by Rae Earl
“No,” he replies. “It’s not easy but it’s the right thing. Seriously. The video is really funny and you know what? You are…”
And I can hear Bradley really thinking about what he’s going to say.
“You are really cool in it, and kind. And if you read all the comments, it’s not just about Dave. It’s about how you sound like a genuinely lovely person.”
When I start groaning loudly, Bradley shuts me up. “No – you do! You do! Seriously Millie, this is a real opportunity now. Everyone will be wondering what you’ll do next. So do something brilliant. Make people realize how special you are.”
At that moment, I can sense that Bradley feels like he may have gone a bit too far.
“Anyway,” Bradley says, “just do it and see what happens. See you soon. Bye superstar!”
And Bradley is right. I need to swallow the feeling inside of me that I just want to escape by paddling to Paraguay on an inflatable novelty doughnut (Teresa has one) and do the vlog to end all vlogs instead. But what do I do about Bradley? I don’t want to hurt his feelings, but I think I really fancy—
Danny. No, Bradley’s not Danny, but Danny’s calling me…
“Lady Viral Sensation! How’s life?”
(What is it with men not saying hello today?)
“It’s interesting,” I say calmly. “I’ve been totally upstaged by a cat.”
“The world loves it. I love it. I think you and Dave are both quirky in that really good British way that’s actually sort of Canadian really.”
I’m feeling the patriotic sass-ness. “Didn’t we have it first, as we did technically invent you?”
Danny pauses. “OK – well, it’s probably the Chinese bit of you. OR the French part of you that’s the really cool bit – La Millie-Millait.” He says it like a really sexy French boy.
I have no idea what he means, so I just say, “Bon”, which, apart from “le stylo” and “la chaise”, is the only French word I can remember.
“Why I’m calling,” Danny sort of stutters, “is, would you like to meet me and talk about whatever YOU want to talk about?”
Things have officially got BIG. SERIOUS. MASSIVE. SCARY.
“What about Erin?”
“We’ve been hanging out a bit,” Danny says and he sounds like he’s telling the truth. “When I first met her, I thought she was really friendly and cute, but she’s got hidden depths – the way a rattlesnake has.”
That’s what I love about Danny. He’s Canadian and naturally knows lots about dangerous exotic animals.
Danny carries on. “But I wanted you to know that Erin told me last night that she runs Mr Style Shame. I saw your comment. You guessed correctly. After that match girl post last night, I pretty much knew it could only be her. It was dumb of her really. Honestly, I don’t really want to be associated with someone who runs an account like that. I just think it’s nasty. She’s got a really nasty streak. I don’t like that. And her Instagram was a bit much as well. Not that I’m Mr Gorgeous in those posts or anything. You know she was jealous of you because she knows I think you’re funny and … cute.”
I don’t say anything. I can’t quite believe all this is happening.
“Anyway,” Danny says nervously, “would you like to do something at the weekend? Say, on Saturday afternoon? We could get ice cream from that little Italian place on the high street? I read a great blog about it.”
I surprise myself by what I say.
“Danny, that sounds lovely. I’d really like to, but I’ve just got to sort a couple of things out first. Can I message you later about it?”
“Sure,” he says. “Speak to you in a bit.”
I feel sensible again. I feel like I just need … time. Time to work this all out.
I take a big breath. I have to get ready for school or I’m going to be really late, but I also want to see what Erin has posted on HER account, recently. Yes, I know! I should get over it but I can’t…
Erin’s most recent post is an Instagram photo of her in kitten ears. AGAIN.
These are the sort of cats I like. They don’t shed hair everywhere. They’re easily controlled and they make you look really cute.
She hasn’t got that many likes. People must have realized that SHE was the person making their fashion lives HELL. If they don’t, everyone will know at school in about two hours.
I think a non-human may have finally beaten Erin. Dave the cat. YouTube superstar. Rebel. Icon. Mess-maker. SLAYER OF THE BREELER.
