Cloud 9

by Alex Campbell

  ‘Don’t sweat over it,’ Ralph cuts his hands through the air. ‘Where’ve you been drinking though, Tom? Who serves a sixteen year old?’

  ‘Seventeen tomorrow.’

  ‘I know, the card’s already in the post. But that doesn’t mean you should be drinking like this – alone? In the daytime? It’s no way to deal with grief, Tom.’

  Tom’s hands grip round the water glass like he might crack it. ‘Last thing – “Cloud 9”. Did Dad send a story to you with that title?’

  ‘No, it doesn’t ring any bells. I never received any stories from Matt. Only the occasional email with some outlandish theory. I never took any of it seriously.’

  ‘But Mikey said Dad was going to give you his story as an exclusive?’

  Ralph looks startled. ‘As in Mikey Jones at St Patrick’s?’ He swings his head low. ‘Hell, Tom, don’t trust a word that man says. He used to fleece your dad, getting him to make donations for his shelter just to ask some dodgy questions of shady people. Ask your mum, she knows all about that. It was her well-earned cash your dad used. Mikey’s out for himself, a troublemaker.’

  Tom squeezes his eyes shut against this new version of Mikey. He remembers his mum and dad rowing about regular payments Dad gave to St Patrick’s. ‘But Mikey said Dad was getting to the truth – about the side effects of Leata.’

  ‘What?’ Ralph jumps up like he’s fidgety. Going to the mantelplace, he adjusts the photo frames of his sons there. ‘That nasty rumour’s been doing the rounds for a while. There can’t be any truth in it.’ His expression is worried when he turns. ‘What did Mikey say about that?’

  ‘He didn’t know anything more.’

  Ralph chews on his mouth as if he’s contemplating something. He sits back down. ‘I dunno, Tom. Your dad was hell-bent on revenge against PharmaCare since they sued him at the Daily Herald. You know he was always spouting that stuff about government being in bed with Leata. Money passing hands.’ He pushes both hands back over his hair, forcing his fringe up. The bruise from the funeral has faded to a faint yellow-green. He lets out a rueful laugh. ‘PharmaCare has a defence wall thicker than Windsor Castle. How would Matt have got through it to find out any truth about side effects?’

  Tom swallows; his throat feels scratched and raw from being sick. His body’s aching like he’s coming down with something. What Ralph’s saying is starting to make more sense than Mikey.

  ‘You’re hurting, Tom. That’s all this is. I feel your pain, you know.’

  Tom pinches the skin between his eyes as Ralph’s arm comes round his shoulders. His mind feels like it’s gripped in a vice. How can anyone feel my pain?

  Her

  ‘Be the person you want to be, and you’ll end up her.’ That was what I lived by from Year Seven on. I would be that girl. The popular girl. The girl who wouldn’t piss people off any more. The girl Dad would praise and cuddle like he did Rose and Lily. That girl. The girl I’d never been when I hung out with Tom.

  New school. New me.

  And I’ve become her, haven’t I? I please everyone now. Everyone likes me. I’m loved and I look and sound good.

  So why, right now, standing here, almost stuck to the back of the lift doors, do I suddenly feel like old me? The troublemaker, the antagonist, the girl teachers and parents always found fault with?

  The girl who was Tom Riley’s best friend?

  Staring over at Seth, surrounded by other bloggers like a celebrity, I can’t stop picturing Tom.

  I try counting down, numbering each of my blessings. But it does no good. I grapple inside my bag, take another Leata. Close my eyes tight shut, willing it to kick in. I’ve got to get a grip.

  When I open them, he’s stood in front of me.

  ‘Having a moment?’ he says, his mouth opening in a half-smile. Striped top and dark blue skinnies, his fringe flicked just-so, he might have strolled straight off a magazine shoot. ‘Livelifewithhope … in the flesh. Looking good.’

  ‘Hey, Seth!’ My voice comes out like a squeak. ‘Yay, we meet at last!’

  He tugs his phone out of his back trouser pocket, hugging me to him, arm out as he points it at us. ‘Let’s share with our followers: “Realboystuff and Livelifewithhope together at last”.’

  He smells nice up close. Hair gel and soap. But my stomach’s still twisting. There’s a fog in my head.

  ‘I’ll send it you now.’

  He starts tapping onto his screen. So I do the same; receive the photo; share it on Twitter, Instagram, despite a tightening in my guts.

