‘Excuse me,’ rumbles a deep voice. A skinny man leans over me. Too close. His cheek almost touches mine. I look round, disoriented, as a flash goes off in my face. He immediately holds the photo on the screen up to his nose.
Without looking at me, he turns and walks off.
I stand there, feeling like he’s taken something from me.
Out of the crowd, a young girl a metre away from me screams.
‘Oh my God! Is that LilyLoves?’
Two small brunette girls run over to me, their faces alight.
Oh God, no – not now.
‘I knew it! I knew it was you!’ squeals one of them, almost jumping up and down on the spot in excitement.
‘We came to London specially to be near here, hoping to see you! I can’t believe it’s happened,’ another one gushes.
‘Can we have a photo?’ they squeal.
‘Of course.’
I smile weakly, and they both pull out their phones.
***
When I finally get in my front door, after being stopped by about thirty fans on the way, I feel like I’ve run a marathon. My head is spinning, and my arms ache from lugging around my laptop and vlog camera. I collapse into the hallway and throw my bags down.
Before I have a chance to take off my shoes, Bryan is standing in front of me. The sight of him makes my chest constrict.
He looks good, but tired. His beard is still perfectly groomed, but he looks like he hasn’t slept. His dark eyes have red branches round the pupils, and his hair is ever so slightly askew. My eyes flick to the empty beer cans littering the side table.
He hangs his head.
‘Lily . . .’
The sound of his voice makes my face crumple.
Bryan runs over, enveloping me in his skinny arms. I lean against him, tears streaming down my face, and he tilts my face up to his.
‘I’ve missed you so much,’ he croaks, and presses his lips against mine.
CHAPTER 29
Melissa
The front door clicks shut with a thump. There’s the crunching of shoes on gravel, followed by the slam of the car door and the crackle of tyres rolling out of the drive. Then, silence.
Mum and Dad have finally left me alone.
It’s parents’ evening at Aidy’s nursery, so they’ll be out for at least a couple of hours. I crane my neck, trying to hear if they’ve left Aidy with me, but the house is eerily silent. Huh. Maybe they don’t trust me with him.
I let out a long breath. I said I was sorry – I am sorry. I didn’t mean to be out so late; I completely lost track of time. But they don’t understand – if I had left early, I would never have kissed Andy. My entire life would be different.
Ugh, whatever.
I’ve been apologizing for days now, and Mum still won’t forgive me. I can’t deal with feeling guilty any more. I pull the duvet up over me and hug my knees.
I start clicking through images of Andy on his Facebook, trying to work out if any of them would work for my blog. The problem is he doesn’t know how to pose, so he doesn’t look as good as he does in real life. I skim through our messages from the last couple of days, and at that moment my laptop dings with a new one.
My heart leaps. I think about not looking at it so I can try and play it cool, but I can’t resist opening the message. Besides, he always replies to my messages within seconds.
On the screen, up pops a GIF of a cat trying to play the piano. It’s adorable. I want to laugh, but, thinking about my parents, there’s a heavy feeling in my chest. Rubbing my nose, I type out a reply.
I: Any day other than today I would laugh at this . . .
A: You should laugh every day ;) what’s up?
I: Ugh, just parents
There’s a bit of a pause before he replies.
A: Tell me about it.
He keeps typing, then deleting it, then typing.
Oh God. Maybe I shouldn’t have said that. Maybe he now thinks I’m some immature sixteen-year-old whose parents freak out every time she leaves the house.
A: If you wanna take your mind off it, I was going to head for a walk by the skate park soon, if you wanna join?
My pulse starts to speed up. Oh my God. This is a date, isn’t it? Is Andy really asking me out on a date?
What do I do?
I look like a train wreck, to start with: all matted hair and caked-on make-up. Do I have time to shower? Is this a good idea? I glance nervously out of my bedroom window at the empty driveway. Mum, Dad and Aidy won’t be back for a couple of hours.
