A gust of air rattles my teeth.
It’s just . . . part of me doesn’t want to give up on my channel. I love my followers. I feel proud of the community I’ve created. It’s the one thing I seem to have a knack for: connecting with someone on the other side of a screen.
I remember starting my channel and being delighted when I got ten subscribers. My first thousand felt almost unreal. The first comments I got were so supportive.
At the beginning, it was only people like me who watched the channel: people who loved make-up and fashion. Now I have everyone. So many people see my videos that there are days when it feels like everyone in the street knows who I am.
Maybe I shouldn’t have let so many people in? I shouldn’t have let Bryan in. My channel is not even really mine any more – it’s ours. There’s no way to delete our relationship. I want to scrub it out, but I can’t. The videos are going to be there forever. And no one will know the truth.
I take a deep breath and push my hands through my spiky hair. The cool air is helping my heart to slow, but it isn’t enough. I hug my knees and press my fingertips into my temple. I need a break from the internet. I can’t deal with all these voices. I can’t deal with splitting up with Bryan. Everyone will turn against me: viewers, sponsors, Mindy. My lipstick line might even get cancelled.
Tears well in the back of my eyes. I just can’t believe he’s being like this. Why does he want to destroy something I’ve worked so hard on?
The night rings with silence.
There’s no beeping, no dinging, no vibrating or buzzing. No one trying to reach me. Out here, I can almost pretend the internet doesn’t exist.
I push myself upright. My feet work their way through the clearing, slower this time. The familiar path narrows to a dip, and in the darkness I struggle to pick up my feet between the brambles.
Ouch!
A stinging nettle scrapes my knee. I hobble for a few steps on one foot – OK, these sandals are definitely not suitable footwear – and stumble into a clearing.
Wrong-footed, I slip on a sand bank and go hurtling down into the field below. My ankle twists on a ledge, and the bottom of my leg smacks with a sickening crunch into my foot.
I stare dumbly at my left ankle, which is twisted to one side. After a few seconds, a dull ache reverberates through my leg. The pain rises in waves, keeping its intensity, lasting longer and longer. I stifle a moan and gingerly try to move. I can’t. The pain is excruciating. I’m stuck.
A fox barks nearby and my pulse quickens. Shit. I’ve twisted my ankle and I’m lost in the countryside. I have no phone. No way of calling for help.
Instead of panicking, I just feel numb. This day just couldn’t get any worse.
It’s all because of my stupid sandals!
In one fluid motion, I unstrap the right sandal from my foot and throw it into the clearing. It hits something with a dull thud.
‘Ouch,’ says a disembodied voice.
My head jerks. Is someone out there? Are they dangerous?
Don’t be ridiculous. You need help. Call them!
‘Hey! Sorry it was me – I’m stuck!’
My voice is muffled in the wind and croakier than I imagined. I feel a clutch of panic as a dark shape moves towards me.
‘Lily?’
To my disbelief, Chris’s face emerges from the bushes.
‘Chris!’
I’m so happy I could cry.
‘Your leg! What the hell happened? This is one of our cow fields; you could have got trampled.’
He squats down beside me. A stale smell of beer and sweat catches me by surprise. I brush the tears away with my sleeve. Chris’s large, rough hands find mine in the dark and a jolt goes through me as his thumb brushes over my palm.
He looks down at me, and in the outline of the moonlight his mouth twitches. He’s holding my sandal, the loose strap flapping in the wind.
‘Did the Big Bad Beastly Dog do this?’ he says.
It’s not even a good joke, but I lean against his chest and laugh until my stomach aches.
CHAPTER 26
Melissa
While I’m snuggled up in bed, half my laptop screen is filled with little green-and-white chat boxes from Andy. The other half is playing video after video on loop of Lily and Bryan from her LilyLives vlog channel.
As Lily bursts out laughing on the screen, I scroll through my conversation with Andy. Here he is – talking to me, actually talking to me. Melissa Davies. I can’t actually believe the messages are real and not just something I made up.