I’m not stupid. Erin will be back and probably worse than ever. This is real life, and real life is complicated. Bad girls sometimes win but … I think I’ve won this part of the war. Well, technically Dave has but I’m her commander in chief.
#IRL
When the history of our time is written, they might call this the greatest Friday ever. Everyone was giving Erin massive evils. There’s even a new phrase at school – the Evil Erin. It means you MAJOR death-stare someone and make them feel AWFUL. But I’m trying to be realistic. Everyone knows she’s Mr Style Shame, but she’s still gorgeous. People will eventually forgive her and she’ll be back.
I don’t care. Me and Lauren are tight as AND people think my cat is seriously cool. And, I think, because of what’s been said at school today, Dave and me need to do one FINAL vlog. If only I could find her.
On my way to the shed after school, Grandad tackles me. “I’ve noticed, Millie, you spend a huge amount of time getting the perfect self-photograph or the perfect ‘vog’ while time is passing you by. Have you tried actually sitting with people and talking to them face to face?”
“That’s life now!” I tell Grandad gently. “And it’s selfie and VLOG.”
“Whatever,” Grandad snaps. “But I hope you also realize that life is happening now. Real life.” And he pokes me in the shoulder. “Put your phone down – it’s not the be-all and end-all of the universe. Another thing: boys aren’t always playing games. They’re confused too, you know. And don’t go full on. Leave some mystery.”
This is part of the lecture I’ve heard Grandad give many times to Teresa. It’s his speech from the last century. The best thing to do is nod and say, “Yes!”
He may have a point about the phone though. But I can think about that after I’ve done my vlog.
“And I’m not happy with my ripped-up calendar, Millie, but I suppose I will just have to live with it.”
“Sorry, Grandad,” I say and bow my head. He’s right. A destroyed plover is a slightly tragic thing to see. “I’ll buy you a new one for Christmas.”
When I open the shed door, Dave appears from nowhere and darts her way in. It’s like she’s a celebrity and she knows it.
I sit on the big chair and Dave dives into the space next to me. She curls her legs around the front of her body and sits quietly in front of the camera. Feeling a mixture of brave, sick, terrified and excited, I start filming.
“Hello! It’s me, Millie, and this is Dave and, yes, I have kept her in shot this time.
“So, obviously, lots of you saw the video and lots of you are still seeing the video where I’m trying to make a serious point about looking after your friends and Dave – her name is Dave, by the way – decided to freak out in the background and try to kill my grandad’s calendar.
“I was, as you can imagine, feeling totally embarrassed and was genuinely thinking about moving abroad and changing my name … until I realized that YouTube is global anyway. Plus, I can’t do that because I have a family who love me loads, despite them being completely insane, and they would miss me. As would my lovely friends, including my brilliant friend Bradley. Do go and have a look at his vlog about escalators. I KNOW it doesn’t sound cool but you may actually really come to appreciate them. I sort of have. It was him who said I should just get back on here and say, ‘Look - you can’t tell cats what to do.’ And this is my advice about cats and life in general. You can’t control any of it and that’s really, really scary. So what you have to do is just le
t mad cats and mad life do their thing and go with it. You’ve got no control.
“Remember the very first vlog I did? It’s just the same thing.
“For example –” and I look at Dave and command – “Dave, attack the bird!”
(Dave does nothing.)
“Dave, go on two legs and pretend you’re in a TV dance competition!”
(Dave does nothing.)
“You see. No control. So this is me, Millie Porter – stress-head, Queen of Sensible, control freak – in charge of a completely unpredictable, uncontrollable life and cat, saying try to chill out as much as you can. Even if you own a mad feline. Bye! #Help me out of here FOR EVER!”
Dave still does nothing.
I upload and feel sort of good about things.
As I message Danny to say I’ll meet him on Saturday, Dave starts to act oddly. Typical. When I need her to act calm, she acts strangely.
I suddenly notice that Mum is staring in at the shed’s tiny window. She sees me looking, storms in and grabs hold of my hand.
