‘He’s here,’ she says, nudging my hip unsubtly. ‘Go over and say hello.’
‘What? No, I can’t. It’s . . . it’s done,’ I hiss back.
Mum rolls her eyes. ‘Oh, for God’s sake! I’m your mother – now do as I say and go to him.’ She gives me a rough push and then turns to the barman to order our food.
I take a step towards Chris’s group, but then I realize how stupid this is. It isn’t going to work. I’m in London. He’s here. And after everything that’s happened, our photos in the media . . . it’s just wrong.
‘Oi! Lily, the celebrity – is that you?’
My cheeks heat up. It’s one of Chris’ friends, shouting over at me.
‘Didn’t I see you and him in the papers?’ He gestures over to Chris, who is beginning to frown.
‘Oh, um yeah, Hey.’ I take a step towards them, and Chris looks up at me briefly, his eyes impassive.
‘Hey,’ he says.
There’s an awkward couple of minutes while his friend blathers on about us being celebrities. I meet Chris’s eye, and there’s a beat of silence.
‘Anyway, I should get back. I’m here with my mum.’ I gesture to the table behind me.
‘Yeah, I was just heading off,’ says Chris. And then he finishes his pint, stands up and silently walks out of the pub – with his friends calling after him.
His anorak flaps as he steps out of the heavy wooden door.
I bite my lip, and there’s a weird tug in the centre of my chest.
CHAPTER 59
Melissa
Today should have been the worst day of my life. Everyone at school has seen my blog. Everyone thinks I am a freak.
But, weirdly, I’m beginning to feel OK.
Me and Suze spent the whole day glued together. She didn’t leave my side – not even to go to the bathroom. It was like we were five years old all over again.
Word got round about what she said to Chloe, and some of the nerdy music guys from swing band actually high-fived us at lunch. I went to their practice session and even got to meet Abi properly – she’s part of this local rock band and surprisingly cool.
The only people I didn’t see were Rish and Andy.
When I think of Andy, my stomach squeezes with guilt. Suze was right about us all faking selfies, but Chloe was right about Andy. I shouldn’t have taken his image, should I? Imagine if some guy took secret photos of me and posted them online. I’d probably be mortified. I’d probably be ashamed. I’d . . . probably feel exactly the same as I do, right now.
Andy didn’t deserve that.
My backpack bashes against my shoulder as I walk home alone from school. I start to wind the loose fabric from my sleeve round my index finger until it cuts off all circulation. I’m prodding at the numb, purple fingertip when someone bashes into my left shoulder. I leap up and only just manage to stick out my leg to stop myself flying forward.
‘Aaaaah!’
I spin round. Rish is standing there, his face sweaty and too close. A hot, musky smell comes from his chest. My whole body tenses up.
No.
I don’t want to see him. I can’t deal with him teasing me. I wish he would disappear from the earth and leave me alone forever and ever.
Taking a deep breath, I stare ahead and keep walking.
Rish catches me up. ‘Hey!’ He taps me, hard, on the shoulder. ‘Hey!’
‘What?’ I spin round. ‘What do you want? To show me screenshots of my blog? To call me “Dishonest Davies”? I don’t want to speak to you.’
Rish frowns, his dark brow knitted into one. ‘No. Issa, wait!’
I pause. Rish takes the opportunity to fall into step with me. We walk for a few moments in silence.
Rish shakes his head. ‘Christ,’ he says softly, looking at me.
I stare ahead. ‘You don’t need to tell me.’
He looks at me and smirks. ‘You know, you are seriously mental.’ I look away, but I can still feel him watching me. ‘So are you ever going to tell me why you did it?’
My heart sinks. I don’t want to answer, but I feel like I half owe it to him. Well, not really to Rish. But Andy. I know he’ll pass it on.
‘I don’t know. I think . . . I half believed it.’ I kick at the leaves by my feet. ‘I don’t . . . I just didn’t think.’
We’re walking past an old oak tree leaning over the side of the road. Rish steps in front of me. ‘Yeah. Like, I’m not going to tell you that what you did was OK. I mean, have you even spoken to Andy?’