I touch the name ‘Andy’ on the screen. It’s definitely real. I’m wound up tightly in my duvet in my own little cocoon of happiness. Every message Andy posts sends a tingle through my body, and every video of Lily and Bryan makes my heart flutter. This is what I have. This is what my life is about to become.
A knock at my door snaps me out of my daydream.
Oh God, I know who it’s going to be: Mum.
I quickly mute the laptop and slide it under the bed. Mum is a reality-TV addict, yet she always acts like I’m some kind of creep for watching people on YouTube. I sometimes think parents just have no idea about modern entertainment: if it’s not a scripted show broadcast on a TV screen, they don’t understand. And obviously I don’t want her to see my messages to Zeke – I mean, Andy.
I just really, really don’t want to speak to her right now. I know that I messed up. I know I should have come back earlier, that I shouldn’t have lied to them, but she doesn’t realize how important last night was to me.
She knocks on the door for a second time.
‘Come in,’ I mumble, pulling the duvet up to my eyes.
To my surprise, Dad comes through my door with a tray of bacon sandwiches. The delicious salty smell makes my nose twitch, and I suddenly realize I haven’t eaten all day. He carefully puts it down on my bedside table and sits heavily at the bottom of my bed.
My stomach pangs.
‘How are you feeling?’ he says.
Dad’s brown hair is rumpled, and there are deep lines underneath both of his eyes. I know he does long hours and commutes during the week, but this weekend he looks absolutely knackered. It hits me that this is because of me, and I feel a stab of guilt.
‘I’m feeling OK.’ My voice catches on O-K.
Dad stares at me. His eyes are startlingly blue like Lily’s. I can’t remember the last time I spoke to him. It’s not that I don’t get on with Dad: he’s much more reasonable than Mum; he’s just never here. During the week, he usually gets home just before I go to bed – and him, Mum and Aidy always go out visiting places on the weekends before I wake up.
He rubs his eyes and stifles a yawn.
‘Your mum asked me to come speak to you. You must realize that you can’t keep doing this to us. We care so much about you – you should have seen how worried we were last night.’
I look around the room, avoiding his gaze.
‘Look, I know you were worried – I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. It’s just . . . the way Mum reacted, it’s so disproportionate. She wasn’t worried, not like you – she just hates not being in control.’
Dad lets out a long breath and shakes his head, smiling. ‘You know so much don’t you? Sixteen-year-olds know everything.’
My mouth drops open. Dad is never, ever here. How would he know what Mum is like? How does he know anything about our relationship, or our family?
‘I guess that makes two of us,’ I say.
‘Excuse me?’
‘Perhaps I do know more than you about our family – have you ever thought that?’
Dad’s eyes widen. I don’t let him reply.
‘How do you know what goes on? You’re never here. I can’t even remember the last time you spoke to me. Last night was a blessing – it’s the first time I’ve heard your voice in six months. And Mum is no better. Neither of you ask about me – how my GCSEs are going, or what I’m up to. Neither of you try to understand what�
�s going on in my life; it’s not important to you. And that’s fine – I don’t mind. But don’t pretend you care when it suits you.’
Dad looks like I’ve slapped him in the face.
‘Why do you think—’
My throat closes up.
‘Look, I don’t want to talk about it – can you just leave?’ I turn into my pillow.
At that moment, my bedroom door slams against the doorframe.
Mum is standing there, bright red and glowering. OK, great. Dad wasn’t really here to speak to me. Mum told him what to say and was standing outside the whole time, listening to both of us. Typical helicopter parent.
‘Melissa!’ she snaps. ‘You put me and your dad through hell last night, and then you can’t even apologize. I’m sorry that the world doesn’t revolve around you. I’m sorry that you think you’re so hard done by, but if you keep throwing tantrums and behaving like such a spoilt brat, how the hell do you expect us to treat you like an adult?’
