The Cult of Following, Book One Read online

‘A what?’ Norm’s arm straightened suddenly with a sharp tug as Cocoa tried to give chase to a passing lizard.

  ‘A Discussion Group. You know, like a book group but with topics rather than text.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Norm, with a thoughtful smile, ‘that sounds interesting.’ 

  ‘We thought so, didn’t we Percy?’

  Percy kept his mouth firmly shut.

  ‘And how does a person join?’

  ‘Well…’

  Percy interrupted. ‘So where are you from, Norm? You have an unusual accent, although incredibly subtle. Germany?’

  ‘Yes, Germany. Very well spotted, you have a good ear. I know my accent is not very strong at all.’

  ‘Norman Sullivan?’ Percy’s next question needed no elaboration.

  ‘My mother was Australian, my father Irish, they settled in Munich. I was born there, went to a local school… just a good old-fashioned German boy with foreign parents. We moved about a bit after that. And now here I am. Expats breed expats,’ his smile widened, ‘and you? English I suppose.’

  ‘Yes. We’re here with my wife’s company.’

  ‘Me too,’ Norm’s green eyes glittered, ‘we’re new men, aren’t we? It can be very nice not working, but very dull too. I think having a group to be part of is wonderful. People like us, men or women with no children to force us to meet new people, we allow ourselves to become isolated.’

  Joyann said something encouraging in response, but Percy took no notice. Norm had grabbed his attention fully. ‘How did you know that I have no children?’ he asked.

  ‘I’ve never seen you with any. I’m sorry. Perhaps you have. At school, I suppose?’

  ‘No. I haven’t any.’

  ‘He does have a wife,’ Joyann said.

  ‘Yes, so he said. And don’t we all,’ said Norm. ‘So, back to this group of yours. Is it possible for me to join?’

  Joyann clapped her hands together in a display of pleasure. ‘Of course! What a good idea. Wonderful! Isn’t it Percy?’

  Norm smiled widely, teeth glowing against tanned skin, skin that in turn looked very brown contrasted with his white hair.

  ‘So you’ll come next Monday morning? The Bean at bottom of Sixth Avenue, around nine, it will only be three of us, of course.’ Joyann said.

  Percy was surprised. ‘Is that when we’re meeting?’

  ‘Yes, if that is okay with you? Then I can go to work after.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Percy,’ said Norm, ‘Let me take your number just in case something changes.’

  Percy stepped back, running his fingers through his short brown hair in an attempt to avoid further handshaking, ‘No need. If you can’t come then just don’t turn up. Don’t you think, Joyann?’

  Norm’s expression faltered, ‘I’d be happier, if you don’t mind, being able to contact you if need be.’

  ‘Joyann?’ Percy appealed, hoping she would offer her own telephone number.

  ‘Mine or yours, it does not matter, Percy,’ she said. ‘But I think it is a good idea.’

  She was making no move to offer her own, Percy felt, and so reluctantly he exchanged numbers and shook hands again. When finally Cocoa dragged Norm away, Percy noticed the man seemed to scamper after his dog with a slight skip. 

  How odd to be that happy, he thought.

  Chapter 7

  THE FIRST COMING

  The following Monday, at nine in the morning, the group of three met as planned. 

  Joyann deserted her brother and old friend after eating breakfast, the men acknowledging Percy in an affable way as they left, a way that also said Joyann and only Joyann had any interest in what they were doing. A few minutes later, a panting Cocoa appeared with Norm, white linen shirt and short white hair equally fresh and sparkling. The three pulled chairs around a table outside the café, while Cocoa stood and stared at a passing Chihuahua wearing shoes. 

  For the first time, Percy wondered what on earth he was doing stepping outside of his nature in this way. By accepting Joyann’s invitation he had allowed himself to dip a toe into a world he had no interest in: the sociable mainstream. Yes, she was nice, but the Discussion Group felt like some device created for his benefit. Had Joyann been telling the truth when she shared the story of her grandmother’s original group, or was she complicit in some scheme created by Sal to help him find focus, and therefore merely interfering in his life?

