Unfollow Me

by Charlotte Duckworth

  “Oh damn!” I say, frowning at my phone. “I’m out of data. I was going to look up the original email on my phone … oh God.” I pause, looking around me, as though hoping for divine inspiration. “I guess I could just ring her, but it’s so embarrassing! It’s my boss, you see, she’s just invited me round to celebrate my promotion. All a bit awkward, really—who wants to spend Saturday night with their boss?—but I felt I had to go. And now I can’t remember what her address is! She’s going to regret promoting me at this rate.”

  I’m talking too fast. The woman smiles at me again.

  “Do you want to use the Wi-Fi here to look it up?” she says, and I am stunned that my plan has worked so easily. As usual, the thrill is almost overwhelming. She pulls the door open a little further. “Come in for a sec, it’s freezing out there.”

  “Oh my goodness, thank you so much!” I say. I can’t believe I’m going to get to go in!

  “No problem,” she says. “Don’t want you getting un-promoted, after all. Here, come into the front room, I’ll just get the code.”

  “Thank you so much, you really are a lifesaver.”

  She switches on the light and ushers me through. I stand alone in Violet’s front room as she disappears back down the hallway to the kitchen.

  I am transfixed, staring at my surroundings, trying my best to absorb every detail. I consider taking photos of everything to examine closely later, but I’ve pushed my luck as far as it can go tonight, and don’t want to risk ruining everything. I wonder who she is, why she’s so naive. Perhaps it’s her age. She must know Henry and Violet have fans, and not just fans, but crazed stalkers. I swallow, suddenly nervous. But she doesn’t seem to have given it a second thought. My story must have been plausible.

  Maybe she’s just nice. Living in London, you sometimes forget that people can just be kind, with no agenda.

  The sofa is enormous and low, with a huge L-shaped section jutting out in the corner. It’s blush pink, impractical for anyone with children, but Violet never lets the kids in this room, so it’s pristine. It’s covered in cushions that look as though they have been spattered in paint, in a clashing array of colors, but the effect is magnificent.

  Violet’s taste is impeccable.

  Above the sofa is an equally enormous black and white photograph of Violet and Henry kissing. It’s a close-up, so you can just see their lips meeting, and the curves of their cheeks. There’s a glass coffee table with chrome edges, covered in books with titles like My Vogue Home. A stack of silver coasters sits in one corner. Everything is huge, including the marble fireplace with its enormous antique mirror.

  “Here you go,” she says, reappearing and cutting through my thoughts. She hands me a small card.

  “Thank you,” I say, taking it from her, and pretend to type the code into my phone.

  “Hope it’s not far,” she says. She’s wearing a furry gilet. Now I’m closer to her, I can tell that it’s expensive, as is the watch on her wrist, which looks remarkably similar to Violet’s. But she’s not Violet’s sister. Is she a babysitter perhaps?

  “Just loading,” I say, looking up at her. “Thank you so much, you are such a lifesaver.”

  “It’s fine,” she says. “The kind of thing I’d do, if I’m honest. And it is confusing round here, with so many streets with similar names.”

  “Yes,” I say, eagerly. “So you don’t live here? It’s a lovely house. I did wonder how much my boss was earning when I saw it!”

  “No, I live in Somerset. I’m just watching the place, like I said, for Henry. He’s at the hospital tonight.” She pauses, suddenly squinting at me. My heart starts to pound.

  “Oh dear,” I say, but I know I’m treading on dodgy ground. “Nothing serious, I hope?”

  She shakes her head, looking uncomfortable for the first time. She knows she’s said too much, is suddenly suspicious.

  “Found the email?” she says, nodding at my phone.

  It’s almost agony, being so close but still so far, but it’s time to leave.

  “Yep,” I say. I roll my eyes. “What an idiot. As I’d thought, it’s Acacia Road. I’m so sorry. I’m going to be so late, it’s a ten-minute walk away. Thank you so much, let me just screen grab the directions on my phone … and then I’ll leave you in peace.”

  “Glad you got it sorted.”

