Jade and Emmy have both taken the same legal high, but it has affected them differently.
Jade doesn’t react to anything around her. She stands on the edge of it all like a bored body-double for herself, doing all the things Jade would be expected to do in that situation, like holding Emmy’s gothic stack shoes, answering her mobile phone (Benny Hill theme tune), talking on the phone – the facts, the reassurances, all with the same monosyllabic intonation – observing as we load Emmy onto the trolley and haul her up the slope from the club forecourt to the ambulance.
I imagine them both choosing a tab with an android logo on it. But if the drug has in fact turned them into robots, Emmy’s circuits have blown. She thrashes around on the trolley in a horizontal dance, saying the same thing over and over again: Come on now, now, now. Come on now, now, now. Come on now, now, now. Let’s have a bit of a tickle. Every so often she goes quiet, and scans the world around her.
Really? she says.
Then flips back to the start.