Ugh, whatever. At least Rish actually gets what’s going on. Andy hasn’t said a word.
‘Why aren’t you impressed?’ I say, throwing my arms up in the air.
Andy props up his head from his position lying on the grass.
‘You took a picture of a girl kissing a guy. So what? Big news.’
He rests his head on the grass again. I want to thump him.
‘Look, you dope. It’s got two thousand comments –’ Rish shoves his phone at Andy – ‘and the Daily Mail, the Sun . . . all the papers have reported it.’
Andy takes Rish’s phone, which is open on my blog, and squints up at it.
‘All the papers have reported from your blog?’
I sigh. Finally.
‘Yes.’
Chloe rolls her eyes at me in sympathy. I’m really starting to think maybe me and Andy aren’t that well suited. He has never even heard of LilyLoves, or YouTubers, and he’s not in the slightest bit interested in my blog.
At least he seems a bit more keen now – he’s scrolling through Rish’s phone, lying on his back. Suddenly his brow creases.
‘When did we ever go to London?’ he says quietly.
My nose wrinkles. We’ve never been to – Oh, shit. My blood turns to ice. He’s looking at my other blogposts.
‘No, no! Don’t read that – give it here!’ I cry, reaching over.
Rish gives me a look.
‘What’s up?’ says Chloe.
Andy swats my hand away from the phone and leaps up, reading out loud.
‘Delighted to have spent the day wandering through Borough Market with Zeke . . .’ He looks at me.
My mouth is completely dry.
‘Who the fuck is Zeke? This is me. But we never went to Borough Market.’
My heart is pounding in my ears. How could I have been so stupid? I should have deleted all those earlier posts before I made this public. And I posted the Lily photo on my Facebook too, didn’t I? Why did I do that?
‘Give it back!’ I stand up and try to snatch the phone off him, but Andy ducks away from my reach.
Rish stands up and grabs my arm, holding me back.
‘Leave him; it’s my phone,’ he says, peering at the screen.
‘Oh my God!’ He booms with laughter. ‘Is that drawn-on stubble? I don’t think you’ve ever grown anything more than bum fluff, have you, Andy?’
Rish is doubled up and spluttering, but Andy has stopped reading and is looking at me with an expression of horror.
‘What the hell is this?’ His is voice hard. ‘Rish is right: I don’t grow stubble, I’ve never been to Brighton, or –’ he squints at the phone – ‘Borough.’
My stomach drops. I look to Chloe for support, but she’s crouched over Tom’s phone – also open on my blog – her hand over her mouth.
Tom looks past me at Andy.
‘She’s called you Zeke? Man, that’s messed up.’
Andy blinks several times, his cheeks draining of colour. He spins round and throws Rish’s phone at me.
‘Take it off. Take it all off. Now. Whatever you’ve done, get rid of this. This is sick.’ He looks round the group, eyes wide. ‘Where did you even get the pictures? Oh my God!’ He clutches the side of his face.
It’s the first time I’ve ever seen Andy upset. My brow breaks out in a sweat.
Rish is watching me out of the corner of his eye. He puts a hand on my shoulder. I shrug it off.
‘It’s . . . it’s not what you think.’ I look desperately from face to face and settle on Chloe, but I’m not Jennifer Lawrence to her any more – now she’s looking at me like I’ve just told her I’m a crack addict.
‘You made the Lily thing up too, didn’t you?’ she says quietly. Then she puts her head in her hands. ‘Oh God, I feel like such a fool – why did I believe her? She’s such a freak!’
Tom puts a hand on her arm. ‘It’s not your fault. She fooled the whole school. The Daily Mail, even. It’s fake news. Everyone gets fooled—’
‘I didn’t fool anyone!’ I shout, my voice breaking. ‘It’s not fake news; it’s true! I didn’t . . . OK, I made up the Brighton thing, but I never said we actually did it. The rest is true; it’s all true—’
‘What, that my name is Zeke and I have a full face of stubble?’ says Andy. ‘Do you remember when I went to Borough, Rish?’ His voice is comically shrill.
Rish looks at me pityingly. ‘Issa . . .’