  I smile at her. Where are the children? I can’t ask her, I just can’t. It’s too intrusive.

  “Strictly’s on now, isn’t it?” I say as I walk towards the front door. “To be honest that’s where I’d usually be now—glued to the telly with a glass of gin in my hand!”

  She smiles again, and a flicker of sadness crosses her eyes.

  Yes. We’ve got it on in the back room. Not really my cup of tea but the children love it.”

  “Oh, I didn’t realise you had kids!” I say, pausing on the giant doormat. “I’m so sorry again to have bothered you.”

  “They’re not mine,” she says. I take a long look at her again, thinking of the rumors that circle Henry all the time. Have they broken up? Is this his new partner? Where’s Violet now? Perhaps this whole expedition has been a mistake. I have more questions than answers now.

  “Well,” she says, smiling at me again. “Enjoy your dinner party.”

  “Thank you so much for your help,” I reply, and as she shuts the door behind me, something catches the light from above, glinting at me. Her necklace. Three small gold discs, each inscribed with a letter, spelling out the name Amy.

  20 February 2017

  From: gottheblues@hotmail.com

  To: violet@violetisblue.com

  Hi Violet,

  I have some thoughts about your new assistant Mandy.

  I know why you chose her, of course. She’s blonde, like you. Slim. Her nose is a little wonky, but she has big brown eyes that remind one of a puppy, and a laugh that’s the definition of grating. She’s “instaworthy.”

  But even so, Violet, she’s not good for you.

  For one thing, her spelling is shocking. I know that these days people think spelling doesn’t matter, that text-speak has become an acceptable form of communication, but at the end of the day, Violet, you’re running a business. You need to behave professionally. If you’re asking people to buy into your content, then the very least they deserve is for it to be grammatically correct, and edited properly.

  But the fact she’s thick isn’t the main issue for me. It’s her lack of experience with children that concerns me. I know technically she’s not your nanny, she’s your PA, but we all know you leave the girls with her sometimes. I don’t think you should. She doesn’t know that Skye likes her toast cut into quarters, that Lula actually likes the crusts. She has no patience with them, either.

  I heard her on your vlog the other day, telling Lula that if she went to nursery she’d have to be potty-trained by now or she’d be bullied by the other kids. And then she told her she was naughty when she had an accident on the floor. I know you laughed it off, but do you not know that if you tell children they are bad, or lazy, or naughty, they will internalise this and believe it about themselves? You can’t shame someone into being potty trained, it’s unbelievably damaging.

  Please don’t leave your kids with this woman.

  What kind of mother are you?

  LILY

  For the entire journey home, I turn the silver coaster over in my hands, running my fingers across its delicately engraved pattern, wondering who bought it for them, whether Violet chose it herself. I know I shouldn’t have taken it, but in a house so full of stuff she’s not likely to miss it, is she?.

  It takes me an hour to get back to Acton and as I approach my front door, I start to worry. I probably should have told Susie I was coming back early. What if she’s invited a man round? No, she wouldn’t do that. Would she? It’s not that I’d mind, it’s just …

  I push my key into the lock, making as much noise as possible.

  “Only me!” I call through the do
or as it opens. “It was awful.”

  The lights are off in the hallway, but I can hear the television coming from the living room. I follow the sound. Susie’s sitting, feet up on the sofa, phone in hand. Alone. She switches off the television as I come in.

  “Hi,” she says, looking surprised. The make-up under her eyes is smudged, as though she’s been watching a sad film and has rubbed away tears. “That’s a shame.”

  “Everything all right?” I sit down at the armchair next to her and yank off the boots. The waistband of my jeans is cutting into my stomach, the fabric tight and uncomfortable around my knees. Skinny jeans are for skinny people; I can’t wait to put my pyjamas on.

  “He’s been an angel,” Susie says, swinging her legs round and sitting up. She sniffs slightly. “One story and then he practically jumped into bed. Fell asleep straight away.”

  “Wow.”

  “Yeah, must have really not liked me!” She smiles. “But what about you?! Hang on, let me get a glass for you, I want to hear the whole story.”