“Mills, I’ve got something to tell you and it’s very important.”
#REVELATION
The terrible part of me wants it to be that she’s split up with the Neat Freak. The thing about love is, it makes you just a little bit mad and Mum should know. Love has condemned her to a life of bleach – but there are worse things, I suppose. I keep all those bad feelings to myself.
“No – I’ve haven’t split up with Gary.”
Why can she always mind-read me with such total rightness?!
“No. It’s about my head. You see, Millie, your head is like mine so I know what’s going on with it.”
Parents are very worrying when they say things like this because they almost certainly have no idea how you’re feeling and how your brain is working.
Mum can sense my doubts. “No, really, I can. We’ve got the same brain. And the brilliant thing about our brain is, it’s clever, it makes good decisions – which seems boring now but I promise won’t be boring when you’re thirty-eight.”
Even I don’t care about being thirty-eight but I go with it.
“I want to tell you about me and the trees.”
I am seriously worried.
“The thing is,” Mum continues, “when I was little, there was this outbreak that was killing loads of trees. It was called Dutch elm disease. And I totally got it into my head that Dutch elm disease could spread to humans.”
I don’t want to sound insensitive. “Mum, where is this going?”
“Listen!” she says, sounding very irritated. “I got myself into a total state. All these trees were dying and there was no Internet. You couldn’t just google things. You had to go to the library and… Anyway, so I thought I was dying. With the trees.”
I’m confused.
“So, you’re saying you were green and environmentally friendly before most other people?”
“No, Millie. I’m saying I was worried about things and got anxiety like you get. I had it. We didn’t call it anxiety then. It was called … just being pathetic. But it wasn’t. And your brain, I can see, has the same thing. A lot of people have it. Usually, very clever people who are connected and level-headed and…”
“Preach, Mum. Preach,” I say – a bit sarcastically, I have to admit.
“No, I need you to really listen, Millie.”
And I can see Mum is tearing up a bit, so I shut up.
“When you’ve got a brain like that, you have to learn to look after it and train it. And you don’t have to pretend to be strong when you aren’t feeling strong. It’s fine to say, ‘I don’t know what to do.’ It’s fine to say, ‘I can’t cope.’ It’s fine to say, ‘I’ve started this brilliant vlog –’ and, Millie, it is great by the way – ‘but I don’t know the answer to every question and, right now, I just need to keep MY head together.’”
“Did you say that?” This is a major revelation.
“No.” Mum looks down. “And I paid for it. I ended up being very poorly. I was in hospital. With this…” Mum taps her head.
It’s so odd! I have never ever thought my mum could be the sort of person who would be mentally ill. In a silly way, I thought she was a bit barking for going out with Gary the Neat Freak, but not THIS.
“Mum, I’m so sorry. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You’re clever and sensible, Millie, but you don’t give children more than they can cope with. It’s not fair. When your dad and I split up, we were very sure that both of us were going to make it as easy for you as possible. So you never saw the time I threw an entire packet of premium pork, cider and apple sausages at him.”Mum laughs. “It’s funny now,” she giggles. “It wasn’t funny then.”
Why do adults always throw groceries at each other? Wet sponges would be a wiser option.
“You’re a beautiful, clever, brilliant girl. It’s lovely that you want to help people and just give people some of you because you’re wonderful. I’m not saying stop doing it – what I’m saying is, you don’t have to fix people. It’s your job to look after your head and not bring anyone else down. That’s all. Anything else is a bonus.”
After all this, there’s one question that is mainly in the front of my head.
“Can you get Dutch elm disease?”
“No.” Mum shakes her head. “But you can get splinters from trying to cuddle trees better. And yes, I did. And yes, I recycle. And that’s why my car is electric. You find your little ways to make things … better. Because I still watch the news and think … well… There’s always been what you would call spoons, Millie. Spoons in your life and spoons on the news and you—”
“I get it, Mum.” I look at her. This has been a major lecture session but it’s actually helped a bit.