  OMG! Guys I have finally met Seth Tuck!! Squeeeeeee!

  I wish I could feel anywhere near as excited as my tweet. Tom has to exit my head. I need to salvage this moment! My future!

  We’re being called into a meeting room. There’s about a hundred or so of us here. I try to keep smiling. Last resort – I repeat the Smurf song on a loop in my head, drowning out all other thoughts. Seth continues to get mobbed as we claim front-row seats. He and Emily, aka Stateofhappiness, are the ones the other bloggers want to collaborate most with.

  Yet it’s Livelifewithhope Seth’s chosen to guest vlog today! I’ve got to relocate that excitement. I hear my phone going mad in my bag – that’ll be my followers, my fangirls, my subscribers emoticon-screaming at the photo, sharing that Seth and Hope have met in the flesh at last!

  The Marketing Director, Sofia, comes in, medieval-long jet-black hair and large thick-rimmed glasses. The kind you wear even if you don’t need them. Because wearing those sort of glasses are so in. I make a mental note: buy some. Sofia’s enthusiasm is feverish, though I can’t quite be sure what she says, before she hands over toToby, the Social Media Manager. The guy who sorts out our contracts and keeps a check on content. Since I last saw him, he’s grown one of those cool beards boys in their twenties are wearing. His skinnies hang off his hips so I can see the top of his underpants. They’re branded at the top with the Leata slogan. How cool is that?

  He speaks as if he’s talking in capital letters, starting nearly every sentence with OMG or LOL. He’s such fun to listen to. I sneak a sideways glance at Seth. He’s taking notes of everything Toby says on his iPad. I pull my tablet out, smile wider, harder as I start doing the same.

  ‘LOL, look at my all singin ’n’ a-dancin PowerPoint, people,’ Toby opens his mouth dramatically. Everyone laughs. I join in a little too late.

  Seth elbows me. He’s written on his pad, Can’t wait for the Hope and Seth show.

  I make my smile girly sweet; widen my eyes as my stomach creases. Now I’m here, I’m not sure I’m ready for showtime.

  What is going on with you, Hope Wright?

  This morning … Tom, going to the shelter … it’s messed with my settings. I just need to reboot.

  ‘Yay, we love all these guest vlogs you’re doing, people.’ Toby is dancing about in front of us. ‘Build a better platform for one another. Working together, in turn builds a better brand for y’all individually. Remember what we are about …’

  Seth shoots his hand up into the air. ‘Spreading happiness globally in ways other young people can relate to.’

  ‘Yes!’ Toby points his hand out as if Seth’s just won the jackpot. ‘We rely on you as Leata ambassadors to be the trendsetters. Look right, talk right.’ He starts giggling. ‘We love the geeky faces you pull; keeping it real. People LOVE attractive people pulling ugly faces, we’ve got statistics that prove that – it makes ordinary people feel connected to YOU. Oh and we’ll soon be sending you more Leata branded clothing for your wardrobe. Do try and wear it on your vlogs. Run competitions to win pieces on your blogs too. Even film yourselves chatting as you take your pill. Leata – it’s an every day thing.’

  His face turns mock-serious. ‘Now, the bad news. There are still many bloggers and channels out there trying to bring the positivity down. Power Against Leata – it’s an oxymoron, people! Still, the PAL network appears to be growing, and lately, growing fast.’

  I tip my head in an i
ntent-listening pose. I tend to block out the negativity so I’ve never looked at any PAL blogs. I don’t even give trolls head space.

  ‘Be aware of the enemy, guys.’ Toby’s face lights up again, ‘Okay, special mentions!’ he says. ‘It goes without saying, all hail to Happyaslarry. He’s too busy with his book tour to make it today, but let’s show him some LOVE with our hands, people.’ He star-jumps, pointing dramatically at Jumpforjoy. She’s the workout queen. ‘Your total has hit three million, girlfriend!’

  Next, Toby leads Positiveandperky in a round of applause, before doing the same with ‘fabulous newcomer Realboystuff’. People behind slap and nudge Seth’s shoulders. I try to look proud. I jump when I hear my name next. ‘Livelifewithhope – checked in with yours today. LOVING the case story.’ Toby blows me a kiss. ‘NAD Boy – that’s what we want! Living proof how sad people are who are not on Leata. You HAVE to convert this NAD. Your followers expect it.’ His eyes intensify as if he’s ordering it like Dad. My chest tightens. What if I can’t make Tom happy? I’m starting to think it’s impossible.