  He eyed Joyann suspiciously. Hadn’t she forgotten all about the Discussion Group when he’d mentioned it in the Orchid Garden?

  ‘Are you okay, Percy?’ she asked.

  ‘I was just thinking about your grandmother.’

  ‘Your grandmother?’ enquired Norm. ‘Is she unwell?’

  ‘Passed away,’ said Joyann.

  ‘Oh I am sorry.’

  ‘No. She passed many years ago. Percy was thinking about the group she started, the group that inspired this one. Weren’t you.’

  Percy nodded. ‘I wonder what she would think of us sitting here, preparing to follow in her footsteps?’ he observed her carefully.

  ‘She would be very proud. As would my mother. Possibly.’ 

  Percy noticed Joyann was uneasy.

  ‘Joyann?’ said Norm, with a worried tone.

  Percy watched.

  ‘Oh no, Norman. My mother is still alive. I don’t see her often. I was thinking I should call her. It has been too long, but she is not an easy person. At least, she is not an easy old person. She uses age as an excuse to be rude, as if manners are for the young only.’

  There was an undeniable truthfulness about Joyann, Percy realised. She seemed a genuinely honest person, and he was inclined to believe in it all. Feeling a little foolish for thinking anything different, he said ‘I am sorry, Joyann.’

  ‘For what?’

  Percy started. He wasn’t sure. He just said it because it seemed right. ‘About your grandmother,’ he said, awkwardly. ‘And your rude mother.’

  ‘Thank you. I still miss my grandmother.’

  As Norm began gently probing for details of the sorts of things Joyann’s mother might say, Percy wondered what would they talk about. In his mind’s eye, he pictured the ideal group: himself and Art, plus a small bunch of dour old men, moaning about the world in general, each no more than a sounding board for those who were also incurably bleak.

  But here he was with a smiley woman, a strangely happy man, and a bizarrely distracted dog. His ideal group, if it were possible for any group to be considered ideal, was not happening any time soon.

  They got off to a good start, however. It was easy, he discovered, because both Joyann and Norm were naturally sociable, and Percy soon realised he’d been naïve in expecting anything else. Of course they were sociable, for why else would they have so readily joined the company of a stranger? Joyann opened proceedings by bringing out a newspaper article on bio-char in the Amazon, and soon conversation about this ‘black soil’ and its future production was absorbing them all. Clearly she knew what to do. 

  ‘As I told you before, it’s just like a book group,’ she said, when Norm asked her about her obvious talent for discussion, ‘but without the constraints. I have been in several book groups, actually. But this will be more interesting. More mixed.’ She smiled, brown eyes twinkling with delight.

  As Norm and Joyann focussed on the topic, Percy realised he was being watched from the other side of a large potted plant. It was a man sitting in The Bean’s rival café, Bread Chat, and someone he’d noticed often. He was clearly paying the group some attention. 

  The man was a grouchy looking individual, face deeply lined, grey hair closely cropped, body and neck thick-set yet lean. Had he been in army fatigues and covered in dusty dirt, he would not have looked more intimidating. In a khaki shirt and matching shorts, it was a close match. But Percy was convinced this solid image masked a contemplative inner, and wondered if the man felt betrayed by Percy’s apparent gregariousness. He was sure that between them, as yet un
spoken, was a bond of dourness. Maybe he should take this moment to speak with him, he thought, and reassure him that he, Percy Field, was not a changed man. The idea tumbled away like weed, for Percy hated dwelling on the feelings of others; to do so was pointless, for it made two people feel bad instead of just one and for no good reason.

  ‘Percy?’

  ‘Hmm?’

  ‘What do you think?’

  ‘About?’

  ‘Whether or not the world can afford to…’ Joyann stared. ‘You were not listening.’

  ‘I was.’

  ‘You were not. How can we discuss anything if you do not listen? You will have to practise!’ she smiled.

  Percy looked at the man and back to Joyann and Norm. ‘It’s him,’ he whispered, ‘he’s listening.’

  ‘Maybe he would like to join us?’ Joyann offered.

  ‘Shhh.’

  ‘Why? If he would like to come over, then we would be four. Maybe I should ask him?’

