The Cult of Following, Book One Read online

That first time, Percy had been exiting the Botanic Gardens’ shop, opposite the café. As Percy was leaving, Norm had passed him in the doorway, quite close, almost face to face. For Norm, the world unexpectedly began tilting beneath his feet, tipping him unsteadily, a physical sensation not felt since university, where a lecturer snatched his heart without ever knowing he had. He was a man whose appearance then was very similar to Percy’s. Reminded of that time, while trying not to fall over in the shop doorway, Norm had wondered what the lecturer looked like now. Old, he’d supposed.

  Whenever Norm looked back on that doorway encounter, he could never remember if Percy had been carrying anything – if he’d bought some item – only that he had gone directly across the way to buy himself a drink. Norm had felt obliged to finish entering the shop, though he had wanted to turn on his heels and follow this man who was so utterly arresting. From a window, safely contained within the cool box-shaped store, peering out through a display of guidebooks, he had scrutinised Percy. Studying his hair and clothes and the confident manner in which he watched the world go by, Norm’s interest grew. There before him was a man who was not uncomfortable sitting alone; he did not need to pretend to read a book or check his phone. He was just there, relaxed, observing life around him, a person who knew things. Tied up outside the shop, Cocoa had watched her own hero, staring through the glass at her master until he plucked up the courage to come out and find a table near Percy, whatever he had come to purchase or browse forgotten. The café, Norm came to know, was a place Percy regularly enjoyed a cappuccino followed by a large watermelon juice, often carrying the cold drink with him as he walked the gardens. 

  And so from that day, watching became a pastime for Norm. Each morning he would travel to the gardens as he always did, to walk his dog and enjoy the space, but now he looked out for Percy. The reward for seeing him was elation, the downside disappointment; disappointment tended to rule.

  Norm never spoke with his wife about Percy. He and she rubbed along very well without any fuss about who liked whom or why. She happily worked, he merrily lazed, she had friends, he had friends, and they shared just a few that were mutual. In many ways, they were suited. But unlike Norm, a firm follower of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints, his wife was not a devout person. She, too, was Mormon, but it was a default label only, lightly etched upon her by nose-led parents. Norm had never expected to marry someone so lacking in faith, but found himself more attracted to her than any woman he’d met. Anticipating quite correctly that she would willingly hold the reins of both work and domestic life, and therefore Norm’s life, they’d married. His choice, he often felt, had been brought about by God, because Norm could not have predicted that his wife’s marital demands would be so easily refocused. The idea of her infidelity roused such little conflict he did not think of it often.

  Norman Sullivan; handsome, tanned and groomed to perfection. A silver fox. His devotion to the church had tested him all his life, forcing him to suppress the person he was, ignoring what Nature had created. Meeting Percy did not merely strain his neatly casketed world at the seams, but forced it to explode with an ejaculation of emotion. No scripted golden tablets flew free, only wild hope tempered by mild terror, a fear that to continue burying his head in the sand might result in suffocation.

  *

  A time came when random encounters were not enough. 

  Accidental Percy-spotting ceased to satisfy Norm, resulting in strategic thinking. Instead of wandering around hopefully, pretending to himself that doing it this way meant he wasn’t really following another man, he started placing himself near the café, out of sight, then following Percy at a discreet distance for as long as Percy was in the park. The days Percy did not come, he would give up at midday. 

  But too soon, any satisfaction found through premeditated gazing also failed to be enough. Like any addict, the romantic in Norm needed more, no matter what his prudent, retrained, other self, maintained to the contrary.

  So the day Norm noticed his friend, Joyann Tan, talking with Percy, had felt like a gift. If the thin clouds had parted and a shaft of Singapore sunshine had shot down from the heavens to illuminate the object of his affections, it could not have been more perfect. He’d endured infatuations before, aside from the lecturer, and always tried his best to hide his feelings beneath his faith. All men should love one another, after all. But the fact was, it wasn’t yet working with Percy.

