The O’Hara Affair. Kate Thompson

trap. The funniest thing was that their avatars bore absolutely no resemblance to the way they looked in real life. In Second Life he was a six-foot-four love god, and she was a six-foot sex siren. Look – here’s Mitzy – isn’t she pretty?’

      Bethany peered at the image that shimmered onto the screen of Tara’s notebook. A 3-D beauty with golden Rapunzel locks was standing poised on the step of a pagoda. She was wearing a fairy-tale ball gown, a glittering tiara, and ruby slippers.

      ‘Wow,’ said Bethany. ‘How did you make her?’

      ‘I chose a generic avatar, then customized her by changing her body shape and skin tone and hair, and shopping for outfits in the virtual mall. Look.’

      Tara clicked a few times, and suddenly Mitzy was in a shopping mall, surrounded by other shoppers. These avatars ranged from the everyday – dressed in jeans and T-shirts – to the outlandish, in preposterous fancy dress. By pressing ←↑→and ↓ on the keyboard, Tara was able to move Mitzy in different directions. She promptly sent her off window-shopping.

      ‘Can you really buy this stuff?’ asked Bethany.

      ‘Yes – with virtual money called Linden dollars. You can buy anything you like here, be anyone you want to be.’

      It was true. Those virtual Linden dollars could transform Mitzy into a cheer leader, a geisha or a trollop. She could be Scheherazade, Cleopatra, Pocahontas or Pink. The place was a virtual shopaholic’s dream.

      ‘It’s amazing!’ said Bethany. ‘Look – you can even get tattoos!’

      ‘And hair extensions. And nail art, if you could be arsed.’

      ‘Hey – look at that dude! The one with the floppy hair who looks like Johnny Depp.’

      ‘You really are into Johnny Depp?’ Tara asked her, with a wicked smile.

      Bethany smiled back. ‘Big time.’

      ‘I’m more an Orlando Bloom gal myself.’

      Tara walked Mitzy up to the avatar, whose nametag read ‘Silvius’. ‘Do you want to talk to him?’

      ‘How do you talk?’ asked Bethany.

      ‘You can use voice chat,’ Tara told her. ‘But I prefer instant messaging. Watch this’: Hello Silvius, she typed. I love your coat. Where did you get it? She pressed Return, and the words appeared on the screen.

      Silvius seemed to hesitate, and then, perhaps impressed by Mitzy’s beauty and ruby slippers, the reply came back. Hello Mitzy. Ty. I got it in Kings Plaza Thanks, said Mitzy/Tara. I’ll go there straight away.

      A couple more clicks, and suddenly the golden-haired avatar was standing in a department store where glam menswear and even more glamorous womenswear was on display.

      ‘I don’t understand,’ said Bethany. ‘Who creates these places?’

      ‘Members of the Second Life community. I find it a great way to chill. Loads of people say they’d rather get a real life than go on Second Life, but I’ve met some really cool people on here. Wait till you see this.’

      Within seconds, Mitzy was standing in front of a Tudor building, courtesy of Teleport.

      ‘Where are we?’

      ‘It’s the Globe Theatre.’

      ‘Like – Shakespeare’s Globe Theatre?’

      ‘Yep. We’re on Shakespeare Island.’

      ‘I love it!’ said Bethany.

      ‘You can teleport to loads of places. You can even visit an Irish pub in Temple Bar.’

      Abruptly, a real voice dragged them away from their virtual world. One of the ADs was standing at the top of the stairs. ‘There’s been a hitch, boys and girls,’ he announced, ‘and we’ve had to rejig. The interior’s been rescheduled for tomorrow. We’re moving on to the exterior.’

      ‘Bummer.’

      Bethany and Tara drooped. The interior scene involved the staff of the Big House – including the ladies’ maids – while the exterior was all starving peasants begging the evil landlord for food. Since their scene was postponed they could have gone home, but they had no transport, and Lissamore was a six-mile walk away. They’d have to stay on until all the other extras had finished for the day so that they could board the coach together. More bloody hanging around.

      The AD made his way past them to where Shane Byrne was sitting with his companion. ‘Mr Byrne, apologies for the inconvenience. I’ll call you as soon as we’re set up. May I get someone to bring you more coffee?’

      ‘Please,’ said Shane Byrne. Then he turned to his neighbour. ‘I’m afraid I won’t be congenial company for the foreseeable. I’m gonna have to go over my script.’

      ‘No worries,’ said the dark-haired man. ‘I have some business I can get out of the way.’ He reached for his BlackBerry as Shane reached for his script. ‘Some day soon, you’ll be learning your lines on screen,’ he observed.

      ‘Nah,’ said Shane. ‘I’ll stick to hard copy. I always auction scripts off when I’m finished with them, and send the proceeds to Cancer Research.’

      ‘Good idea.’

      Behind them, Bethany and Tara were still slumped in their seats. The time on the screen of Tara’s laptop read 3.15. They could be stuck here for another three hours. On the screen, Mitzy sighed and yawned.

      ‘How did you make her do that?’ asked Bethany.

      ‘Easy,’ Tara told her, ‘I went to the gestures menu and selected “bored”. I can get her to do all kinds of things.’

      ‘Can I have a go?’

      ‘Sure.’

      Tara passed over her laptop, and Bethany started playing around with the keys, selecting Page Up to propel Tara’s avatar towards a sign that read SLSC Academy of Performing Arts.

      ‘What’s SLSC?’ she asked.

      ‘Second Life Shakespeare Company. They put on plays apparently, but any time I visit there’s hardly anyone here.’

      Bethany propelled Mitzy through a door.

      ‘Hey – look – we’re in some kind of a gallery! This is amazing!’ Around the walls were pictures of Shakespeare’s characters from Hamlet. Bethany guided the avatar past portraits of Hamlet and Ophelia, Gertrude, Claudius and the Player King, before finding herself in the playhouse. She manoeuvred Mitzy up onto the stage, and stood looking around. There was something marvellously out-of-body about this.

      ‘Where else can we go?’ she asked Tara.

      ‘How about a beach?’

      ‘Yes!’

      In the shake of a lamb’s tail, Mitzy was standing on a deserted beach. It was night in Second Life, and dark waves were crashing onto the silver sand. Above her, stars pinpricked the sky, and seagulls called.

      ‘I came here once,’ Tara told Bethany, ‘and there was an avatar of a girl in a bikini, waiting for her boyfriend. She told me she was living in Florida, and he was in the UK, and they used to meet up on the same beach at a prearranged time to go swimming together.’

      ‘How sweet!’ said Bethany.

      ‘Hey – how about we set you up an account?’

      ‘An account?’

      ‘On Second Life. We may as well do something creative if we’re going to be stuck here for the next couple of hours.’

      ‘Cool!’ said Bethany. ‘I’d love that.’

      Tara reclaimed her laptop. ‘We’ll have to fill in a form. The usual