  Percy shook his head, face contorted. ‘No. We can’t just invite him. That would be weird.’

  ‘Why would it be weird?’ Joyann’s volume remained unchanged.

  Percy widened his eyes in a plea for her to quieten down. 

  She laughed. ‘Fine,’ she said gently, ‘I won’t ask.’

  ‘So,’ Percy said, calming himself. ‘Where were we?’ 

  ‘The wonders of bio-char.’ Joyann replied, tucking a lock of shiny black hair behind her ear. She lowered her voice, ‘I won’t invite him if it makes you uncomfortable. He’ll come over if he wants to. He can hear us quite well. I don’t think a leaf is much of an obstruction to sound, however large. I suppose he knows why we are here.’

  *

  From that first meeting, the group grew rapidly. Joyann brought a variety of acquaintances, only a few returning every single week, but a significant number regularly attending. From this, friends of friends occasionally appeared and new acquaintanceships began to spring up. A cynical Percy decided it was curiosity that brought most of her Singaporean friends, the opportunity to experience first hand the absurdity of Ang moh, although Joyann never referred to white people in that or any other way. She seemed far less racially conscious than he was. It appeared Sal had been right.

  Sal expressed less trivial concerns. More than once she questioned Percy about outside perceptions of the group, the popularity of which could not have been foreseen. This, she reminded him, was not a free country, however it may appear superficially. There were laws in Singapore that were strictly enforced, particularly in regard to people and gatherings. Although attendance varied enormously, within two months of its official launch there was already potential for thirty people to be present at any one meeting. Sal pointed out that if everyone turned up and discussions took on a political nature – and in Singapore determining exactly what topics fell into that category wasn’t easy – Percy’s group would exceed the legal maximum for a political gathering by twenty-six. 

  Percy felt compelled to straighten things out, and after speaking with Joyann he drew up the group’s first set of written rules, inadvertently giving the casual Discussion Group an air of sanctioned formality. The rules were simple: no talk of politics, religion or race. This neatly reflected Singapore’s own laws, not regarding what could be privately spoken of, but what could be publicly promoted. It was a tough call, and often breached by flippant expats who believed themselves to be above and outside of the law. But at least it was there in writing.

  Norm always attended alone and breezed along, gaily chatting to all and sundry as if he had found his calling, whilst Cocoa benefited from the level of attention only a fashionable dog in a wealthy city has the luxury to enjoy. People from other Asian cities may have taken a very different view of her, a notion Percy chose to air before receiving a hurt look from Norm.

  *

  One of the last few meetings to be held in The Bean saw Percy finally speak with the man from Bread Chat, an individual who would rapidly become his friend.

  The group had taken all the outdoor tables and virtually all those inside. The Bean’s staff seemed happy for the group to do this, for they spent many dollars whilst there. Percy had been sitting with Joyann and Norm, in much the same place they had been the very first time they had met. They had been talking amongst themselves for less than five minutes when the big man from the other side of the plant pot appeared, and silently pulled up the only remaining free chair.

  Percy was pleased but unsure what to do. Should he let the newcomer speak first, or should he make a formal introduction? If he were a wild animal, which in fairness he did seem to be in some ways, it would be right to ignore him and allow him to settle at his own pace. 

  While Percy weighed up the options, Joyann and Norm introduced themselves with breezy smiles. 

  ‘Nice to meet you Norm, you too, Joyann,’ replied the burly stranger, ‘my name is Phrike,’ 

  ‘I’m sorry?’ Percy was not sure he had heard correctly.

  ‘Phrike.’

  ‘Freak?’ Percy questioned, before he had even thought about it.

  ‘Yes. My name is Phrike.’

  ‘Oh I see, Freak. Is that your real name?’

  ‘Yes.’ It was a very straight answer.

  Phrike’s cool eyes levelled with Percy’s, who realised then that this man had probably spent a lifetime explaining the eccentricities of his parents. He was not prepared to go on doing so. It was an awkward moment, until Norm surprised them all.

  ‘Phrike. P – H – R – I– K – E. Greek Goddess of horror.’ He smiled, ‘Interesting parents you must have.’