  I lean back into the armchair and wait for her to return from the kitchen. When she does so, she pours me a huge glass from the bottle of red she brought over and thrusts it at me.

  “I haven’t eaten anything,” I say, taking it with mock reluctance.

  “Oh God, order a pizza,” she replies.

  “No, it’s OK,” I say. I have eighty pounds left in my account until payday, and that has to cover my travel and food for the week. “I’ll make some toast in a minute.”

  “So, tell me everything,” Susie says, settling back down on the sofa, her eyes flashing with interest.

  “He seemed really nervous. I don’t think he’d been on many—or maybe even any—dates before. He was practically shaking.” I start to warm up, remembering a date I went on once, before I met James.

  “Oh God!” Susie says, giggling.

  “Yes, and he was wearing a fleece. And carrying a rucksack. On both shoulders, as though he was going for a long walk in the country, not a Saturday night date in the middle of London.”

  “Oh you poor thing!”

  “Maybe I should have given it a bit longer, but honestly, an hour of talking at him and I’d completely run out of things to say. I felt so sorry for him, but it was better not to lead him on, wasn’t it? I just made noises about Archie being an early riser and snuck off before he had the chance to mention getting any food.” My stomach starts to grumble. “‘And on that note, I’ll just put some toast on.”

  In the kitchen, I think again about Amy, the strange woman in Violet’s house, what she said about Henry being at the hospital. What hospital and why? And who is Amy? Throughout my journey home I wracked my brains, trying to think if I’d ever seen this mysterious Amy in any of Violet’s vlogs, but I would have remembered her, I’m sure of it.

  As I spread butter on my toast, I feel a vibration in my back pocket. My phone. It’s a text from Ellie, asking for news. I smother my toast with Marmite and grab one of Archie’s Babybels from the fridge to go with it, taking the sorry supper back into the living room.

  “Well, you just need to get straight back on there, I’m afraid,” Susie says. “Those are the rules of Internet dating. Plenty more fish in the sea. Well done you—getting back out there after losing your husband is so brave. Is that all you’re having?”

  “It’s fine, I hate eating a proper meal after 9pm.”

  Susie gestures towards the empty pizza box on my coffee table.

  “You should have called me on your way back, I could have ordered you one too.”

  “I told you, it’s fine,” I say, snappily. “Sorry.”

  She glances at me and I shrug.

  “Expensive time of year and all that…”

  “How are you feeling about work?” she says.

  “Oh you know, pays the bills,” I say. Barely, I add in my head, washing down my toast with a swig of wine. It’s delicious—so much better than the stuff I subsist on. “I like working with you.”

  “Do you think in the new year you might look for something new?” She starts twisting her bracelets round with her fingers.

  “Don’t worry, I’m not going to leave you to the world’s most disorganised men, I promise,” I say, smiling at her in what I hope is a reassuring way. But something’s wrong. She takes a big sniff, leans forward and puts her glass down on the coffee table.

  “Oh God,” she says, rubbing her forehead with her fingers.

  “What’s the matter?” I say, reaching out to her. I knew there was something going on. I’ve been so caught up with all this Violet nonsense, I’ve not thought to find out how Susie, my real life, actual proper friend, is.

  “Nothing, it’s just … shit. Last week, when we all went for work drinks. I ended up having a few too many, one thing led to another…”

  “And?” I say. I consider the list of possible suspects. That Susie has had a one-night stand with someone from the office isn’t a huge surprise, but her reaction to it is.

  She gulps air. “I went home with Ben. Abigail was away at some hen do. Oh shit, I’m such a disaster. Please don’t judge me.”

  I swallow.

  “Wow. Did you … what happened?”

  “No, but nearly. On his sofa. It was awful. He was so drunk, he couldn’t … you know. Keep it up. And then afterwards he got all emotional, started telling me he’d never done anything like it before, that the company was in trouble, that he was worried it was going to go under…”

  My eyes widen.

  “Yes, exactly,” she says, noting my alarm. “I didn’t want to say anything before … I know how hard things are for you, even though you always pretend everything is fine.”

