Anger starts burning through me, but when I look at Tom’s frowning face, the fire dampens. He’s only annoyed because he cares. This is someone the opposite of Mum. Someone who’s actually got my back.
‘I promise I won’t do anything like this again,’ I say.
Tom sighs. ‘You’re not going to meet up with any more stalkers without telling me, right?’
I look up and see the sides of his mouth are twitching.
‘Hmm?’
‘Fine. No more stalkers,’ I say, almost smiling. ‘But I don’t need to tell you where I am. I can go wherever I want.’
Tom shakes his head. ‘I know that. Christ. Why do I put up with you?’
I wrap my arms around his warm body, and he drops a kiss on the top of my head.
‘I’m sorry,’ I mumble.
He doesn’t say anything else. I push my head up, and he leans down to kiss me.
As our lips meet, the warmth of his skin slows my pulse.
The weight of the last month seems to melt away. The frenzied late-night messages between me and Sven, or Ren, or whoever the hell he was. That drunk night. The desperate, relentless desire for attention. J grabbing my breast. The constant feeling of unease sat deep in the pit of my stomach.
But now, with Tom, I don’t feel scared, or unsettled, or manic.
I just feel right.
CHAPTER 59
Amber
After thirty minutes on the rowing machine, I’ve worked up such a sweat that I’m incredibly thankful there are showers at the gym. I step out into the chill of the evening air, with a few tendrils of damp hair flapping around my face.
For the first time since I can remember, my thoughts are still.
My mind isn’t electrified, stuck on a loop thinking about Ren, imagining how he feels, itching to check his social media. I can feel my hair damp against the nape of my neck, the wind slapping my cheeks, and the rising sound of chatter coming from the nearby playground – and it makes me smile.
As I’m looking out over the leisure centre car park, I see him.
He makes me stop dead in my tracks. He’s standing by the edge of the gym, one foot up against the wall, staring down at his phone.
I genuinely haven’t thought about him all day, yet here he is, standing mere metres away from me. And he hasn’t seen me. He doesn’t know I’m here – not yet. It feels weird looking at someone in real life when they don’t know you’re there.
So I don’t. I take a deep breath and take a few steps towards him. He looks up, and his dark hair twitches across his cheeks in the wind.
‘Hey,’ I say, so quietly I’m not sure he can even hear me.
Ansh doesn’t respond; he just glances back down at his phone. I think he’s going to ignore me completely, but then after a couple of seconds he says, ‘Hey.’
I bite my lip. ‘I was just . . . um – I wanted to say . . .’
How is it possible that I can shout at Ren like that, yet I don’t have the nerve to apologize to Ansh without stuttering?
I furrow my brow. ‘I’m – I’m sorry.’
Ansh looks up and frowns. ‘Why are you sorry?’ he says, his voice gruff.
‘For lying. For saying I was Ren’s sister. I didn’t go on a date with him either; that was another lie. I just . . . I don’t know – I behaved like a freak. I just wanted to find out what was going on with him. When I heard about him getting fired, I got carried away. I lied because I wanted to find out . . .’ I take a deep breath. ‘Just – for everything, I’m sorry.’
Ansh’s expression has changed slightly, and he’s looking at me with his lips apart. ‘It’s fine.’ He rubs his temples. ‘OK, I guess I was a bit annoyed. Particularly when you lied about being his sister. I mean . . . who does that?’
My whole body cringes. ‘Oh God. I know.’
‘Then you told Iulia you were dating him!’ says Ansh, his voice rising slightly.
‘Don’t!’ I can feel heat spreading over my body, climbing up my cheeks. I put my hands over my eyes and groan.
When I slowly uncover my eyes, Ansh isn’t backing away from me with a scared expression like I’m this huge, socially inept freak. Instead, he’s laughing.
‘A tip: next time, if you want to do some subtle investigative work, don’t make out you’re dating your brother!’
‘Aargh.’ I cringe inwardly. ‘I really am sorry.’
