My Life Gone Viral

by Rae Earl

  Zen Dan. Zan. He always takes life as it hurtles his way.

  “Anyway,” Danny says, “got to go. Millie, can I say something a bit uncomfortable? I think you should enjoy yourself a bit more. Stop focusing on all the bad stuff in your life. Start thinking about the good stuff. You have an incredible family and great friends. Don’t make it ALL about the vlog. I’m not saying don’t do it. Just lighten up a bit.”

  I wish I could just lighten up, but I am not naturally Zan like Danny. I take life in a panic. Mostly it’s controlled, but sometimes it’s plummeting to earth and I’ve forgotten to open my parachute.

  But then we kiss and my parachute DOES open and I land on the ground in a heap but crucially not dead. No, you should NOT rely on boys to make you feel better (I CAN HEAR YOU IN MY HEAD, MUM!), but occasionally they do help. They are a nice distraction from a head of doom.

  After Danny leaves, I check my phone.

  There are three notifications. There’s a text from Lauren, How did it go KWEEEENNN?!, a WhatsApp from Bradley, Hope you got a good deal (this is SO Bradley—zero messing about), and a message from Granddad. You can tell Aunty Teresa has helped him to write it, as it makes actual sense.

  Hello, Millie! What country does this flag belong to?! Don’t cheat! Come around tomorrow after school and tell me. Have your tea here, too, and that’s an order!

  It’s a lovely flag. It’s got people on it, but I have no idea. One of them is holding an axe but not in a way that makes him look like he’s in a horror film and he’s going to do something appalling. He just looks like he’s holding it because he’s going to chop down a tree and build a tremendous beach house. Don’t ask me how, I can just tell.

  I’ve never seen this flag before in my life. I could do a Google image reverse search but Granddad can always tell when I’m lying. He says my ears do this mad involuntary wiggle thing.

  I just hope Teresa hasn’t done what she’s been threatening to do for years—turn Granddad’s house into a microstate so she doesn’t have to pay any tax. Creating her own flag is exactly the sort of thing that she would do. And the men on it are bare chested. It’s basically an Aunty Teresa fantasy with a bit of graphic design from an app. I bet she declares herself queen, president for life, gets hippos as pets, and goes completely wild.

  I’ve decided I’m giving up on trivia. It stresses me out completely.

  #Desert-ion

  The next day, Granddad is waiting to pounce on me as soon as I get into his house. “Come on then, Millie!” he shouts. “What was the flag?!”

  I have a couple of options here. I can pick some random countries or just pretend I don’t know and that I haven’t tried. If I do that Granddad will tell me I am lame and that I’m “everything wrong with my generation.” If I do try and I get it wrong he will get increasingly triumphant and smug with every wrong answer.

  Basically, unless I get very lucky, I can’t win.

  “Is it Ghana?” As soon as I say it I know it’s wrong.

  Granddad grins from ear to ear. “No!! That’s red, yellow, and green with a big star on it! There’s people on the moon that know that, young lady! Go west a bit.”

  I go west a bit in my head. “Is it … Morocco?”

  Granddad nearly pulls his own head off doing a big tutting eye-roll thing. “That’s going north of Ghana and that’s another flag with a star on it! Do they only teach you about countries that have constellations on them these days? I don’t know, there’s information at your fingertips and none of you bother to learn anything! What if there’s a zombie apocalypse, Millie, and all this technology goes off?”

  If there’s a zombie apocalypse, I don’t think my main concern is going to be about learning the flags of other nations. It’s going to be about learning how to run exceptionally fast and what mushrooms I can pick in the forest without accidentally poisoning myself.

  There is no point explaining this to Granddad. He is clearly desperate to be right and to tell me the answer AND I am clearly going to cheat next time he asks me anything—and learn to lie better.

  “It was Belize! That’s an easy one, Millie. Know your world. It’s the best flag in the known universe. Good phrase on it, too—‘Under the Shade I Flourish’! Nice phrase for one of your beauty films that you do. Give people a warning about the dangers of tanning.”