  Phrike shrugged. ‘Had. They wanted a girl.’

  *

  Having outgrown The Bean, the group began to gather in more spacious places, depending on predicted numbers. At the end of every meeting, a potential roll call for the following week was taken, based on which a venue was decided. And each Sunday morning without fail, Norm sent Percy a text double-checking whether or not the time and venue had changed, and every week a tetchy Percy replied with the single word same. He would then ignore Norm’s further attempts at text chat, but always by Sunday evening Norm had hounded Percy into a response. One day, after Percy’s phone slipped from his back pocket and plunged fatally into a toilet full of excrement, he gave Joyann his email address so she could send him details of an exhibition she thought the group might like to attend. But it was Norm who emailed him on behalf of Joyann, and Percy was livid.

  ‘Sal. Sal!’ he bellowed from the one of the bedrooms, converted into a study, ‘That bloody man has my email address now.’

  ‘Which bloody man?’

  ‘Norm!’

  Sal laughed. ‘So what?’

  ‘As if I don’t hear enough from him already.’

  ‘He only sends you a text once a week.’

  ‘Last Sunday was seven times, actually.’

  ‘Perhaps he fancies you.’

  ‘Don’t be stupid, Sal. He’s married.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘He doesn’t fancy me. It’s not like that. He just doesn’t get boundaries.’

  ‘Maybe he would, if you took time to reply nicely in the first place. Be fair Percy.’

  But Percy was not inclined to be fair. No one else in the group had taken such a specific and obvious interest in him, and being of little interest was exactly the way he liked it. Phrike had proved to be precisely the man Percy wanted him to be, and the two of them were getting along famously in their own way, each basking in the other’s gloom. But Norm was taking things to a level that Percy felt was too cheery to cope with, and far too intrusive, as if he and Norm shared a special relationship. As if he, Percy Field, were somehow special, and it irritated.

  *

  Warm rain continued to fall, the hot sun to shine, jungle animals to call from pockets of green sanctuary. Singapore danced through various festivals and celebrations. People walked and talked, played games in the park, strolled the manmade shores of golden s
and hemmed in by moored ships, shopped in cool malls for luxury brands, ate hawker food and worried about exams. The days were woven with the reliability of joy and predictability of worry that is the luxury of a steady nation, as the Discussion Group established itself and Percy began to settle.

  Chapter 8

  NORMAN SULLIVAN

  Expats breed expats.

  This was Norm’s most commonly used expression. And it was true. Many expats Norm met were either exactly as he was, born and raised abroad to parents seemingly forever abroad, or were people who as children had lived for sometime in a country other than home. Few, it appeared, were expats permanently migrated never to move back to their roots, though some must have been, he knew. And fewer still, he supposed, would be marked as the only expat their anchored family ever supplied to the world, because, of course, expats breed expats.

  A sociable sort, Norm knew many in the expat community, though he could never know them all. Singapore’s expatriates made up around two percent of a population of approximately five million, making it impossible to come across every single person.

  More than money, people with children and those without them seemed to define expatriate subgroups. He’d noticed over the years that the childless moved in different circles, overlapped only by those whose offspring were safely off their hands boarding or at university. For Norm, this division had been plainly seen in Singapore and Dubai, less so in London and Sydney where he’d discovered expats existed in a different way, compelled to live amongst locals just as he had grown-up. Children. Norm had always wanted them, but he and his wife were not living the sort of married life where it was likely. As a yearning it had subsided, but as a wish it remained. Fortunately, moving around took the edge off.

  There were other distractions besides moving, of course, other desires to fill his mind, the most recent being Percy Field.

  Norm had noticed Percy quite some time before the day he’d seen him in the company of Joyann Tan, and they’d spoken. On that very first occasion, Norm had been particularly struck by Percy’s facial expression, one he was sure spoke of depth; of a profound man caught up in contemplation. He’d also thought Percy was very handsome, but in a modest way, his even features speaking of good looks rather than shouting about them. Height and build were average, which Norm interpreted as pleasantly understated.

  Everything was safe, yet strangely desirable.