Before I have a chance to reply, she turns to Dad.
‘Leave her, Ian. She’s unreasonable. There’s no use trying to talk to her.’
Dad shoots me an apologetic look. Slowly, he stands up and follows her out into the hallway.
‘Bye!’ I shout.
My bedroom door swings shut with a thump.
I wait until they’re both downstairs before I breathe out. In one deliberate movement, I grip my pillow, throw myself against the bedpost and scream.
I just want to leave. I want to move out with Andy and live in my own beautiful flat, like Lily. I wish I had Lily’s life.
I wish I was Lily.
I pull up my blog and look through the images of me and Andy. Well, Zeke. I imagine Zeke being a real twenty-three-year-old man who works in a band and has his own London flat. I imagine living together, cooking together, visiting museums and art exhibitions and going out to parties almost every night. I picture getting back home drunk together and having no one to scream at me. Falling on the bed, kissing, and getting twisted up in our bed sheets. The morning after would be just as romantic – I’d sit cross-legged on the floor with Zeke on a threadbare carpet, nibbling granola bars with him playing a song he’d written just for me.
I can see the scene so vividly, it almost feels real. I can smell the scented candles, feel the hardness of the wood floor under my legs, hear the twang of the guitar strings. Maybe if I close my eyes, and will myself there it will become real.
I press my eyes tightly shut and, after a few seconds, refocus on my room. But nothing has changed. I’m still me. There’s no candles, no music, no hard floor. No Zeke. I’m alone and my bedroom is still a poky, clothes-swamped mess.
The only difference is that as I focus on the bedspread, there are black mascara stains smeared across my pillow.
CHAPTER 27
Lily
Wind whips the golden leaves around my ankles as I lean against Chris’s chest. The soft thump of his heart beats through his shirt.
My foot throbs, but the pain is lessening. I don’t try to move it. I just want to stay here, listening to the rhythmic thudding beneath my fingertips.
Chris gives my shoulder a little shake.
‘What would you do without me?’
His throat vibrates as he speaks. The scratchy stubble on his chin brushes against the top of my head. I find myself leaning up to face him.
My eyes fly open. What am I doing?
‘Um, I need to go.’
I try and get to my feet – but yelp as the tendons jar with pain.
Chris grabs my arms to steady me, shaking his head.
‘I think you need to take it easy,’ he says.
Chris gently moves his warm fingertips along my wrist and takes one of my hands.
His lined, stubbled face is only a few centimetres from mine.
‘I – I just don’t know how I, erm . . . I need to . . . Bryan,’ I say dumbly.
He raises his bushy eyebrows and smiles, dropping my hand.
‘Don’t worry about it,’ is all he says.
My chest deflates. What is wrong with me? I shouldn’t feel like this. Why is my brain so messed up?
‘Do you want a hand getting home?’ says Chris.
But I’m not listening; I’m pressing my fist firmly into my eye socket. I pull it back, and hit myself square in the brow.
‘Lil, stop it!’
Chris grabs my hand and pulls it away from my cheek. He has a worry line on his forehead, but is trying to smile.
‘I’m not that bad company, am I?’
It takes me a couple of seconds to register what he said. Oh God, I just hit my head in front of him, didn’t I?
Silently, Chris takes my arm so I can rest my weight against him. Every movement makes me wince. I hobble forward a few steps.
Chris rolls his eyes. ‘For God’s sake.’
‘What?’ I say, trying to nudge onwards.
‘You’re ridiculous.’
In one fluid movement, he reaches down and lifts me into his arms. I flinch as the action judders my leg, but then he shuffles his arms so he’s supporting my foot completely and I feel no pain at all.
My body is rigid. The warmth of his arms and chest around me feels too close. But then my neck starts to ache with the effort, so I gently rest my head against him.
‘Thank you,’ I say, and I feel him grunt in reply.
He takes a deep breath, and I think he’s about to say something, but then he starts whistling.
