Chapter 22 Reubyn
Reubyn
They arrive back at the bar early, around six o’clock, this time with the girls.
Reubyn stays close to Faith as they walk in, to make sure he can get a seat next to her.
She was friendly the previous night, enough to make him think he might have a chance, and this is an opportunity to deepen the connection between them.
Yes, they’re here for other reasons as well, but there is absolutely no harm in Reubyn getting to know her a little better and seeing where that leads.
In accordance with George’s plan – or identification strategy, as he’s begun calling it – most of their group sits at a large table in the middle of the room, and George, arriving separately with a baseball cap pulled low at the front, heads straight upstairs to the mezzanine level and takes a seat overlooking the whole space.
His plan, when he explained it earlier, seemed almost too simple to be of any use.
But, in the absence of any better ideas, Miles decided it was worth a try.
Probably because the alternative is doing nothing.
The idea, which Jessie and Faith have been told nothing about, is to have a normal night out and behave as if nothing is troubling them whatsoever.
Meanwhile, George – who the girls believe is absent due to a migraine – will be scanning the room for anyone who might be surreptitiously keeping an eye on Miles.
If he can identify the person watching Miles, and if they match the description given by Heather, then they can follow him when he leaves.
They’ve made the decision not to confront anyone in the bar.
They don’t want to risk making a scene and security getting involved.
Plus, if they follow Miles’s stalker, they might be able to find out where he’s staying, which would be crucial information to pass on to the police.
Reubyn waits until Faith takes her position at the far end of the table and sits next to her.
She’s dressed casually tonight, her peacock-blue blouse chiming with her eyeshadow, and, as he pulls his chair in, he’s gently intoxicated by the sweet woody scent of her perfume.
Miles, sat opposite, isn’t doing the best job of appearing relaxed: he pulls at the collar of his shirt and shifts in his seat.
At least his eyes aren’t searching the room, which is the main thing.
Polly hands out the first round of drinks, and a discussion begins about the recent solar eclipse and how the viewing experience compared between Europe and America.
Reubyn turns to Faith, boxing them into their own private conversation.
‘So, do you still want to be a YouTuber, after everything I told you last night?’
‘Are you serious? Of course I do, totally.’
‘I thought I might have put you off for life.’
She laughs. ‘I’m a recruitment agent. Compared to mine, your work is literally thrilling.’
Reubyn gets the conversation flowing by asking polite questions about her job.
Ask questions and really listen – that was another key takeaway from Dr Jane Sheridan.
And the more he listens to Faith talk about her job, the more he silently agrees with her – working in recruitment is a waste of her time, a waste of her life.
She spends eight hours a day in an office she dislikes, doing work that she hates, which involves organising people into jobs that they, in turn, hate.
And all the while she earns little more than enough to cover her living expenses in western Sydney.
Faith is bright; there is no limit to all the exciting things she could do if she only believed in herself, and Reubyn makes a point of telling her that several times.
Before long it’s Reubyn’s round, and on the way to the bar he steals a glance up at George, who leans against the balcony rail, purportedly reading a book.
As Reubyn waits for cocktails to be shaken and poured, he ponders how much he should reveal to Faith about his work.
She hasn’t asked how much he earns from his channel but seems to be under the impression he makes a fortune.
It would be stupid to shatter that illusion right away.
Faith seems to be in complete awe of his job, of how he’s able to make a living doing something he loves.
But the truth is, he really should’ve had a second job these last couple of years to supplement the income he gets from YouTube.
But he didn’t do that. Instead, he took out loans.
And lately he’s been struggling to stay afloat.
The trouble is: none of his peers do menial work to boost their incomes.
There is a stigma around it, the way it lowers social standing.
He could just imagine how George would react: time is one’s most valuable commodity, he would say, and it so follows that no one should waste time on work that doesn’t advance their career, raise their status or, at the very least, earn them shedloads of cash.
Reubyn should’ve swallowed his pride and got a job in a pub or shop – anything to help balance the books while he was growing his channel.
But people from Holvine don’t have jobs like that; they either get cool jobs, or jobs that progress fast, earning them a ton of money or power.
If they’re lucky, they get one that comes with all of those things, and then they’re included in the ‘notable alumni’ section of the school’s Wikipedia page.
Reubyn isn’t there yet, but, if he sticks to the path he’s on, pours all his effort into it, one day he might be.
In the meantime, all he’s got is debt. And, like an invasive knotweed, it seems to grow and multiply no matter how much he tries to beat it back.
He’s committed to his business now, invested heavily, and he needs to make a success of it, and fast, or soon that debt is going to swallow him whole.
Reubyn sets a tray of drinks on the table, his fingers sticky from the syrupy spillage that’s collected in a moat around the edge. He hands out the cocktails, saving the last two for Faith and himself.
Faith thanks him and takes a sip. ‘So, you never actually told me how you got started as a content creator. You know, like you promised you were going to.’
Reubyn takes a sip of his own cocktail, and a few flakes of salt from the rim cling to his lower lip. ‘Well,’ he says, clearing the salt with his thumb, ‘it wasn’t my first choice. When I was younger, I assumed I would get a job in the TV industry.’
Her right eyebrow shoots up, as if on a string. ‘You assumed? Isn’t that quite a competitive industry to get into?’
‘Yeah, I know, but you assume you can do the same job as your parents, right? And my dad’s a TV producer.’
‘Wow. Cool. What kind of shows?’