A blush sweeps up my neck.
Rish raises his eyebrows, then shrugs. ‘Whatever. Are you OK?’
There’s something about his big, round face that makes me want to cry. But I don’t. Instead I half smile at the floor and give his chest a little shove.
‘I’m OK. I need to say sorry to Andy,’ I mutter.
Rish tilts his head down to me and his face splits into a grin. ‘Took you a while.’
I sigh.
For some reason Rish is still watching me. ‘Come on, I know where he is.’
My whole body freezes. ‘What, now?’
‘Yes.’
There’s something about the look he gives me that makes me think I can’t back out.
He starts walking down a side alley and, biting my lip, I follow him.
Rish gives me a funny sideways look. ‘You haven’t been recording this? I’m not going to open up Facebook to find I’m your new boyfriend called Reke, am I?’
I nudge him, hard, in the shoulder.
‘What?’ he says, and laughs at me.
***
When we approach Andy, he’s standing with a group of other guys in the park, leaning back with his easy smile, swigging lager out of a can. My stomach tightens.
Oh God. Oh God.
They haven’t seen me yet. My fingertips start to tremble. It’s like the first night we met all over again. I feel so, so stupidly nervous.
And it’s all my fault.
Rish cups his hands over his mouth. ‘ANDY!’ he hollers.
Andy turns. His handsome face skims the field – hair blowing gently in the wind, eyes half closed.
My mouth turns dry.
I can’t do this.
How can I face him after everything I did? It just feels too weird.
Andy sees me, and one of his eyebrows twitches. As we approach, he looks over my head and speaks to Rish.
‘All right?’ he says.
‘All right, mate. I brought along your stalker.’
My face burns.
Andy takes a sip of his beer and looks down at me, squinting. His eyes flick to Rish, and he pulls a face.
Rish claps me and Andy on the back, then gives me a look.
‘Anyway, Brett, got a spare can?’ Rish shouts, going over to join the group and leaving me and Andy alone together.
My pulse speeds up. Andy has picked up his phone and is clearly pretending he has another message.
‘Anyway . . . I’d better –’ He nods over at the other guys.
I bite my lip.
‘OK,’ I mumble, then stop myself. ‘No. Um, Andy. I have something to say.’
Andy looks like he has no interest in what I have to say.
‘I’m . . .’ My throat dries up. ‘I’m sorry for putting your pictures online. I’m sorry for calling you –’ I wince – ‘Zeke. It was totally messed up. I shouldn’t have done that to you.’
I breathe out at last.
Looking up, I expect Andy to be upset, or angry – or at least look like something. But instead he’s staring at me with a blank expression.
‘Er what, the pictures?’ He shifts the lager in his hand. ‘Yeah, that – it’s fine. I mean, it was weird. But it’s fine.’ His voice rises slightly in pitch. ‘You took them down, didn’t you?’
‘Yes! It’s all gone – the whole blog. I’m sorry.’
He curls his lip. ‘Yeah. I mean, whatever. No worries.’
I feel a rush of relief.
‘Anyway, I’d better go . . .’ He nods towards the guys again.
‘Yeah, yeah. Um, bye.’
He looks over his shoulder and tilts his head at me as I walk off.
I look to see whether I should say bye to Rish, but he’s busy chatting animatedly to the other guys, so I lower my head and start walking back down the path, towards home.
The sun is starting to set across the fields, and there’s a beautiful golden glow over the park. I stare at it for a moment, my phone in my hand. It’s stunning – but it would look so much better with the right filter.
Gently, I slip my phone into my pocket, and lock the screen.
CHAPTER 60
Lily
A gentle breeze carries the faint smell of honeysuckle through the warm air. The pollen tickles my nose. I’m heading towards the petrol station at the edge of the village to pick up some milk for Mum, and it’s utterly silent.
I can’t believe that, just days ago, this lane was filled with journalists, and I was stuck inside the cottage with Mum, in the dark, curtains drawn. Just thinking about it makes me shiver.