  The presence of Joyann was a Godsend in more ways than one, not only offering Norm a way in, but a possible way out, because since he was unable to ignore his feelings, practical-Norm looked to try and put himself off Percy. Practical-Norm hoped he might discover that this man who had seized his heart was not worth the guilt; that he might be awful. For realistically, how could a man he had never met provoke such instant adoration and also be a worthwhile person? Surely it would be too good to be true? It was not possible to be the perfect being, Norm supposed, to be there, just like that, to be wonderful and accessible. Was it? His longing was not the result of chemistry, Norm was sure. There was no unseen, ill-defined attraction pulling them together regardless of suitability. Norm was not stupid; he did not suffer from the imagined fancies of many besotted individuals. There had been no shared glances, real or otherwise. Nor was he looking at a man who wrestled his desires as he himself did.

  Yet as much as this showed him to be no fool, Norm was in many ways exactly that. He continued to turn away from what he really wanted in life, his unwavering faith leaving him powerless even to balance his view using the old adage, you only live once. Nor for the time being could Norm see that while he questioned his thoughts regarding Percy, he had already allowed two men to capture his heart without challenge: Joseph Smith and Jesus Christ.

  Earlier in the day, before spotting him with Joyann, Norm had watched Percy alight alone from the bus, enter the park and sit down at the café after buying only juice. He and Cocoa had walked by very close to Percy, but Percy hadn’t looked up. Soon after, just when Cocoa was being silly and dragging Norm to some freshly scratched hole in the ground, he had seen Percy again, walking. Norm’s heart skipped a beat, because he hadn’t realised Percy would be moving on so soon, and Cocoa’s distracting behaviour had meant he had nearly missed him. Cocoa, for the moment, was determined to keep going in a different direction, and so Norm felt unable to follow. Since the day was not too hot, he’d found it quite easy to mooch about the grounds, in the hope of seeing Percy again. And then of course he had, outside the National Orchid Garden, talking with Joyann Tan; an enormous and very welcome surprise. But again, Cocoa was in control, this time immovable rather than forging ahead, until Percy and Joyann had disappeared inside and Norm was unable to follow because dogs were not allowed in. So Norm treated himself to ice cream from the nearby booth, knowing the pair would be some time, recalling Joyann’s love of orchids, particularly the country’s national flower, the orchid Vanda Miss Joaquim. Growing in pots outside her hardware store, Norm had openly admired the long stems and pretty flowers. She had said something he could no longer recall about the name, and told him the plant fairly represented the country, including the fact it had mixed parentage. But mostly she liked it for the pink flowers. 

  After a very long wait, Norm had wondered dolefully if the pair would ever surface again, thinking that perhaps Joyann had overwhelmed poor Percy with her horticultural passions. But he couldn’t leave; there was only one way in and therefore only one way out. Norm chose to wait, seating himself somewhere less conspicuous.

  Joyann was one of his few Singaporean friends and it was a great surprise to see her with Percy. On moving to Singapore, Norm had hoped for more friends like her, at first living in a house on a street amongst local people for exactly that reason. But soon it became clear that integrating would be as slow here as in any big city, anywhere in the world; in fact, it might never happen. And so he and his wife cut their losses and moved to a nice condo instead. Norm liked it very much, and enjoyed the
fact he shared his space with families. He never felt lonely.

  Eventually the pair emerged, Joyann carrying a new orchid. Gathering Cocoa, Norm took a route that he knew would collide with theirs, and after jumping out on them on the Rainforest Boardwalk, it had taken a moment for him to recover himself and greet Joyann because he was so caught up in speaking with Percy. Flustered excitement had overwhelmed his normally impeccable good manners, and he’d felt bad about it afterwards. But he was excited, too. After all the build up, he wasn’t sure if Percy was what he’d expected, for all preconceptions evaporated with the impact of finally speaking, and then with sheer delight at having been presented with the means to remain in contact. That morning, when he and Cocoa entered the gardens, he would never have dreamed he would be going home with a telephone number, and by day’s end, providing he didn’t delve too deeply into his delight, Norm felt nothing but happiness. 