‘He used to run a show called Dealbreaker, it was this game show where—’
‘I know it!’ Faith’s face springs open. ‘Oh my God, I loved Dealbreaker as a kid. We used to get it in Australia.’
Reubyn feels a warm rush of pride. ‘That doesn’t surprise me. It was massive, back in the day. They used to make millions off the phone-ins alone.’
‘Did you ever meet Tony Meadows?’
Reubyn laughs. ‘That’s all anyone ever asks about it – do I know Tony.’
‘And do you? What’s he like?’
‘I got to know him quite well, actually. He used to come round to the house a lot, especially after Mum died.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry.’
The atmosphere between them has shifted, and Reubyn immediately regrets mentioning his mother. ‘It’s okay. I was pretty young when it happened – I’ve had a long time to come to terms with it.’
Her face is crumpled in sympathy. Reubyn wants it to beam back to life, so he turns the conversation back to Meadows. ‘Tony was exactly like he was on TV – a mile a minute, never stopped talking. He and Dad were really close, and he even babysat for me, sometimes, when he needed a break.’
‘Tony Meadows was your babysitter? That’s insane. You guys come from a different planet, I swear.’
Reubyn shifts his chair a little closer.
The music seems to be getting incrementally louder as the bar fills up, and now they can barely hear each other over the booming bass and thrum of voices.
‘It was a strange time, that’s for sure,’ Reubyn says.
‘I did work experience on Dealbreaker, as a runner – stuff like that. But it became clear pretty quickly that there wasn’t going to be a career path for me. ’
‘Why?’ Faith asks, glancing at him briefly before turning her head so Reubyn can speak directly into her ear.
‘That whole industry has changed. About ten years ago, Dad’s work all started drying up.
And if there was any work, he had to travel to Belfast or Scotland or something, for weeks at a time.
It’s got to the point now where he’s in the middle of his career and he’s barely working.
It’s stressful. He’s got no income. I’m not signing up for that. ’
‘But, why? I mean, why is there suddenly no work? He was the producer on Dealbreaker – surely he’s in demand?’
‘It’s because these TV shows just aren’t getting made anymore.
’ Seeing her lips pressed in confusion, he explains: ‘Some programmes are getting made, of course, the really high-budget shows, stuff for the big apps, but all those light-entertainment shows that used to be on TV all the time, like Dealbreaker – the demand for all that has fallen away. Think about it: everyone is on the streamers, listening to podcasts, watching social media shorts—’
‘Watching YouTube.’
‘Exactly. When I told Dad I wanted to start a YouTube channel, he encouraged me, because he could see what was happening. He helped me get started, sorted me out with the lighting and microphones and background set-up. I’ve got him to thank, really.’
‘You’re too modest. You’re good at it. I watched another of your videos this morning. They’re great. You’re amazing.’
Faith stands, and as she leaves the table, she places her fingers on Reubyn’s forearm and a bolt of electricity shoots through him. She smiles and then swishes off towards the bar.
Reubyn takes deep breaths. You’re amazing. What did she mean by that? Is she amazed by his videos, or could it simply be that she finds him, Reubyn Carmichael, amazing?
Don’t get carried away, he tells himself.
She’s being friendly because she wants to get started in the business and needs Reubyn’s advice – that is still the most plausible explanation for what’s going on here.
But he’s helpless as his heart and mind are carried off on a wave of hope.
He watches as she disappears into a queue at the bar, then glances around.
The volume of the music has split the table: Polly and Jessie are huddled in conversation, and Elis is barking something in Miles’s ear.
Reubyn’s phone vibrates in his pocket. He unlocks the screen and finds a new message in their WhatsApp group.
George: I think I’ve got him.
Miles must be reading it too because his eyes widen and then he slips his phone back into his pocket, all casual. A few seconds later, he takes the phone out and taps with his thumb. A new message appears.
Miles: OK. What now?
George is typing . . .
George: We wait. Act normally.
George is typing . . .
George: When I say now, Miles you come and meet me by the bar. Straight away, no delays. Understood?
Miles: Got it.
Miles’s lips twitch as he stares into his drink.
It’s clearly taking a lot of effort to prevent himself from becoming visibly alert and searching the room.
If he’s nervous, it’s understandable. Reubyn didn’t expect George’s surveillance to actually lead anywhere, and he suspects Miles was doubtful, too.
So, what’s going to happen now? Whoever this stalker is, he could be dangerous.
Armed, even. Will they follow him? Front him up?
The only thing Reubyn knows for sure is: he’s not getting involved.
If it was up to him, they would lie low until the police have time to investigate.
But he knows they won’t wait. George is reckless and impatient, and Miles’s desire to know who’s following him has become all-consuming.
Faith is oblivious to the tension as she arrives with a tray of drinks.
She hands them out and resumes her chat with Reubyn.
As their talk continues, Reubyn keeps an eye on Miles.
He’s no longer talking to Elis; instead, he stares at the phone in his hand, no doubt waiting for George to say the word.
Reubyn and Faith chat about all manner of things that his friends would normally find too boring to discuss: posting schedules, lighting equipment, SEO, editing, analytics.
More drinks arrive at their table. And then more. For a short while, Reubyn is so wrapped up in his conversation that he forgets about George and his plan.
And then, just after midnight, it finally happens – Reubyn feels his phone vibrate. Miles is already up on his feet before Reubyn has time to open the app and see George’s message. As promised, he’s only written one word: Now.