He shrugs, smiling. ‘Nah. It’s cool.’
At that moment, Iulia comes bounding out of the gym with a big smile.
‘Oh hey, you two!’ she says, her wavy red hair bouncing either side of her face. ‘Were you talking about Amber videoing Ren?’
Ansh’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. ‘You what?’
‘No, no, no – it wasn’t. It was —’
I catch both of their eyes then and suddenly, like a spark between us, we all immediately start laughing.
Iulia is giggling the loudest. ‘Not like that! She saved Chloe MacNeil – you know the one. Loud, dark hair . . .’
Iulia launches into the story again, and my cheeks threaten to flush, but somehow I meet both of their eyes.
‘Christ. Did you hit him? He’s a big guy,’ says Ansh.
‘No, I didn’t hit anyone. I shouted at him – told him to get off Chloe.’
Ansh bursts out laughing again. ‘I can’t believe you actually scared him off. I mean, there’s probably not a person alive who deserves it more, but that’s priceless.’
Iulia is grinning too, her cheeks shining with freckles. ‘We know not to mess with Amber,’ she says.
I look at them both now, a warmth spreading through me. I remember Iulia bounding over at the garden centre, helping me with my fitness. Ansh sending me those funny GIFs, even though he didn’t have to. Them both standing here now, actually taking the time to speak to me, laughing with me.
Then I think of Ren’s smile. The ghost of a gesture: fleeting, superficial.
Every lunchtime for the last six months, I’ve sat alone for an hour by myself. I think of what Chloe said about me to everyone – how she made me visible. The hundreds of people today who crowded round me, wanting to hear my story. How it just made me want to hide.
But being here, with Iulia and Ansh, I don’t want to disappear. I want to stay right where I am.
Whenever I meet Ansh or Iulia’s eyes, they don’t send a shiver down my spine like Ren’s did. But they make me feel warm, like Mum, Dad and Seb. Like I’m an actual person worth speaking to.
I clear my throat. ‘Do you . . . um – this is probably dumb – but do you two fancy grabbing something to eat tomorrow lunch?’
I can imagine being at school, leaving morning lessons like everyone else. Watching Seb run over to his band of mates, hearing the chatter and laughter all around me. Having my own place to go and people to speak to. Maybe Ansh and Iulia won’t be my people, but then again . . . who knows?
Ansh looks down at me, and his eyes crinkle. ‘Yeah, sure.’
Beside him, Iulia nods ferociously.
I smile shyly back.
Ansh squints down at me, his eyes half closed. I look away, a flush warming my cheeks.
We might not get on. Maybe we’ll argue the entire time, or only go for lunch once and then never speak again.
They might be completely different to how I expect.
But this time, I’m not going to imagine.
I’m going to find out for real.
THE END
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Charlotte Seager lives in London with her partner David and her cat Ruby. She grew up in the Suffolk countryside and moved to London after university to join the Guardian as a writer on the children’s books site. She went on to be editor of the Guardian Careers desk, before moving papers earlier this year to join The Times and The Sunday Times as engagement editor, building online communities.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
My mum, my best friend, thank you for being with me every step of the way – you know how muc
h your love and friendship means to me.
My husband David, I couldn’t do half the things I’ve achieved in life without your never-ending love and support – every day with you is an adventure, thank you.
My Dad, you have taught me a quiet resilience and rebelliousness which helped me to keep writing whenever I faltered, thank you.
My brothers, James and George, the inspiration behind Seb and Aidy (you always manage to feature in one of my books!) thank you.
A huge thank you to my brilliant editors Simran and Rachel: the story has transformed with your edits, and is so, so much better as a result! And thank you to the whole Macmillan team, it has been an absolute pleasure to work with you all on my second book, your enthusiasm and expertise has really brought the story to life.
Thank you to my agent Annette Green, for championing my writing from the very beginning.
And finally thank you to you for reading my book. I never imagined anyone would read the stories I write, the very best part of writing is hearing from readers.
I’m delighted that you found this story.