My vision starts to blur, and I blink hard. ‘I didn’t . . .’
Chloe stands up and pushes her pretty nose into my face. ‘Leave us all alone, OK? What you’ve done to Andy is disgusting.’
My face burns. I can’t stand them staring at me any more. I turn and run out of the school field, out of the staff car park, out of sight.
When I reach the edge of the school grounds, I don’t stop, I keep running. Past the cross-country field, across the lane, beside the community centre. My knees buckle behind a farmer’s gate, and I fall into a mess on the ground.
I stare at the grass and finally allow myself to cry. But my cheeks stay dry; my mouth doesn’t even let out a whisper. There’s nothing, no tears, no noise.
I hunch my shoulders and clutch my knees to my chest, rocking like a child.
CHAPTER 49
Lily
I don’t know if I can take any more.
I’ve just been on the phone to our lawyers, trying to get a reporting restriction. On Twitter, there are already photos of me and Mum outside our house, and now everyone knows our address. This afternoon, two more reporters have turned up, queuing down the lane.
We’ve called the local police to try to keep the journalists off the property, and Mindy has hired a couple of security guards to help them out, who should arrive soon. But I daren’t go near any of the windows in case they catch a glimpse of me. Mum has drawn every blind in the house. Even the cows are acting spooked.
They’ve destroyed the one place in the world I felt safe.
I pull my jumper over my fingertips, shivering. No matter how many clothes I wear, my whole body keeps shaking. I run my fingers over the ridges of the radiator and look over at Mum sitting by the kitchen table. She’s sipping a cup of tea and staring at the front door, her lips thin. When she sees me, she attempts a smile – but her eyes are tense.
‘I’m sorry, Mum. I’m so, so sorry,’ I say, nodding towards the low rumble of chatter outside.
Every so often, a police officer shouts ‘back!’ and makes us both jump.
Mum glances at the door again. ‘Don’t be silly. It’s not your fault,’ she mutters. ‘It just makes me cross. Who thinks they can behave like that? Camping outside our house. Battering on the door. It’s not on!’
‘I know, I know.’ I rub my temples. ‘Mindy’s got the lawyers to send out an injunction for invasion of privacy. They should have to leave soon.’
‘Well, I should bloody hope so! Look at what they’ve done to our house. Look at what they’ve done to you!’
‘Mum, it’s fine,’ I say, but my stomach clutches.
This is all my fault.
‘Oh, Lily.’ Mum stands up and gives me a hug.
I crouch my head down and sink into her chest, pretending she’s still bigger than me.
‘I’m so sorry, Mum,’ I say, my voice a whisper.
‘That’s enough!’ she says, gripping my chin. ‘What’s done is done. You can’t go back; you can only go forward. Put it out of your mind.’
She puts her hand to my head as though touching the worry, then waves it away.
‘There. It’s gone.’
‘But it’s not just me. I’ve ruined your life too. My team, their jobs. Your cottage. Why did I kiss Chris like that in public? It was so, so stupid.’
Mum shakes her head. ‘You can’t fix what’s happened. You can only fix what you do next.’
I look into Mum’s strong, piercing blue eyes. ‘I just wish it was all over.’
She cradles my head against her c
hest. The soft, soothing thump of her heart beats beneath her shirt.
Our embrace is interrupted by the buzzing on my phone. Sniffing, I rub my tired eyes and answer the call.
The line crackles, and I hear Mindy take a breath.
‘OK, Lily, now – I don’t want to scare you, but we do need to make a statement today. I’ve been on the phone to BeautyCult and Wendy’s Wishes, and they both want to end their contracts with LilyLoves at the end of this month. I’ve promised them we will resolve this with a statement by this afternoon, but, in all honesty, they might still pull out. We’ve drafted five different responses – depending on what you want to go with. You can deny it’s you in the picture, though I wouldn’t recommend that. Or you can say you were just hugging Chris. Again, we’re not convinced, as the story has gone too far now. Or you can say you and Bryan had already split a while before the lipstick launch. That’s also problematic, as you were seen together that day. Either way, we’ve then put together a really personalized speech about how “no one’s perfect” and how you “feel you’ve let everyone down” – we really want to appeal to the fact that your fans feel they know you, that they can trust you. We think video is the best option. Talk to the camera like you’re apologizing to a dear friend. I know I don’t have to tell you – you’re the expert . . . but we need this out today. If you film it in half an hour this afternoon I’ll get the team to edit it and get it out by 7 p.m. We’re all ready, just say the word—’
Mindy says all this without taking a breath.
