that had previously limped through the smeary pane, any possibility of backlighting one of his monitors. He invested a little of his estranged father’s money on a long melamine benchtop which now ran the length of one wall with a return on each end. Atop it sat four monitors, two of them connected to the one hard drive, the others operated from laptops and all wirelessly connected to the internet. In front of this there were two ergonomic office chairs and it was from one or other of these that, all day and night, Elton met, talked and played games with his several thousand friends.
To suggest that Elton was agoraphobic would not sit well with the young man. Hadn’t he undertaken a science degree? Hadn’t he managed a whole year of it even while his parents were going through the last ludicrous stages of divorce? You must complete your studies, his father had commanded. If you want to make me proud, please finish the course. And so he did, one year at least, not to make his father proud but to obligate him: he had two years to go. Now, with the intermittent conscience money from his corporate father’s canny dealings, Elton could afford to defer before deciding on the actual trajectory of his life. But he’d already decided that a professional career was objectionable – one in the family was enough. And surrounded as he was by his devoted circle of worldwide friends, it just didn’t seem necessary to go anywhere.
Except to shop. Clothes were Elton’s only real interest in the tangible world. For apparel, he would go anywhere, traverse the length and breadth of the planet – New York, Hong Kong, Barcelona, Beijing – and he saved to Favourites a list of online stores. Stuff arrived in the mail, usually a softpack of socks or shirts or a sports jacket which he donned with some solicitude before skyping a confidant in another corner of the globe.
Elton was no slouch, no nerd; he would not be an overweight, bespectacled, pimply Übergeek, and he had a Wii EA Sports Active 2 Cooperative Multiplayer Fitness Game stationed to one side of his workbench with its own dedicated flatscreen monitor. His mother had bought it for him as a Christmas gift. She hunted it down, added it to the shopping cart and proceeded to the checkout. There she clicked Buy, entered her PayPal details and within three days the box turned up at their front door. She wrapped it in coloured paper and placed it one Christmas night beside the pointy plastic tree.
‘If you are to stay inside then I want you to exercise, Elton,’ she’d insisted. And so he did, every day in the first week; she even joined in – twice. But keeping the boy to the rigid program turned out to be more exhausting for her than for him, and in the end the twenty-minute circuits to target upper and lower body as well as cardio, deteriorated to a simple verbal exchange:
‘Are you exercising?’
‘Yes.’
‘Don’t forget.’
‘No.’
Adele wanted to be fit herself; it was one of the first things she thought of as Randall drove away in the family car, his vintage number-plate, ICU, disappearing ironically into the distance. Good riddance.
Now without a partner, it seemed logical to take special pains with her appearance. She had no intention of attracting yet another untrustworthy male, but with only the walls to appraise her, it was easy to let appearances slip. Her new career also dictated that she should stay fit, though she refused to take over Elton’s neglected trainer. Instead, she pumped her limbs briskly around the block each day, regarding her trim figure in the bathroom mirror as reward alone.
But her son Elton never walked anywhere. He never advanced beyond the outer walls of their new dwelling – except to fetch the rubbish bins, which obliged him to venture at least as far as the rear yard. He hated it all, the green and brown and blue above, the uneven earth, the air weighted with dust, diseases and allergy-bearing pollens. Inevitably a breeze would bat him back inside to the comfort of a space that was square and clean and neatly defined. He could hardly imagine how he’d once caught the tram to uni and back, a concept that now seemed so pointless, so alien.
Adele did not object. Her son had other qualities, for instance his application to tidiness. How could any mother be critical? He managed his bedroom with unmatched diligence; he was clean and shaved and his creaseless clothes were parked on hangers or meticulously pressed and placed in drawers. His shoes were tiered on wire racks according to a hierarchy of regular use. To Elton, it all made sense: his orderliness in the regular world meant he could immerse himself in cyberspace free of encumbrances.
ADELE BEGGED her leave at 11 p.m. The parliamentary function that she’d been asked to attend had not gone well. Her client turned out to be a bore, leering unpleasantly and finding opportunities – where none actually existed – for sexual innuendo if not downright crudity. But as Adele understood, every profession had its disappointing moments, even hers; its unexpected ruptures just when things should be going smoothly. She was good at her job and she knew it, but no degree of skill could compensate for certain ineptitudes, for acts of stupidity. As soon as her agreement had been fulfilled, she excused herself and caught a cab home, closing the front door quietly behind her.
Upstairs, she was not at all surprised to walk past Elton’s door and find him still up and illuminated by the blue light of several screens. Normally he’d have his door closed but he was not expecting her home so early. She went to her room, stepped out of her evening dress and pulled on a tracksuit. In the mirror, she removed her lipstick, brushed out her L’Oreal leather-black hair and tied it loosely at the back. She returned to Elton’s bedroom and leaned against the door jamb.
‘Hi.’
‘Hi.’
‘Want to take a break?’
Elton didn’t turn. ‘Can I catch you in a minute? I just have to finish something.’
Adele never argued, well aware that her son had crucial things to complete. And so it was. Sargeras, the fallen Titan, had unleashed an army of unspeakable evil on the Draenei. They’d been slaughtered in the thousands and tonight Elton had joined his guild to repel the Burning Legion in its demonic quest to undo all of creation. A fierce battle had ensued and many despicable monsters of the Horde had fallen to his blessed blade. There were rivers of blood yet his guild was not yet safe. His guild: 128 others from all regions of the world.
Adele went downstairs and switched on the kettle. As the whistle blew, she heard Elton thumping down the carpeted stairs. The clock read ten past one.
‘Jesus, I’m buggered.’ Elton stretched his slack-muscled frame and marched towards the fridge. A photo of the two of them, taken right there in the kitchen, was held to the heavy door with a giveaway magnet. Elton gawked into the fridge and closed the door again. He thought about asking his mother why she was home so early, but decided against it. That was her business, a subject he habitually avoided.
‘Had a call from Morry this afternoon,’ Adele said and put a cup in front of him.
‘Who?’
‘Morris – your Uncle Morris and Aunty Sharon.’
Moz and Shaz. It was they who’d suggested the friendlier appellatives, so why did his mother insist on the antiquated Uncle and Aunty? They’d chosen a country lifestyle, whatever that was supposed to mean. Elton hadn’t spoken to them for a couple of years and these days they rarely came in from the bush. A disappointment really; they used to bring such good presents.
Adele sat on a stool opposite her son and placed a wet teaspoon on the cutting board.
‘I had a talk to young Shaun as well.’
A vision flashed through Elton’s