  I tune out, in … out again. My mind feels a muddle. It keeps darting back to the shelter, to that girl Aggie. What could have happened to her to become like that? Lurching back over to Tom. He was looking so wired. What’s he doing now? Maybe I should have stayed with him. Dad wanted me to. Dad cares about Tom more than I do.

  Toby is wrapping up. His PowerPoint is switched off. ‘Remember, guys: you are the best social creators out there but more follow in your wake. Don’t get lazy,’ he adds with a big smile and a wink. ‘You WANT Leata sponsorship? Then keep what you put out there FRESH, relevant – even happy people can get bored easily – we need entertainment as well as education.’

  There’s lunch before we all leave, and a chance for a tour of the offices, but Seth turns to me the instant we move from the room and says, ‘Shall we skip food and go make our video?’ I’m struggling to think of an answer. Mainly because the right one’s ‘yes’, but it’s not sitting right on my tongue. He tucks my hair behind my ear. Wow. He touched me. Seth touched me. So shouldn’t my stomach fizz? Butterflies, where are you?

  ‘I’m only a ten-minute taxi ride away.’ He holds out a hand for me to take, his fingers weaving with mine, palms pressing. He’s so handsome. I really should be fizzing and fireworking now.

  I notice the vlogger Happythoughtsonly nudging Seth as we pass towards the lifts. Seth winks back at him; winks again as we say goodbye to Stateofhappiness Emily. She’s really pretty. She guest vlogged on Seth’s channel last week.

  Outside, he hails a taxi smoothly. We get in; he shuffles closer to me after giving the driver his address.

  ‘So my agent –’ he speaks low, softly.

  ‘You have an agent?’

  ‘Sure. Most successful vloggers are going down that route now. You not got one yet? Come on board with mine. It’ll make it easier if we do end up getting any TV deals.’

  I nod, try and smile. It feels crooked on my face. Seth touches my knee; slides a hand up my thigh. I wish I’d worn something less skin tight. I wish I was feeling something inside. Millie says her stomach goes crazy when Ryan even looks at her.

  I try and talk to distract him, but he’s on me before I see it coming. His lips pressing against mine. His hand up against my bum. Tongue now poking and gliding around as the taxi jerks forwards in heavy traffic. I’ve kissed plenty of boys since Tom. Loads. Tom again? Now? That childish kiss between you two meant nothing!

  I try and pull away. ‘I can’t breathe,’ I say.

  Seth tugs me back closer. His hand now clamps to my breast, massaging it like it’s dough. I don’t like it. I really don’t like it. His tongue’s moving faster. ‘Wait till we get to mine,’ he mutters.

  ‘No,’ I shoot back. I’m breathing hard. His hand’s still on my breast. I stare down at it. ‘I can’t … I can’t.’ That feeling is back, like someone’s playing an accordion with my lungs. ‘I think I need to get out.’ No! You need to pull yourself together!

  Seth removes his hand, his smile tugging downwards. ‘What’re you talking about? We’ve got a video to make. My subscribers are expecting you, waiting for me to post it. Leata’s Toby is well behind us. He suggested it. What are you playing at?’

  Toby suggested it? I try and suck in air. The taxi smells of cheap pine air freshener. I’m starting to feel sick.

  ‘I think we should do this another time. I’m not feeling well.’ What am I doing? This is career suicide. Seth’s going to be the biggest thing on the internet soon and he’s picked me over Stateofhappiness or Positiveandperky to do his vlog with today.

  He scowls. ‘Your time is now, Hope. What are you: some sort of internet tease? All mouth no action?’

  His hand grips my thigh, pinching it. It hurts. ‘I thought this was what we were sharing today?’

  ‘I just want to do this another time,’ I plead. This isn’t the same boy from Realboystuff.

  ‘I’m here now. Take it or leave it.’

  I have to take it. I lean into him, pulling him back, opening my mouth ready. I can do this. This is what I am about. I please people, don’t I? I make people happy. I stopped being friends with Tom. I began taking Leata. I re-invented myself. I can’t unravel all that hard work now!