I don’t know what to say. To be honest, I just want this all to be over. My channel has already fallen to just over two million subscribers. That’s probably most of the active accounts gone. Filming myself in my bedroom is what caused all this. I never want to pick up a camera again. I just want to be alone, in the cottage with Mum, and nobody else.
The phone screen lights up.
‘Lily?’ she says. ‘Can you do that?’
‘Look, I-I’m not sure if . . . I don’t . . .’
My voice shakes and I glance at my legs, which are trembling.
‘I-it’s too much – I can’t film right now.’
Mindy sucks in her breath. ‘OK, I understand. We thought you might say that. So we’ve prepared a written statement – we’ll put it out on the blog. It’s not the best option, but it’s better than nothing. We’ll get it to you now for sign-off—’
Mindy’s voice is interrupted by a commotion outside. The photographers are yelling and something is exciting the crowd.
I frown, only half listening.
There’s a deep voice booming outside. I go over to the window.
‘Get out of my way!’ he says.
My heart quickens. I know that voice.
‘Do we have your permission?’ cuts in Mindy.
There’s a pause.
‘. . . LILY?’
I put down the phone and pull back the curtain, but Mum grabs my shoulder.
‘Get away from the window!’ she hisses. ‘I just looked out of the kitchen. It’s Chris. He’s trying to get in.’
I peak out of the corner of the netting and see a flash of Chris’s messy auburn hair.
‘How long have you and Lily been having an affair?’ shouts one journalist.
‘What’s LilyLoves like in bed?’ shouts another.
Chris swears at them.
He turns and walks away – throwing his hands up in the air. The photographers pull out their lenses and run down the lane, following him.
CHAPTER 50
Melissa
After a few minutes of total darkness, I pull myself up from the ground. The blood rushes from my head, and the edge of my vision blackens.
When I refocus, the air on my cheeks feels kind of distant, and I feel weird – like I’m not really me. I look down at my legs and scratch a nail across my thigh. I can barely feel it. I bite a hangnail off my thumb and don’t even flinch with the pain. Small blobs of blood gather along the cuticle.
Chloe, Rish, Tom, Andy – why don’t they understand?
It’s not a lie. My blog is my life. I mean, OK it’s not an exact replica, but nothing online is. And, no, I haven’t visited those places yet, but I will do. It’s not my life now, but it will be one day. I will take those photos.
It is me.
I stare out into the patchy field. I’m picturing Andy’s face when he saw the word ‘Zeke’ printed under his picture.
Why does he think it’s so bad? I mean, no one uses their actual name online, do they? Would he really have been less freaked out to see ‘Andy Butcher’ printed under the photo? I mean, I’m Melissa Davies, but my blog only says ‘IssaAdores’. There’s not even a second name. Mostly I’m just ‘Issa’.
But it’s still me. It’s still us. The photos are real.
Me and Andy – he was there with me when I took the photos. I’m not making it up; he really is my boyfriend.
Well, I guess he’s not any more, is he? The look of horror on his face. He’s probably never going to speak to me again. And neither will Chloe. Louise is going to find out in a matter of minutes, and soon they’ll all be laughing at me. The whole school will know by fourth period. It’ll be on Twitter and Facebook by the end of the day.
I think back to a photo I posted of me and Louise at Rish’s party – ‘Friday Night Out with the Girls’. A thumping in my head makes me wince. That blog isn’t true, is it? They’re not my friends. They never were, not really. And now they’re probably never going to speak to me again.
Scrunching up my face, I pick up my phone and flick through my old blogposts. There’s almost a hundred – photos, videos, snippets of text. The time me and Zeke visited Borough Market, the headless selfie of me looking like a Victoria’s Secret model, the snaps of Bobble the Scottish terrier – who never actually existed.