Thank you.
Love, Charlotte x
Turn the page for an exciting extract from Charlotte Seager's first novel . . .
I just want you to know I never wanted to do this.
I never wanted to ruin your life.
You need to know that what is about to happen isn’t my fault. If you hadn’t done what you did, there wouldn’t be anything to ruin. If you hadn’t lied to us – all 3,054,263 of us.
I trusted you so, so much. I trusted everything you said, everything you told us. How could I have been so stupid?
You deserve all that’s going to happen to you. But it also hurts to think of what you’re going to go through – the paparazzi, the abuse, the trolls.
I want you to know that I feel bad for doing this, even though it’s your own fault. I don’t want to hurt you, but I need to make sure people know the truth – one person in particular. Even if you’re not who I thought you were, surely even you understand that I have no choice. It’s the most important thing I have ever done.
In ten seconds’ time I’m going to click publish. Then everyone will know the truth. Everyone will know you lied to us all.
But I wanted to write to you first, just to say I’m sorry.
Issa x
CHAPTER 1
Lily
I can’t even imagine three million people.
I can imagine ten people lined up in a queue. Or about a hundred – Bryan’s gigs often hold several hundred faces – but any more and it starts to go fuzzy. How many people can fit in the largest stadium in the world – fifty thousand? A hundred thousand, maybe?
I imagine rows upon rows of seats filled up with faces. Each face a whole life’s worth of experiences, families and relationships. Nope. I can’t picture it. Even a hundred thousand is unthinkable.
3,002,031
A wave of panic washes over me.
On a day-to-day basis, I don’t think about how many people are watching me. But when I do it doesn’t feel real. My stomach twists with a mingling of excitement and fear. I can’t believe I’ve hit three million. This is really, properly huge. This is insane.
Instinctively I reach for my camera. What is Bryan going to say? We’ve been talking about hitting three million for months. The numbers have been creeping closer and closer. I can’t wait to tell him!
I lean over to the mirror to check my face. Ugh, I look disgusting. I haven’t been thinking about filming all day. Smoothing down my hair, I slick on some lip salve and pull a face at the camera – oh, screw it. I’ve looked worse. The viewfinder needs adjusting to get my face in shot, and . . . record.
‘Bryan! I’ve hit three million subscribers!’
It feels strange saying the number out loud. Three million people watch your videos. Three million people know who you are. Three million.
Nothing.
‘Bryan! I’ve hit three million!’ I say again.
Huh, where is he? The corridor is empty, but there’s a faint buzzing of electricity coming from the room at the far end. I go in and see him crouched over his electric guitar, with his phone on his lap, smirking at the screen.
OK, I’m going to scare him. This will make a great shot. I press my fingers to my lips and mouth ‘Shh’ at the camera. Then I point the camera at my feet and do exaggerated tiptoes behind him.
‘I’VE HIT THREE MILLION!’ I yell in his ear.
Bryan leaps out of his skin and spins the laptop away from me. He pulls off his headphones.
‘Lily, what the hell?!’
His loose hoody has fallen off his shoulder, revealing a long grey tank top – the feathered edge of his black raven tattoo peeping over his shoulder. His fingers, calloused by guitar strings, clink with rings as he throws his phone across the desk.
I stare at him, the sound of the phone clattering between us. His dilated pupils flick from me to the lens, and he finally twigs.
Great, he knows I’ll have to edit that out.
‘Err . . . you hit three million? Oh, no way – congrats.’
He gets up and envelopes me in a hug. I stay frigid at first, irritated with him. But then he clutches me tighter and I nuzzle into his scratchy beard and hard, skinny chest – my arm moving round us to get the shot.
My heart starts to thud as I think of all my subscribers – all their imaginary faces swimming in front of me. It almost feels like too many people to please. Too much to deal with.
‘I-I just can’t believe it,’ I mumble thickly, feeling my vision blur.
Bryan whispers into my hair, away from the mic. ‘I mean, that is a lot of pre-teen stalkers.’