I close my eyes, feeling the bump, bump, bump of his footsteps carrying me home.
When we reach the bramble-twisted gate at the front of my cottage, Chris gently lowers me down on to the path. He glances at the living-room window, which still has light spilling out through the curtains.
I follow his gaze, but I can’t see Mum peeking out at us. I clutch my dress to cover myself, and shuffle on to one foot.
‘Thanks,’ I say.
‘When we were kids, I never thought I’d have to carry you home over fifteen years later.’
‘Pretty sure you couldn’t lift me when I was six.’
‘Yeah I could; you were always tiny.’
My lips twitch. There’s a pause. I don’t know why I asked to see Chris tonight. We really don’t know each other at all. Not any more.
A little voice inside me pipes up: Yes, you do. He was the one you picked blackberries with, the boy you ran away from your mum with. You cried for three days when he changed schools. He was your best friend.
‘I’m probably going to be in London again visiting Jasmine at the end of the month,’ says Chris, interrupting my thoughts. ‘Would be nice to see a familiar face.’
‘The last weekend of the month? I’ll be busy with a launch party. But, I mean, you can come along if you like.’
‘What’s a launch party?’
When I explain, Chris’s lip curls.
‘You want me to queue up and watch you give signings like a groupie? Jesus Christ!’ He’s laughing, but there’s an edge to his voice.
‘No, no. As a friend – for moral support.’
He snorts.
‘I’m sorry, Lily, but YouTube, make-up and selfies – that’s not really my thing.’
My face falls.
YouTube, make-up and selfies? What exactly does that mean?
I look up at him. Yes, Chris was my best friend. But he’s not the same. I’m not either, am I? I’ve moved on, created a new life in the city. He’s stayed here and worked on his parents’ farm. He has no idea what I do for a living. He’ll never understand the effort that goes into it – he thinks it’s stupid.
I think back to my life with Bryan. We both live media lives. We both live online. We both ‘get’ it.
‘Yeah, well maybe another time. I’ll see you around,’ I say. ‘Have a nice time in London.’
‘Yeah, see you.’
‘Yeah,’ I say, but we both know what that means.
I walk down the path, my teeth set. Each step
sends a twinge of pain through my leg, but I bite my lip and keep going.
When I reach the front door, I don’t look back in case Chris has already gone.
CHAPTER 28
Lily
Every few seconds, the train judders, sending my pile of papers sprawling across the plastic table. I sigh and try to gather them together. I’ve postponed this meeting three times. It’s essentially one final get-together to talk about my lipstick launch and what other cosmetics I can put my name behind. That’s why there’s so much paper Mindy sent through – it’s all about viewer loyalty, conversion to sales, that sort of thing.
Nibbling my nail, I scan the PowerPoint presentation on my laptop. I glance out of the window – the green scenery is fast turning grey.
My phone starts buzzing.
It’s not Bryan. It’s Mindy.
My stomach deflates. After not replying to him for two days, Bryan has finally stopped calling. But I have to come back to London for meetings. I can’t put it off any longer – I have to face him.
I pull my sleeves over my fingertips. A shiver shakes my lips. At least I managed to get a bit of work done while I was at Mum’s. I got my emails down to under 1,000 unread, and even filmed a vlog to go up at the end of next week. I pretended Bryan was with me in the footage – if we’re ever apart, people send us both hundreds of tweets asking if we’ve split up.
I bite my thumb and tug at a hanging nail. I half wish he would admit something about Nina. Anything, just to stop me feeling crazy. The truth is I miss Bryan, waking up together, working together, cooking together.
As the train pulls into the station, I breathe in the thick London air and feel a cough in the back of my throat. A wave of commuters swarms through the train barriers. My hand creeps towards my eye socket. It looks busy. I never usually travel at peak times.
I heave my bags off the carriage and join the throng of people jostling towards the station. I’m looking in my pocket for my contactless card when someone taps my shoulder.
My [Secret] YouTube Life Page 9