Hmm . . . Wait a second. Why should I care? Am I supposed to never have a social life? Do they want me to stay living at home, a virgin, until I’m forty? Why does one person have the right to imprison another? I’m being treated like a criminal; it’s completely ridiculous.
I glance uneasily at my desk mirror. My hair and face though . . . I definitely need time to sort them out.
I: Can I meet you in thirty mins?
Andy sends a smiley by way of reply.
***
Half an hour later, I’m waiting by the skate park with my heart in my throat. There’s an old crisp packet rattling across one of the ramps, clinging to the metal poles as it weaves in and out of the graffitied walls.
This was a bad idea. I look terrible, for a start – it turns out you can’t stay up all night messaging, nap at midday, and still look good. My eyes are red-rimmed and puffy. I tried to make them look better by lining the waterline in white pencil (another YouTube-inspired tip), but it just made them look weird and starey, so I’ve ended up going for a pared-down make-up look. I’m not wearing much at all, actually. Well, of course I’ve still put on foundation, blusher, eyeliner and mascara, so I don’t look dead, but it’s nothing compared to when Andy saw me at the party. And my outfit is also relatively understated – it’s cold, so I’m just wearing a hoody, jeans and trainers.
I look down at my ensemble and shiver. The night sky is dark, and the wind makes the hairs on the back of my arms prickle. There’s no one else around.
This was a mistake. I should have dressed up more. And Mum and Dad will be home any moment. This was a stupid idea. I bet Andy isn’t even coming. I don’t even have any signal to ask him where he is.
I’m squinting at my phone when a dark shadow falls over the screen. A low cough makes me jump out of my skin.
‘Hey,’ says Andy. He’s wearing a baggy hoody too, which makes him look lankier than usual. But his face is just as tanned and handsome as ever. My stomach does a weird flippy thing.
‘Hey,’ I say in this stupidly small voice.
He takes a hand out of his pocket and rubs the back of his neck.
‘You er—’
‘Feeling any—’
We both start talking at the same time. There’s an awkward pause.
‘Um, today was a struggle,’ I say at last.
Andy digs his hand into his pockets. ‘Yep.’
I look at his pretty face for a moment and remember the feel of his soft lips on mine. It was so amazing. I can still conjure up the memory of us entwined at the party.
There’s a slight pause as he looks down at the floor. Was he always this quiet?
I clear my throat.
‘Do you want to go down the river walk?’
‘Yeah.’ Andy shrugs.
As we walk side by side, I can feel his body close to mine. So close, our fingers are almost touching. I desperately want to reach across those last few centimetres and hold his hand, but I can’t quite muster the confidence to do it.
When we get to the river, there’s another couple I recognize from Andy’s year kissing beneath an oak tree. Andy glances at them.
I think I know who they are, but I can’t quite remember. Andy will know – they’re in his year.
‘Is that—’
But I don’t get a chance to finish my sentence. Andy is close. Very close. I can smell the warmth of his breath on my cheek. Before I can think what’s happening, h
e bends down to kiss me. His soft lips press against mine. And suddenly I remember why I like him.
As his lips move, I picture me and Zeke living together in our London flat. A feeling of elation swells my chest. This is exactly what I want. This is perfect.
So what if he hasn’t asked me how I am? He’s obviously more of the silent type. That’s cool, in its own way.
I arch my back as his hands run down my body. He’s so preoccupied, I don’t think he’s noticed the photos I’m taking with my left hand. It’s an odd angle, and my eyes are closed, so they might be out of focus – but it’s worth a try.
Andy’s tongue touches the tip of mine, and I open my mouth wider. This is exactly what I want. This is probably exactly how Lily felt when her and Bryan had their first date. Like they were two people meant to find each other. Now I know what that’s like. Andy is my Bryan.
After a few blissful seconds, I force myself away from him and hold up my phone.
My fingers start to shake as I speak. ‘Um, you know what would be fun?’
‘Mmm.’
He starts kissing my neck and I find it hard to stay focused.
‘Why don’t we run through those trees and do a funny video,’ I mumble.
He cocks his head to one side.