  I don’t do beauty vlogging. Granddad knows this. He’s just trying to wind me up. He thinks only-children need to be teased as they miss out on what siblings would do to “harden them up.” We are talking about someone born BEFORE TELEVISION (or something). You have to make allowances.

  I try a different tactic.

  “No way is Belize the best flag!” I say very firmly. “Everyone agrees that Nepal is. It’s not even square! And what about Bhutan?! THERE’S A DRAGON ON IT!”

  I have learned all the flags of Asia, so I beat Granddad in arguments. I don’t know the flags of Africa, but Granddad has lots of time inside these days. He’s got time to be a spectacular font of all flag knowledge.

  While Granddad and I are arguing about the best flag in the world (IT IS NEPAL, THOUGH, SERIOUSLY!), I notice a very scary thing out of the corner of my eye.

  A cheesecake.

  A cheesecake is not just a cheesecake in our family. It is a safety pillow for your heart. If you are emotionally falling through the air (I don’t think I can get Danny’s sky-diving granny out of my head), a cheesecake will soften the blow. If it’s bought from a store, things are bad. If it’s Granddad’s key lime special, then there’s almost certainly a catastrophe looming around the crumbly biscuit base.

  And let me tell you, the cheesecake looks VERY green from here.

  Granddad can see that I have spotted it. I look at him and ask, “Is everything okay?”

  Granddad makes the face that adults make when things are very much NOT OKAY, but they think telling you things are FINE will make terrible things totally simple.

  “Fine!” Granddad says completely unconvincingly.

  We are in trouble. It is now official. If I didn’t know that the flag belonged to Belize, I would think Aunty Teresa had declared independence as a one-woman state and her personal zoo had just been ordered off exoticpets4U.com.

  My dad tumbles into the room. He stops dead when he sees me.

  “Oh, hi! Erm. Do you want to come and sit down?”

  Masses of sugar, mega-carbs, and no standing up? This one must be bad.

  “I’ve got something to tell you, Millie,” my dad says. “Don’t worry. It’s all good! It’s just a small adjustment to everyday life!”

  Dad looks down. It is not all good. Your mouth can tell lies, but your body cannot. This is what detectives in murder shows completely rely on. You touching your ear, you looking down, your right leg twitching a bit—it all says MASSIVE GUILT.

  I sit down, and Granddad cuts me a slice of cake. Not a slice; he cuts me a quarter of the cake. It thuds into my dish like a creamy landslide of doom.

  “The thing is,” Dad says quietly, “I’ve got the opportunity of a lifetime. It’s running a karaoke bar and having a part share in it, too!”

  Perhaps I’ve got it all wrong. This is actually phenomenal news for Dad. He’s been looking for full-time work for ages and I know that he’ll …

  “The thing is, it’s not here. It’s in Ibiza.”

  Oh. I got it right. My dad is leaving. AGAIN. And just when I thought I’d got him back.

  Sometimes, at moments like this, my whole body has this thing where it can buffer entire chunks of information. My mouth decides it’s not needed and I go completely silent. I think about what has just been said. Slowly.

  Dad.

  Who has never been around much.

  Is going away AGAIN.

  Just when I am doing something that should make him really proud. Something different. Something that shows him that I’ve grown up a bit.

  And I’ve dealt with parts of my anxiety, which used to mainly leave me in a corner somewhere or in
my Zen Loo.

  This is not fair. Or right. And I should be used to it, but I am not.

  Suddenly my emotional coma ends. I get very angry, and have a brain blurt. Everything comes out. It’s a full-on emotional projectile spew.

  “Why, Dad? Why would you do this? Why would you choose to listen to people singing Katy Perry songs very badly ALL NIGHT rather than be here with me? It does NOT seem to me to be a good reason to leave your daughter AGAIN. And Ibiza is hours away!”

  “It’s only a few hours!” Dad semi-shouts.

  “It’s a few hours IN A PLANE, Dad! It’s not like just getting on a bus with some fries!”