He sees my face, and changes tack.
‘You know what, let’s get brunch to celebrate,’ he says loudly, stretching his lips goofily at the camera.
I smile. I’m already thinking how I can edit this into a full vlog. We’ll need some footage of us getting brunch, perhaps an Instagram if I can get a good shot of the food . . . then if we could get something of us thanking the viewers, perhaps wandering around a park. That would look good. Or did we do a park last week? I could end it with a monologue into the camera saying how grateful I am.
My chest feels tight. I’ve got two sponsored videos to finish by the end of today, and I’m only halfway through the emails my PA Sam has sent over. I also really should do an Instagram post. But that last shot should be pretty easy to film. If I can get enough footage of us at the breakfast place, I can fill most of the vlog with me talking after I’ve finished my work. It’ll need editing though, but I can do that tonight. My mind starts whirling with things to do. I put a hand on my neck and feel my blood pulsing against my fingertips.
I can’t not upload a vlog tomorrow when I’ve hit three million. Maybe if I get up at six tomorrow, I can fit in the editing. It won’t take long, anyway. I won’t film much, and it’ll be under ten minutes – I’ll try to keep my filming to about forty. I’ll just have to fit it in, somehow.
Ouch. I flinch and realize I’ve bitten my lip so hard it’s bleeding. Shit. I’ll have to edit that out. I look up at Bryan.
‘That would be amazing!’ I smile, twinkling my eyes at the lens and reaching past Bry to place the camera on the desk.
Bryan’s phone starts buzzing, and he reaches across me to retrieve it. When his eyes catch the screen, he smirks. ‘I, um, just need to finish up on some music stuff.’ He smiles at me and nods to the door. ‘Be ready in ten.’
CHAPTER 2
Melissa
I wish I looked like LilyLoves. She’s just posted a selfie on Instagram to celebrate hitting three million – and she looks amazing. She has these huge eyes, framed thickly by smoky black kohl liner and long sweeping lashes. Her hair is also perfect – in a pixie cut, which she styles into these beautiful blonde wisps that skim her eyes.
I could never pull off short hair; my face is way too fat. And my hair is the same dull mousey-brown colour as Mum�
��s – I would look like a boy. Not a cute, girly-looking boy either. An actual boy. People at school would go, ‘Hey, who’s the new guy in form H?’ And when I’d sit next to Suze she would probably go bright red and refuse to speak to me.
She’s like that with boys.
I click on Lily’s latest post – ‘A Little London Adventure’ – and scroll through the photos. She’s clutching a pot of strawberries outside a market stall, her fingers bejewelled with rough amethyst and topaz rings. Had a wonderful day exploring London with my lovely friend – hope your weekend was also fabulous! Love Lily xoxox
I love Lily’s blogs. Every time I see a place she’s visited, it makes me desperate to go there. When she posts a breakfast Instagram, it looks so good I just want to reach through the screen and devour it.
Actually, it’s probably a good thing I can’t. I’m already a bit chubby around my thighs. If I ate like Lily, I would probably need a crane to lift me into school. There’s a picture of her crouched over a beanbag in leggings – these long silver beaded necklaces draped across her chest. My legs will never be that tiny.
I tried to re-create that picture a few weeks ago, but the only necklaces I have are these cheap silver ones from H&M, which I’ve worn so much the colour has faded. I tried stealing a couple of Mum’s gold necklaces, but when she saw me taking photos she didn’t understand and freaked out.
‘What are you doing wearing my necklaces and photographing yourself? This isn’t for the internet, is it? Melissa, tell me you’re not posting that to THE INTERNET!’
She says I-N-T-E-R-N-E-T like it’s this scary place where paedophiles go to lure children away. I bet she has no idea that the girls from school use it to trick boys into saying they like them on messenger, before screenshotting what they say and sending it to the entire class. There’s no point even trying to explain vlogging to her.
It was pointless anyway – the selfies looked terrible. I don’t have the bone structure.
Follow Me, Like Me Page 17