A flush burns my cheeks. If I’m honest, not one of these photos is one hundred per cent true. Yes, Andy was my boyfriend – but he never looked like that. He was never that tanned; he never had a rugged dusting of stubble. Even the way he’s gazing at me in that photo, I had to take fifty shots just to get the right adoring look. He was getting bored and had just told a joke to Rish when I snapped it. That look – that smile that looks like it was for me – it was for Rish.
And even the photos of me, the ones that actually are me, they’re not really what I look like. In the selfies, my eyes are huge, my lips are puffy, and my waist is tiny. I’m pulling a subtle pout with a huge amount of bronzer so my cheeks look like I have these gorgeous, wide cheekbones.
That isn’t my face. My cheeks are chubby like a hamster’s. My legs are fat – not shapely. I look down. My waist goes in, but it’s thick – it isn’t as defined as the VS model’s.
I reread some of the comments that made me so happy.
You two are the perfect couple #relationshipgoals
Wow wow wow, Issa, you’re seriously stunning!
But their magic isn’t working any more. I don’t feel special. I just feel stupid.
This isn’t my life, is it?
This beautiful, perfect life I’ve created. It’s a fantasy. It’s not real – it’s a wish list.
I don’t know why I didn’t see it before.
Finally, tears start to prick my eyes. I know the truth about IssaAdores – but this time there’s no one to congratulate me, no one listening to me, wanting to hear the story. I’m the liar, the cheat. They want nothing to do with me.
And it’s all my fault.
CHAPTER 51
Lily
The sound of the landline jolts me upright. Mum has this loud, ear-splitting ringtone that she doesn’t know how to change. The familiar jarring sound reverberates through the entire cottage, and reminds me of covering my ears when I heard it as a child.
Mum bustles over to the side table and picks up the receiver. As soon as she hears who’s speaking, her voice softens.
‘Lily,’ she hisses, as though everyone outside can hear. ‘Take this! It�
�s Chris.’
My chest tightens. I’ve seen Chris’s WhatsApp messages flash up a couple of times on my phone, but I haven’t wanted to look. Haven’t even read them.
I bite my lip. I can’t be seen meeting up or speaking with him now, it would be career suicide.
God. What am I even doing?
‘Hello?’ I whisper.
‘Lily?’ Chris’s voice is low and irritated. ‘What the . . . ? Those people outside your house – what’s going on? Look . . .’
There’s a pause, and I imagine him splaying his hands out like he does when he’s agitated. With a twinge, I realize I know this not from the last few weeks but from when he used to get stressed in English class when we were six.
‘I tried to come see you, but I couldn’t get to your door . . .’
There’s a pause. He doesn’t mention the photographers, the journalists.
This is all my fault.
‘I was thinking . . . do you remember when we went to church? Want to meet by the fence tonight?’
He doesn’t need to say anything else. When we were little, we used to sneak out of my mum’s garden through this tiny gap in the fence and run over to the churchyard by this overgrown, forgotten pathway. We were always so scared, and thrilled, by secretly leaving the house that we’d be as quick as we could. We used to run there, holding hands, then scream and run all the way back.
Mum never found out – she would have gone mad if she’d known we were wandering through the village alone at the age of six – but I always remembered those trips. Not where we went, exactly. But the thrill of being completely free.
‘Will they spot us?’
Chris snorts. ‘Not a chance. Who else knows it’s there?’
I press my knuckle into the side of my cheek. This is a really, really stupid idea.
‘What time?’
‘Tonight . . . Ten?’
CHAPTER 52
Melissa
The sun is setting and the air is growing colder and darker, yet I’m still staring at the screen – my eyes flickering against the dim blue light. Over the last five hours, the comments on my blog have changed from #lifegoals to #slut.
It’s after school now, and I’m crouched on a park bench, reading every single one. Every few seconds, another comment appears. I know I should delete my site, but it’s like a compulsion: I can’t stop clicking the refresh icon.
My [Secret] YouTube Life Page 16