  At this point my granddad decides that he wants to remind me that you shouldn’t eat food on public transport as it can make other people feel “very ill” and that, frankly, he’d ban hot food on planes, too. This is a completely unnecessary thing to say when your own dad has decided he’s abandoning you JUST as you were getting a bit closer again. Granddad realizes this and shrinks a bit. I stare at him with a sort of look that tries to encompass all the things that I’m feeling, but it just ends up in a grimace that probably looks rather frightening, I can tell, as Granddad slams another piece of cheesecake on my plate. I now have more cheesecake than it’s possible to eat in one sitting. To be fair I could normally very easily polish all of it off, but not now. My stomach is doing a full roller-coaster thing.

  Dad continues. “You’re back at Mum’s house. You’re settled. You’ve even got your own career. How do you think it makes ME feel seeing that my own daughter can create a better business than me?”

  This makes me burn red ALL OVER.

  “Are you saying that you are going to have to leave the country because I’ve managed to do something good?”

  At this point, just when I thought things couldn’t get any worse, Aunty Teresa explodes into the room, comes over, and nearly suffocates me with one of her bear hugs.

  Teresa bleats, “I understand, Millie. I understand what it’s like to have a dad who doesn’t fully support you!”

  This starts another argument between Granddad and Teresa. She tries to claim that she couldn’t make her ghost tours or her ice cream van work because Granddad wasn’t fully behind them. This isn’t fair. Granddad has always let his kids do their own thing. He just rightly pointed out that Teresa’s haunted “Ice Scream” dessert idea was the worst idea ever, as no one on earth wants to try vampire flavor with a squirt of chili sauce.

  Eventually, Dad yells, “Right, EVERYONE needs to calm down!”

  This sets me off again. “Why should we be calm because YOU say so?! You play ‘Dad’ when you want to, and then you’re off again. And I put up with it because what else can I do, and I’m—”

  “Emotionally sophisticated for your age,” Teresa interrupts.

  “Er. Yes,” I reply. To be honest, I’m not sure I am, but I don’t care right now. “But I’m not happy about it. In fact—”

  Suddenly Granddad taps a dessert spoon very loudly on the cheesecake dish. He shouts, “RIGHT! Let’s ALL stop and think a minute before we ALL say something that we’ll regret! Teresa, I’ve done nothing but support you. What you just said isn’t fair at all, girl.”

  Teresa slumps in the armchair. “Nothing I do goes right. It’s not your fault, Dad. Even the Breakfast Calzones failed. I thought they were a dead certainty. Who wouldn’t want egg, sausage, bacon, and ketchup in one convenient folded fried pizza thing at six a.m.?”

  Teresa is deadly serious. I’m thinking probably quite a few people.

  “The point is, Millie,” my dad says as he tries to get back to the point, “all our schemes have sort of come to nothing, and we need jobs that pay. Proper jobs! Real businesses that are viable and can WORK!”

  “I’m going to retrain,” Teresa announces, “as a paramedic or a nurse. I’m doing a first aid course first. You know. The basics. Cuts. Scrapes. Then I’ll go on to the harder stuff. Restarting brains and hearts and what to do if someone is bitten by a rabid squirrel. I was going to try to be a doctor, but I don’t think I’m up to it.”

  Aunty Teresa managed to kill a cactus that an expert in plants had previously described as indestructible. I don’t know if this is the right move for her or if I’m being a bit mean.

  Granddad sighs. “I’m not getting any younger. My children could do with some growing up a bit!” No, he’s not getting any younger, but he doesn’t seem to be getting any older either. He should probably do a skincare vlog. Bar some creases around his eyes, he looks about fifty.

  Dad does his forced smiley thing. “By doing this, Millie, I can provide for your future. For your education. You’ll want to go to university. That doesn’t cost peanuts. This cheesecake is wonderful by the way, Dad!”

  “Forget the flipping cheesecake!” This is how angry I still am—dessert has become completely irrelevant. “I don’t have to go to college. You’ve done okay!”

  Dad looks sad and chases his food around the plate. “Oh, Millie. No, I haven’t. I’m living with my dad! I couldn’t even get a rental. I’ve got nothing to show for my life except for a suitcase of mainly neon clothes and lots of very rare vinyl.”

  I think that makes my dad sound very cool, but I accept that you can’t live off your music collection. Especially when you are old. Perhaps I am being really selfish. Everyone has the right to pursue their dreams. Even parents. I should grow up a bit, too, really. I’ve coped without Dad before. I’ve coped without him being around for most of my life.