  Seth’s hand is back groping my chest; the other up and down my leg. I have no butterflies; I have no fizzing in my stomach, no tingling in my groin. I just feel scared and empty. And ill.

  I jolt away again. ‘Stop the car,’ I shout at the taxi driver. ‘Now, please!’

  It pulls into the side of the road. ‘I’m sorry about this,’ I’m bumbling.

  I don’t dare glance at the expression on Seth’s face as he snipes, ‘WTF?’

  I stumble out of the taxi so fast that I trip over the kerb. I go flying. Sprawling half on, half off the pavement. I twist round, hearing my leather leggings rip on the bum. Seth’s getting out his phone, pointing it at me. No – is he really taking a photo? The taxi door slams; it drives away.

  Him

  He’s been sat waiting at the agreed coffee shop at Waterloo for over an hour, facing a Leata banner advert above the platforms: ‘Don’t make any stops on the happy train!’ Propping up his aching head, he continues writing countless questions in his notepad, based on what Mikey and Ralph have said. He’s already trawled the internet on his phone, but there are no real answers there except Ralph was right – his dad’s ‘side effects’ accusation has already been made by the PAL network. Thousands of other anti-Leata voices across the globe spout fears over PharmaCare funding government, bribing doctors … Dad could have got any of his theories just from a few clicks on his computer. Some of the PAL members have been successfully sued like his dad and the Daily Herald were five years ago. Jack Wright’s name appears a number of times as the lawyer winning cases for PharmaCare. They win, because there is no proof that substantiates any of these theories.

  Tom sits back in his chair. Does that mean the theories can’t be true? Or they just have the best lawyers?

  He scans the concourse for Hope. His body itches to get home; to try and translate his dad’s shorthand. To see if that reveals anything else. He takes a slurp of cold coffee and starts tapping out a text to Pavlin. Asking him to check with his cousin Hari on any Leata side effects threads he trusts. His mouth feels swollen on the inside from puking. His stomach still aches. He feels crap over what Ralph said about Mikey. But Ralph knew his dad best. He was delusional … A whole new image of Dad is starting to form, one at odds with the enthusiastic, passionate man Tom loved to be around, broken and beaten and possibly beside himself with revenge and paranoia.

  Looking up again, he spots Hope walking towards him. She seems a faded version of the girl from this morning. Her hair is all over the place. Her pale blue blazer tied awkwardly around her waist. If it’s possible for Hope, she looks upset. The forced smile has been wiped.

  Unfortunately it grows again the minute she sees him; like she’s putti
ng a mask back on. Plastic perfect.

  ‘Tom! Had a good day?’

  He shrugs. There’s no point telling her any of it. She’ll only spin it positive. ‘Did you?’

  Her

  What do I say to that? Flippin’ awful? I lost it and made a fool of myself and I didn’t like how Seth touched me and yet at the same time I’m mad at myself for jeopardising my collaboration with him? And my legs hurt from where I hit the pavement and my best leather leggings are torn in the worst place and I suddenly feel like crying, even though I haven’t cried in years, except for happy tears at films and weddings.

  ‘Every day’s a good day!’ I answer in the end. Smile über-brightly. Tom has to keep seeing me happy if he’s ever going to embrace the light side himself. Even if I have to make things up (what are my ethics on that?). There are too many people expecting me to wave my magic wand over NAD Boy.

  For once I’m pleased for Tom’s sullen silence on the way back. Both my phone and tablet have run out of juice, which I’m glad about, as I won’t be able to check on my followers waiting for further feedback on Seth. I’ve got to work out how I’m going to pitch that first.

  I watch Tom scribbling furiously in his notepad. Paper and pen, like some ancient scribe.

  The edges of my smile keep pulling south.

  I really must be losing it because I even start thinking about blogging honestly when I get home. I messed up with Seth because I didn’t like the way he groped me and I don’t know how I can help NAD Boy. What do I know about grief?

  I almost laugh out loud. How can I admit to that? When I’m the Livelifewithhope girl?

  Him

  He stares at his notepad. Writing down more questions on the train ride still isn’t bringing answers. What about this source of Dad’s who died? Was Mikey dramatising that? He glances up at Hope. She’s smiling fixedly out of the window as if she’s the Queen inanely acknowledging a stream of fans outside. Except there are only cows in the dusk-filled fields they’re passing.

  ‘Your dad – was he still on my dad’s case over things he said on social media about Leata?’