  Practical-Norm’s hope for release from infatuation was as if it had never been.

  Chapter 9

  MEETINGS

  ‘So will I get to come to one of these meetings with you?’

  ‘Since when did you want to do anything with me, Sal?’

  Sal looked away, and continued packing her carry on case. Percy thought she seemed slighted. Lately, he had been putting extra effort into reading Sal’s emotions. After all, he hadn’t moved seven thousand miles for nothing. But it wasn’t easy.

  They’d had a row several nights before, because Sal had forgotten Percy’s birthday. The argument was not so much about her forgetting, as Percy having the cheek to moan about it. If he’d thought it through first, he would not have said a word.

  ‘After all, Percy,’ she had spat, ‘you forgot mine last year and the year before!’

  ‘Sal…’ he had pleaded. ‘I didn’t forget. I remembered, and then it sort of slipped my mind. Then I remembered again, and then it just went.’

  ‘That, Percy Field, is forgetting!’

  After the row, once his wife was sleeping soundly next to him, pretty face peaceful, Percy had marvelled at the skill with which she had turned his own complaint against him. She had effectively taken the knife he was holding, and without allowing him to release his grip, turned the blade and stabbed him in the eye, before yelling, what did you do that for? There were certainly many levels of genius to be found in his wife, he had mused.

  Now, watching her pack for yet another business trip, he pondered further. Her success in other things besides manipulation came to the fore. How did it feel, he thought, to be the only one working and bringing in the money? Did he wish it were he and not she, putting food on the table and wine in the glass? He wasn’t sure. More than earning money, he missed working with his hands, though not enough to do anything about it. And the Discussion Group, that uncomfortable idea Joyann had turned into a great success, certainly filled a space. But there was still a void and Percy felt sure it wasn’t anything to do with working or groups.

  ‘Shall we do something when you get back?’ he said, sitting on the edge of the bed. ‘Something nice, for my birthday and all your birthdays we’ve missed?’

  ‘We’ve missed?’

  ‘Okay. I’ve missed.’

  ‘Sure, why not,’ she said simply, folding a silk shirt and placing it carefully in her bag. ‘What do you suggest?’

  ‘I dunno. Maybe try and find that pottery place again?’ he winced inwardly. He really did not want to do that.

  Sal flashed him a wry look, ‘Percy. You seem to think I only like doing stuff that you hate. It is possible that you and I still have some things in common, you know.’

  ‘Okay. Then let’s get tickets for the night race when it comes.’

  ‘The what?’

  ‘Formula One. It’s a night race. Could be good.’

  ‘Can you think of something different, something not that?’ she said, zipping up one half of the case before making minor adjustments to the items packed the other side.

  ‘How about we go mountain biking?’

  Sal said nothing, 

  ‘How about trying the wave machine thing? Or zip-wire-wave-board something or another? 

  Flipping the case shut, before fastening the two sides together, Sal said, ‘I’d hate that and you’d hate that,’ she waggled her head and Percy knew she was balancing a cynical view point. ‘In which case, it would be an experience in common, I suppose.’

  ‘Fucking hell, Sal. Help me out here.’

  ‘Percy, I don’t know what to suggest. My head is filled with work stuff; I have six major meetings in the space of forty-eight hours, and you’re nagging me about having a day out.’

  ‘A spa! You love treatments. And massages.’

  ‘You hate them.’

  ‘Hang on a minute. I do not hate massages.’

  ‘No, that’s true. Because you like giving them, providing it doesn’t include feet, arms, legs or backs. Only breasts and vaginas.’

  ‘Whoa!’

  ‘What? It’s true. You never want a massage and only give them to get something back.’

  Percy hesitated. He couldn’t argue, though he felt tempted to ask how she could be certain of any of this, since she hadn’t let him near her in months. The instigator of sex, Sal had never been, but once upon a time she at least seemed willing. ‘Okay. So not a spa day.’

  ‘I have to go.’

  ‘The theatre.’