  Dad brightens up. “Look, Millie, you are getting to the age where you can come out and see me. We’ll have a ball! You can do some karaoke. Bring Lauren!”

  At this point Dad starts singing something I’ve never heard of in my life about jumping around. Teresa joins in.

  I give Dad a hug. I’d rather listen to karaoke than do karaoke and that’s saying something. I’ve heard Aunty Teresa try to sing Lady Gaga’s “Poker Face.” A lot of people did need medical attention after that. Perhaps she could create her own patients. Sing to them and then treat them after, when they are in a critical ear condition.

  I always make lousy jokes when I’m feeling blue. Get a grip, Millie.

  #LettingPeopleGo

  When I get home, it’s very quiet. Too quiet. I want to talk to Mum about Dad leaving, but there’s lots of angry whispering for some reason. Dave is sitting on the bookcase pretending to read all the titles. She has a sixth sense when it comes to human arguments. She gets out of the way and hides between the Encyclopedia of the Oceans (squid are evil) and the Pop-Up Guide to Dinosaurs (Mum had it as a kid. It’s HUGE and out of date. It doesn’t mention the comet that finished them all off).

  Comets. Don’t think about comets that wipe out entire species, Millie. Not just before bed.

  I need to talk to someone.

  Getting a signal isn’t as hard these days. Mum has souped up the wireless and gone on a decent plan. This is partly because of me and partly because she’s realized there’s loads of documentaries about the Royal Family available online. She goes to sleep watching The Crown. She’s trying to work out what season Prince Harry is going to become involved. Never, NEVER say a bad word about Harry and Meghan in this house. You will get a full twenty-minute talk on how they are everything the Royal Family has ever needed. Mum defends Prince Harry with more passion than she defends me. If he vlogged from this house, she’d build him a studio.

  That is not me trying to say that Prince Harry would ever be a guest on my vlog, by the way, but I know Mum hopes that this will happen.

  I decide this is the perfect time to vlog. Loads of people don’t have their dads around. I’m not unusual. This is the sort of stuff that lots of subscribers (and potential subscribers!) understand and it could easily go viral.

  I feel bad for saying that, but it’s true.

  I stop in front of the bookcase. I remember what Lydia Portancia said: “Lots of Dave.” I need Dave for three reasons. First, I love her. Second, let’s be honest,
some people watch the vlog just for her. Third …

  Lydia Portancia really scares me. That’s the truth.

  Whatever, I need Dave.

  The old treats don’t always work with Dave anymore. I creep downstairs and get some tuna in super-thick creamy mayonnaise. Dave goes crazy. Of course, she can read. She knows what she’s about to get. Dave follows me upstairs to my room and follows me to my desk. I open the can of tuna and put it in the corner. Dave goes to dive for it but I scoop her up in my arms and hold her tight to me.

  I put the phone on and begin to record.

  Okay. Hello. Funny time to be talking, but I’ve just heard a bit of a bombshell. Basically Hashtag Help, my dad is off AGAIN!

  So tonight, my dad told me he was going to live abroad and I’m gutted. Really GUTTED because he’s only just got back and now he’s leaving again. We’ve never really lived together for long but I was really enjoying him being part of my life again. I get it, but.…

  At this point Dave has had enough of being patient and attempts to punch me in the chin. I let her go immediately. You can’t argue with her. Especially not when she has her claws fully extended. Currently, to her, I am torturing her with gourmet foods. She’s had enough. She wants out.

  Sorry, I’ll be honest with you. There’s a can of tuna over there and Dave likes a late cheeky snack. Well, we all do really, don’t we?

  But … my dad’s going for all the right reasons. He can’t get a job here and he’s got the opportunity of a lifetime. It’s HARD but the—I know, I hate saying it—SENSIBLE side of me says it’s the right thing to do.

  And as you’ve just seen with Dave, you can’t hold things back from exploring new opportunities or from tins of tuna in a creamy mayonnaise. You’ve got to let people do what they think is right for them, I suppose. Whether that’s karaoke bars in Ibiza or seafood.