Since I relaunched my channel, everything has changed. My income has more than halved, along with my subscribers, but I feel as though I’ve gone back to why I started YouTube in the first place. I’m actually being real.
Tracing my steps along the lane, I spot a trickle of water running along a slope. There’s a low, comforting moo in the distance. On a whim, I decide to take a detour. It’s been so long since I’ve wandered through the village, walked through all these familiar places that have seemed so far away the last few years.
I pass the river, remembering running along this path with Chris on my way back from school. As the road bends, I instinctively turn left down a beaten dirt track.
The path has opened out to a familiar farmyard. There are fields stretching out towards the horizon, split into crops and sheep and cows grazing. A muddy red tractor is parked up against one of the barns.
A prickling feeling creeps up my neck.
Why have I come here?
I remember running towards the farm animals as a child. Feeding grains to the chickens and stroking their tiny fluffy chicks.
I drape my arms over the nearest fence and look out. It’s so peaceful here.
There’s a bark from across the field. A black Border collie, speckled with grey, limps over to me. She nuzzles her nose against my knees, and I bend down to her.
She pants as I stroke her soft head.
Her eyes sparkle, looking straight at me.
Sunlight tickles my cheek. There’s a warm feeling in my chest.
The dog licks my fingertips. I’m so absorbed that it takes a second to notice the shadow cast over half my body.
There’s a cough, and I glance up.
Chris’s tanned, ruddy face is looking down at me.
My stomach flips.
‘She remembers you.’ He smiles, nodding to the dog.
‘Remembers me?’
He crouches beside me to stroke her. ‘Molly.’
I glance back down at the dog’s dark face, my mouth open. ‘This is Molly?’
Just before he left our school, Chris got a tiny new puppy called Molly. She was the first puppy I’d ever met, and I adored her. In wonder, I ruffle Molly’s grey coat.
Chris smiles, the two deep lines running either side of his cheeks softened in the warm light.
‘Chris . . .’ I say.
His eyes settle on me, and my stomach twists.
‘Uh-huh?’ He raises an eyebrow.
‘Do you want to . . . ? I was walking to the petrol station – do you want to come?’
Chris’s face is expressionless. For a split second, I worry he’s going to point out his farm is nowhere near the petrol station, and ask why I came here, but he just tilts his head to one side.
‘Sure. I need to get some stuff anyway.’
***
My stomach feels queasy with each step.
I keep having flashbacks to when we used to walk along this lane as kids. Our heads barely reached the top of the bushes, and we used to talk a mile a minute about the latest school lesson or lunchtime make-believe game. Every so often, we would stop and pick fruits from the bushes and suck sweets from our afterschool pick ’n’ mix. Chris always wanted all the blackberries, and I let him have them as long as he swapped them for all his lollies from the tuck shop.
Both of our necks reach way above the bushes now. It doesn’t feel like we’re the same people. We walk side by side in silence, and I cringe when I think of everything that’s happened. Our photo in the paper. The reporters.
Our whole lives have changed. I glance over at him and notice a clump of dirt in his hair. I guess some things haven’t.
Chris is staring off into the distance. Abruptly, he stops walking and reaches out to the hedge beside us.
‘What are you doing?’ I say.
‘Blackberries.’ He throws a couple into his mouth. ‘Want one?’
My face softens into smile. I gingerly take one and nibble the edge. It’s startlingly sour, but also sweet. It’s like I’m six again.
‘Mmm, nice. You never used to let me have them,’ I say.
He cocks his head to one side, looking like the old Chris.
‘Well, you never used to let me have any lollies.’
I smile shyly.
He clears his throat. ‘So, I know we kinda left things, but I didn’t . . .’
He runs a hand across the back of his neck and looks out to the field beside us.
The blackberry turns to mush in my mouth. ‘I, er, I’m sorry,’ I say.
He nods, frowning. ‘I saw our picture in the Daily Mail.’
I bite my lip.
This is all completely my fault.