‘Erm, what?’
I feel myself flush.
‘Oh nothing – it’s just, we can watch it back. I just thought it would be fun . . .’ I trail off.
His eyes flicker with amusement. I drop my arms to the side, and he touches his thumb against my fingertips.
‘It’s OK, we don’t have to,’ I say.
Andy shrugs and raises an eyebrow.
‘Sure, whatever. As long as it doesn’t end up on YouTube.’ He smirks.
I laugh a bit too loudly at his joke. As I watch him sweep his hair back, my stomach tightens with guilt. Should I really be doing this?
Taking a deep breath, I click the record icon.
It’s fine – it’s fine. I might not even post it online. And even if I do he’ll never know.
CHAPTER 30
Melissa
I get in the front door and pull my trainers off with just seconds to spare before Mum and Dad pull into the drive. I stuff my jacket on the coat rack. There’s a tiny pile of mud from my shoes, so I scoop it up with my hands and throw it into the corner of the room. My heart is thudding as I look round wildly for some reason to be downstairs.
Thirty seconds later, I’ve skidded across the floor to the kitchen and have just clicked the kettle on to boil when Aidy bursts through the front door.
His high-pitched voice echoes through the hall.
‘. . . writing and maths, didn’t Mrs Cassidy said—’
‘Yes, she said you were great, didn’t she?’ coos Mum, smiling down at him.
From the look on their faces, I can see Mum and Dad are in a better mood.
‘Aidy is our star – apparently he’s the smartest kid in the class,’ says Dad, lifting him up and swinging his body like a sack of potatoes between his legs.
Aidy screams and starts giggling uncontrollably.
‘The nursery teachers said he’s three points ahead of what he should be aiming for at his age, didn’t they? He’s a genius.’ Mum beams.
Aidy wriggles free from Dad, smiles at them both and then starts running manically around the kitchen table. He trips himself up on one of his loose socks, before hopping around on one knee.
I smile. Yep. Total genius.
‘Shall we get an Indian takeaway tonight?’ says Dad.
Even the sound of the word ‘takeaway’ makes my mouth water. I haven’t eaten for hours, and all that kissing has worked up an appetite.
I’m suddenly struck by the thought of Andy kissing me earlier, and a flush prickles my cheeks. I really, really hope the video is good enough for my blog.
I’m still smiling to myself when Mum comes into the kitchen. She shoots me a narrowed look and I feel a clench of guilt. Noisily, she starts clashing mugs on the worktop. Taking a deep breath, I sidle up next to her.
‘No, let me do that. I’m boiling the kettle.’
Mum looks at me. I plop in the teabags and start pouring hot water into the mugs.
‘So, erm, I just wanted to say I’m sorry.’
Mum’s shoulders stiffen.
‘What are you sorry about?’ she says.
She’s not going to make this easy, is she? I bite my lip.
Come on, they stayed up all night waiting for you – suck it up.
‘About Friday night – sorry for being so late. I should have called.’
Dad has obviously been eavesdropping on our conversation as he picks that moment to wander into the kitchen.
‘We were just worried about you,’ says Mum in a clipped tone.
I nod, looking down.
She sighs. ‘Oh, Melissa, you are a nightmare.’
I stiffen as she awkwardly reaches towards me and gives me a cold hug. Aidy, who has been hopping on one leg for some time, crashes into our legs and winds his skinny arms round both of us.
Dad smiles over the top of my head.
‘See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?’ he says, waggling his finger nerdily. ‘For that you can have a chicken tikka!’
Mum holds me at arm’s length.
‘You’re still grounded for two weeks,’ she says.
‘I know, I know,’ I mumble, trying to unpick myself from her embrace so she doesn’t spot the mud stains on my jeans.
CHAPTER 31
Lily
I wake with a start, my heart thumping. In my dream, I was falling down underwater, the darkness pressing on my chest, filling my eyes, ears, mouth – crushing my throat, suffocating me.
