor again. Theres stamped on his hand until he dropped the knife.

Teresa looked at the blood tricking down towards the waistband of her trousers, drew her index and middle fingers through it and stuck them in her mouth. It turned red inside, and the colour billowed up in her head until that too was red on the inside. Colour. She had colour. When she ran her tongue over her teeth, it felt as if they had been sharpened into points.

She quickly squatted down and slammed the hammer straight into the man’s forehead. There was an echoing