“Mum, if you ever want to talk about what happened—”
Mum interrupts and goes all hard-faced. “Millie, I don’t. It happened. I got through it. And look at me now. A lovely daughter –” she gets hold of me and hugs me – “and a great job and a man who DOES THE HOOVERING.”
I shake my head. Mum knows what I’m thinking. “Believe you me, Millie, I know Gary seems like a pain but a kind man who enjoys the feel of a dustpan and brush, sends you flowers all the time and makes you laugh is a pretty good man. But that’s a chat for another time. Men are wonderful but they’re not the solution. Or women – you may be a lesbian. Which is fine, by the way.”
By this stage, it’s beginning to feel like I’m listening to a really uncomfortable speech that Mum has planned for years and years.
She gives me a hug. I’m proud. And then she pinches my arm. “All I am saying is, just don’t be afraid to ask for help or forget the people who are around you. I’m not saying the people on there –” and her finger slams on the glass screen of my phone a little too hard for my liking – “aren’t lovely – but can they do this?!”
And mum gets me in this incredible boa-constrictor-squeeze-hold cuddle, which is both lovely and slightly scary at the same time.
While she is holding me tight, I squeak, “Mum. Can I come home? I’ll try to keep things tidy for Gary.”
Mum pulls away and says, “Whenever you want, Millie. In my eyes, you NEVER left. And I think it will be better this time. You can have the wireless on till 10 p.m. And I’ve already had a proper chat with Gary about McWhirter. It’s your home too and he has to get used to your crumbs. And from now on, I’ll try and make Thursday night Mum-and-Millie night.”
We have a little cry until Mum wiggles her head from side to side, does a big sniff and says, “Now, Millie Porter – #helper or whatever you call yourself! – I need to go and have dinner with my boyfriend, who is taking me to the cinema tonight in GOLD class! You get wine and food too. My days of popcorn and half a vat of Diet Coke are gone. Tell you what – if you want to work out what a good man is, find someone who really thinks about YOU rather than what they’d like to do. Goodbye. I love you. And remember I’m here –” and she thumps my hand against her he
art – “ANY TIME you want me.”
I give my mum another HUGE cuddle and thank her. I don’t ask what I really want to ask though.
#MANQUESTIONS
I want to ask Mum about men. Just thinking about them is largely very confusing indeed.
I know Bradley likes me. In fact, I think I now have two boys who like me. But how do you tell one of them that actually you want to be with someone else? I don’t want to leave the heart of the other one slightly smashed. Won’t I end up feeling dreadful about it ALL? Won’t he feel awful?
But I have to do something. Lauren was right. I have been a bit awful about it all.
I wait till Saturday morning and then I message Bradley.
Do you want to meet up?
Bradley replies like he has been sitting on his iPhone.
If you can fit me in global celebrity. See you at 2 at the mall.
I look at my vlog. Loads of views already and it’s only been up for half an hour. People must be looking at it as soon as they get notifications. This is great but…
Aunty Teresa comes in and tells me that, with my dad’s help, she’s finally got her ice-cream van finished and she’s thinking of rebranding it as “Ice Scream” and using it as part of her new “nowhere near the posh flats” ghost tour.
This is actually a great idea but I still can’t think of anything but Bradley. I’m really nervous.
When I get to the shopping centre, the clock moves as slowly as Dave the cat when you want her to do something, and then finally, eventually…
It’s 2 p.m. and 43 seconds.
I see Bradley. He’s never late.
In almost-silence, Bradley and I go and sit down on his favourite bench between his favourite lift and the double-fronted Otis lift that secretly goes to the basement if you press the right buttons.
I look at him and stutter, “Bradley … I really like you…”
“I know,” he says. “But you really, REALLY like Danny. Mr Normal. And I suppose he doesn’t bore you with lifts. And escalators.”
“Actually, Bradley –” I stare at him intently – “I want you to know I do have a new-found respect for lifts that I never had before I met you. I like to think if I can open my mind up to the gift of engineering, then…”