I sit bolt upright and gasp for breath, shaking all over. My hand reaches over to Bryan’s side of the bed, but it’s cold and empty. What time is it? We just lay down for a nap when I got in, and now I’m completely disorientated.
A million things that I have to do flutter through my mind. My head starts to whirl ten thoughts a second. I press my knuckles tightly into my eyes, blotting out the world, willing my brain to stop.
Eventually, my eyes start to ache, so I slowly pull back my hands and press them into my cheek. I reach for my phone – it’s 6.45 p.m. We slept for four hours.
There’s a sizzling downstairs. Bryan must be up cooking something. Usually I would go downstairs to help, but I feel weird, detached somehow.
I stare down wordlessly at my phone. Is this right?
Do I even still love Bryan?
I tiptoe out of bed and walk to the en suite. My head throbs with every step, and in the mirror I see my hair has crinkled into weird tufts. There are rings around my eyes so dark they show through my foundation.
I reach for a make-up wipe to rub it off, feeling suddenly dirty. Gross. I scrub my face until it’s blotchy and red raw and then step underneath our power shower.
I soap my body until my skin feels tight and itchy. Padding out of the shower in a towel, my whole body prickles. When I see myself in the mirror, my face crumples and snot starts dribbling out of my nose.
Oh God, I look disgusting. I grip the side of the sink and stare at my red eyes. ‘Come on, Lily, stop it. Stop crying.’ I can hear Mum’s voice in my head. I don’t even know why I’m crying. You’re here with Bryan. Everything’s fine. You love him.
My hands are twitching. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a parcel poking out from underneath the bed. I don’t remember stuffing it there, but our whole house is filled with unopened packages, so I’m not surprised to see it.
I pull it towards me and see a pile of about sixty more boxes. I rip the first one open. Then another. Then another. I find myself almost hysterically pulling out make-up, tearing off the shiny wrappers and packaging, piling it up beside me.
In a manic blur, I empty everything on to the bed. Charity. Keep. Bin. I sort through the piles methodically, and then try and shove the ‘Keep’ items into my desk – but it’s so r
ammed with make-up, there isn’t enough space, so I carry it to the spare bedroom.
I find the desks in there are dusty, so I give them a wipe. All the different drawers are cluttered and messed up too – so I tear them out and start sorting my make-up into various piles . . .
***
A couple of hours later, my arms are aching, my eyes are strained, and my chest is starting to feel tight from crouching over the desk – but everything is meticulously organized. No more boxes under the bed.
Empty. Clean. Sort. Empty. Clean. Sort. It’s so simple and repetitive.
When I go back to our room, there’s one box left on the bed. It’s a different shape from the others, and the corner is battered and dog-eared. I rip it open, and then frown.
It’s not make-up or PR samples; it’s a stack of letters. Personal letters. Fan mail.
When is this from? I asked Mindy to stop sending them on years ago when I hit 40,000 subscribers because I started getting too many.
I reach down and start reading the first letter. It begins:
‘Lily, you don’t know how much you and Bryan mean to me . . .’
It’s twenty pages’ worth of delicate, swirly writing talking about how much me and Bryan’s relationship has inspired them to beat their depression. She’s inserted photos of us – personal photos, from my Instagram, Facebook, and even screenshots from the middle of vlogs. It’s beautiful; it makes our relationship look like a fairytale. But for some reason the sight of us smiling, looking so happy, makes my insides twist. The adoring words about how much we mean to her make my throat constrict.
The more I read, the tighter my chest feels. By the time I reach the last page, it’s so tight I can barely breathe.
CHAPTER 32
Melissa
I’m sitting in English and Mrs Shepherd is making us keep the windows closed, so the room is swelteringly hot. The cheap fabric of my school shirt is scratching the back of my neck and I pick at a swollen gnat bite on my arm.
She’s droning on about Romeo and Juliet, but as she describes the scenes of love, my mind flicks back to all the time I’ve spent over the last week kissing Andy. This lunchtime, he lay on the wet ground shaded by the trees on the field and ran his fingers up and down my arm.
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