  I look down. Susie continues.

  “He’s looking for a buyer for the firm but he mentioned there would have to be redundancies if things didn’t pick up soon.”

  “Oh,” I say, trying to work out how I feel about this news. “Did he mention me specifically?”

  “No!” Susie says, squeezing me on the knee. “No. I’m just aware that sometimes … you say you don’t have much to do. I just think it might be good to make yourself look busy, make yourself indispensable … just in case. You don’t want to be the most obvious victim; I suppose that’s what I’m trying to say.”

  I nod.

  “I’ll start applying for things in the morning,” I say. I can’t afford to have any gap in employment, no matter how short. I must check my contract and find out what I’d be owed in redundancy pay. I haven’t been there long—just over two years—so it’s not likely to be much. “Thanks for the heads up.”

  “Don’t be silly,” she says, looking down at her hands. “I feel terrible about the whole thing. I only know because he was so drunk … it all came out in this gush. It was awful.”

  “What about your job?” I say, but as soon as the words have left my mouth I realise that she’ll be the last to go now. He’s not going to get rid of someone with the kind of information that could ruin his marriage. Maybe I should have gone home with Ben, I think, bitterly.

  “Yeah,” Susie says, looking away. “It’s at risk too. I think.”

  “Don’t feel bad,” I say, and her eyes meet mine. “He’s the one that’s married, not you.”

  “Yeah, but still … I’ve met Abigail and she’s lovely. Like, really lovely. I’ve never done anything like that before. Never. It’s awful, so against the sisterhood.”

  “Don’t beat yourself up,” I say. “You’re not the first and you won’t be the last…”

  She looks up at me.

  “Lily! What are you saying?”

  I sit back. I wasn’t saying anything, but the desperation in her eyes stirs something in me.

  “Well, you never asked me how I met James. We met in a bar. But what he didn’t tell me was that he was, er, married.”

  I give a short cough.

  “No way?”

  “Way,” I say, swallowing. The adrenalin of the evening seems to have
gone to my head. I never usually lie about things like this, but it’s a small sin to make Susie feel like she’s not the only one who’s been in this situation. “Yeah, we were, er, seeing each other for eighteen months before he left his wife for me.”

  “Oh God, Lily. And then you guys got married? That must have been so quick?”

  “Yep,” I say, my heart thudding, aware that the maths probably doesn’t work. “It was a whirlwind.”

  “What are we like?” She rolls her eyes. “Thank you for being so honest. I’ve just been feeling a bit low lately. Christmas, you know, all the smug couples … another year in my single bed at my parents’ house. Alone. Just another stupid, drunken slut.”

  “Don’t talk about my friend Susie like that!” I say, and I reach forward for the wine bottle, to refill her glass. As I do so, my phone vibrates again, lighting up on the coffee table in front of us. Susie eyes it.

  “I better leave you to it,” she says. “Looks like lover boy’s been in touch to suggest a second date.”

  It’s another message from Ellie. She sounds more frantic now, saying she’s concerned for my safety.

  “Oh, no, it’s … just a friend,” I say, locking the screen. A small part of me is enjoying keeping her waiting for the news. Just for once it’s nice to be the one people are waiting to hear from, rather than it always being the other way round. “Don’t worry.”

  “I better be off anyway,” she says, standing up. “Otherwise I’ll finish the bottle and then God knows what will happen. It was so awkward at work last week; he wouldn’t look me in the eye. I’m such a cliché!”

  I give her a sympathetic smile as I rise to my feet, too. The wine bottle stares at me from the table. I should tell her to take it home.

  “See you Monday,” she says, as she pulls on her coat. “Thanks for the chat. You’re a good listener.”

  “It was nothing,” I say. I hold her gaze for a few seconds, trying to imagine what would have made her go home with Ben. People are never what they seem. “Thanks for babysitting. And for the warning. I really appreciate it. As I said, things are quite tricky, money-wise…” I tail off and stand up straighter. She kisses me on the cheek, and I close the door behind her softly, digging my phone out of my pocket and punching out a reply to Ellie.