  Sal swept her bag from the bed. ‘Theatre?’

  ‘Yes. We’d both enjoy that. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it sooner.’

  A half smile appeared. ‘Fine. You look for something.’

  Percy studied her for a moment. ‘You could come to one of the meetings. I’d be happy for you to join the group.’

  ‘I’ll text later. Have a good day, and don’t forget Mila is coming for a thorough clean. Be dressed.’

  *

  After Sal had gone, Percy sent a text to Phrike and arranged to meet him for lunch. He needed some sanity, the company of a straightforward man.

  What Phrike did day-to-day was not clear to anyone. He worked, Percy knew, though seemed to be available more often than not. He always attended Discussion Group meetings, where he never offered a topic but never moaned about one either. He freely discussed the countries he travelled in, which seemed to be most, and spoke of work in every context except anything offering detail. 

  With lunch confirmed, and reminded of his friend back in England, Percy set about emailing Art.

  Art. Sorry not to have been in touch before. Hope all good with you. Fieldy.

  Percy was about to hit send, when he thought the message looked a little light on information. He amended it:

  Art. Sorry not to have been in touch before. It’s been busy. More later. Hope all good with you. Cheers. Fieldy.

  He headed for the shower, thinking that if Mila turned up she’d just have to put up with the sight of him. Then he remembered her properly, that big face and bolshie manner, and showered as fast as he could, before dressing and heading out early.

  He’d arranged to meet Phrike at The Tired Turtle, the bar at the bottom of Sixth Avenue, just across the road from The Bean. It was a small place, but friendly, and more importantly, open. It was too hot to take a stroll to fill the extra time he now had, so Percy instead opted to head across to the swimming pool for an hour. There was a shady seating area where he could put up his feet, and doze.

  As he rounded the corner, he was dismayed to find a group of women already enjoying the shade he felt was meant for him. Next to them, a stream of young children were paddling up and down in the water of the shallow-end steps, playing in a way that appeared to necessitate very straight arms and the shouting of random instructions. The ground was littered with abandoned toy animals and cars; tables awash with carrot sticks and sliced cucumber, jugs of water and plates of rice-cakes. Poor bastards, thought Percy, looking ahead hungrily to his lunch.

   Two older kids were play fighting in the pool, seeming not to be p
art of the big group but supervised by their maids. The two middle-aged women were talking, bottoms perched side-by-side, bright tee shirts shiny with logos, colourful leggings rolled up as their lower legs dangled in the water. As Percy watched, so the uniformed guard who had previously reprimanded him for exposure walked over and gruffly told them to get out of the water. Without argument, each did as instructed, and instead found a seat. Unruffled, the pair carried on talking as if nothing had happened, lively chatter interspersed with barked demands for their charges to stop wrestling each other beneath the surface of the water.

  Percy sighed. Why were all these people here? Shouldn’t they be at school or work or something? He chose to ignore the fact the maids were exactly that, at work. With the covered area far too busy for his liking, Percy selected a spot by the pool as far away from everyone as he could get. He pushed up a large parasol, and lying back on a lounger shut his eyes. Immediately his phone buzzed in his pocket.

  From habit, Percy checked it straight away. Since being removed from his social circle in England, however small, he was beginning to look upon any communication as interesting. It was an email from Art. It said simply,

  Fuck. Is that it?

  Clearly Art was taking the piss. Percy checked the time and sent a reply. What are you doing up so early?

  Art’s response was immediate. Toothache.

  Percy thought for a moment. What should he say to that? Oh.

  The reaction was swift. Cheers mate. What are you doing?

  Percy smiled to himself. Lying by the pool.

  Lucky Bastard! How’s Sal?

  Away.

  Oh.

  Good to hear from you, Percy typed. He didn’t hit send. He missed Art. Why then could he think of nothing more to say? He changed the message. I’ll send you a proper email soon. It’s busy, but not busy, if you know what I mean. There’s nothing to say. I’ll have a think.

  Sure mate. No worries. Got to go now. Going to be sick.

  Ok.