Chris shrugs. ‘It’s no big deal. I kind of like being a celebrity.’
I look up, startled – who would seriously want this attention? – and see that he’s grinning.
I shake my head.
‘This is all my fault. All the comments online about us. Those reporters chasing you down the road. I’m so sorry. I should have warned you. I should have told you what it’s like. I . . .’
My voice breaks, and to my horror there are tears in my eyes.
I expect Chris to look mortified, but when I look up he’s not even paying attention to what I’ve said. He’s bent over, scraping a lump of mud off his boots.
He smiles mildly when it flicks to the ground.
‘So what?’ He gives his boots a shake and looks at me.
I blink. ‘So what? I’ve put you in an awful—’
‘No, no, I don’t mean that. I mean, so what about the comments? These people don’t know you. They’ve never even met you.’
‘But they do know me. They’ve seen me millions of times. They think—’
Chris shakes his head. ‘They don’t know you,’ he says firmly. ‘Lily, YouTube is work; it’s not your life.’
I stare out into the fields. When I’m here, it’s almost as though none of it exists. As if those millions of subscribers are just a figment of my imagination.
‘They don’t know you; they don’t matter,’ he says, his voice quieter.
I look up at his weather-beaten face.
A weird, tight feeling rises up through my chest. His broad shoulders are tall against the backdrop of fields. I think of everything: him coming to our house; him punching Bryan when he grabbed my arm; sneaking out of the back of our cottage; being six and running everywhere together, holding hands, giggling, playing . . .
My heart is in my mouth.
I gently reach out and take his hand.
Chris glances at me, his eyebrows lifting slightly in surprise.
I feel the rough, warm grip of his large calloused fingers on my small delicate ones – and my stomach somersaults. His hands are filthy – his palms are worn rough, and he has lumps of dirt underneath his fingernails – but it doesn’t make me recoil.
I remember wa
tching Bryan clip his fingernails each week over the bathroom sink. To Bryan, image was everything. I’ve spent the last few years waking up every day wondering if my life is ‘camera ready’ and whether I can squeeze filming into my day. Thinking about my look, obsessed with social media.
Chris’s hazel eyes sparkle against the sun. His big, bushy eyebrows and the uneven smattering of stubble across his jaw are so different to Bryan’s deliberately messy look.
I smell the warm air, and my muscles relax. Chris doesn’t care about what people think of us, what he looks like, what I look like – and it’s the most refreshing thing in the world.
And he’s right. The way me and Bryan lived our lives for other people – it was wrong. I got it all wrong.
I look at Chris. It feels like my body is stirring alive. Suddenly, I know what I want.
Without really thinking what I’m doing, I close my eyes and kiss him. It takes a second for him to react, but then his hot, soft lips press against mine – his hands travelling down my body as I arch my back.
A delicious tingling sensation sweeps up my spine and across the top of my head.
My whole body melds into his.
I don’t care who sees.
When our lips finally part, I lean up to his ear.
‘Thank you,’ I whisper.
He brushes his thumb across my palm.
‘What for? I didn’t do anything.’
‘For making life real again.’
CHAPTER 61
Melissa
Suze is on a date with Abi tonight. She came round after school before they met up. I spent hours teaching her how to apply blush to her clear skin, outlining her eyes and colouring her lips. By the end of it, she looked almost like a model.
I’m snuggled in my duvet with my phone propped up against my lap. I text Suze to ask how the date is going, and then, on a whim, I click back to my empty blog.
Together, me and Suze deleted everything. There’s no original source for Lily’s cheating picture. No doctored photos. No stolen pictures.
Nothing.
Looking up, I catch sight of my bare face in my bedroom mirror.
My nose wrinkles at the reflection.
It’s strange. When my blog was still there, I almost felt like I could see what I looked like by looking at the photos. Feel happy about my body by staring at the outline of the Victoria’s Secret model in that black dress. Get a frisson of pleasure from admiring how sharp my cheekbones looked in a selfie, even though I’d edited them to be like that.
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