by Zoe Sugg
There have been some dark days when I’ve lost myself down the rabbit hole. I even started following Brooklyn Boy’s friend’s Twitter feed, which is just a steady stream of prank videos and the occasional pseudo-motivational tweet, like LIVE HARD, DIE YOUNG, almost always in shouty capital letters. That was a new low for me.
I’ve found that the best way to stop obsessing is to turn off every radio in sight, refuse to enter a car unless whoever’s driving puts on a cheery CD, and avoid the Internet as much as possible.
In reality, I can’t tell you how to stop obsessing over someone, because it’s one of those things that only you can do, and only when the moment is right. All I can say is be strong and fight the twitching urges to refresh everything all day, every day.
Girl Offline . . . never going online xxx
Chapter Forty-Eight
I banish my laptop to the bottom of my laundry basket to stop myself from looking at it, and decide to distract myself by finally unpacking. My suitcase has been sitting unopened in the corner of my room. I’m too afraid of the memories I might have tucked in the case alongside my socks and underwear. With a deep breath, I unzip the case and open it up—but then I get a blast of unmistakable aftershave: Noah’s. I push the case away from me like it’s on fire. Absolutely everything reminds me of him. Perhaps a brain transplant at this point would help?
I sigh and look out of the window. At least I have a great view from my window seat over the other pastel-coloured terraced houses; in the distance, I can just about see the whitecaps of the waves. Ordinarily, I might have picked up my camera to take a shot, but not today.
“All right, Pen?” Tom appears in my bedroom doorway, making me jump. I was so engrossed in my own pity party that I didn’t even hear the creak of the third-from-top stair that normally alerts me to anyone coming up to my room.
Tom comes in, wading through the dirty laundry sprawled all over the floor, and perches on the end of my bed.
“Hey. What’s up?” I slide off the window seat and sit down next to him.
“Your floordrobe is looking a little unorganized . . .” He kicks up a pair of crumpled jeans.
“Yeah, I know, it’s a bit of a mess. I just . . . urgh. I don’t feel motivated to do anything. Today is the first day I’ve brushed my hair this week. I don’t even remember when I last washed it.”
Tom grimaces slightly as I attempt to run my fingers through my knotty hair.
“Penny, you might not want to hear this, but you need to: you have to snap out of this funk you’re in. No one is worth this, and I hate seeing you this way.”
I look at Tom, almost expecting him to laugh or say he’s joking or do something that’s not so serious, but he doesn’t. “It’s like you’ve come back from this tour a different person. You need to find you again. I mean, do you even know where your camera is?”
“Of course I do!” I protest. “It’s . . .” But then I look around my room, and I can’t see my camera.
“Of course you don’t, because I stole it to see if you’d notice. You didn’t.” He takes it from behind his back, putting it in the space between us. It sits there, taunting me.
Remember when you used to like to use me? it says. Remember how many pictures of Noah you took with me? I almost want to throw up. I push the camera lens away.
“Keep it. I don’t want it.”
“What? Why? Is it because of Noah?”
I roll my eyes at him. “You’re a mind reader.”
He picks up the camera and places it firmly on my lap, wrapping my fingers round it. “You’re a Porter, and Porters don’t give up on their passions. They keep going until they succeed. Apart from the time Dad tried to learn to dive—that didn’t actually go down so well . . .” He lets out a little laugh. “If you’re going to waste away the rest of the summer, at least do it while doing something you love.”
I feel my whole body seize up. Tom’s words chip away at the wall I was happily building in my head to help myself get over Noah; the wall that I am now realizing I began building on the very first day of the tour, when everything started going wrong.
I don’t like crying in front of Tom. He’s strong and caring, but very practical, and deep down I wish I could be more like him. He sees the world very differently to me, and it’s so refreshing to hear him say these things.
“So? What do you think?”
I put the camera back down on the bed, prompting Tom to sigh. Then I look around my room and spot the magazine clipping I taped up on my wall—the one that labels me “girlfriend of Noah Flynn.” Once upon a time, that clipping made me proud. Now it makes me feel a little angry.
Tom’s right: I’m losing myself in all this. I am allowing myself to feel completely inferior but, actually, I also have things I’m good at. I take down the clipping and stare at it for few moments before scrunching it up in my hand and dropping it in my bin. I sit back down on the bed in silence.
Tom leans over and wraps his arm round me, giving me a squeeze. “Welcome back, Penny. The world is waiting for you.”
“Thanks, Tom. You’re the best.”
As Tom leaves I hear my phone go off on my bedside table. I’m hoping it’s Elliot on the train from London with a humorous rundown of his day.
Penny, I heard what happened. I’m SO sorry. I really hope you’re OK. Listen, this might cheer you up: I’ve got an offer you may want to accept. Take a look at your email. Leah xx
I put down the phone and rush over to my laptop, digging it out of my laundry basket. I pull up my email and, sure enough, there’s a message from Leah.
As I’m reading it, my mouth steadily drops open.
From: Leah Brown
To: Penny Porter
Subject: HUGE NEWS
Dear Penny,
I was really hoping that I’d get to ask you this in person, but, since that’s not possible anymore, email will have to do! This is all TOTALLY confidential, obviously, so please don’t let anyone know except your immediate family.
I didn’t get to tell you about my new album, but I’ve decided to call it Life in Disguise. I’ve been writing a lot of songs about how, in order to deal with fame, I’ve had to disguise so many things—my love life, my friends, and sometimes even my identity.
We shot the album cover with François-Pierre Nouveau, but I wasn’t happy with any of the pictures he took. They just all looked too staged. I want this to be natural. Light. Real.
So I had my design team mock up a cover using your photograph—the one you took of me in Rome, while I was in disguise. Do you remember? I absolutely love the picture; it is so perfect.
And it’s even more perfect on the front of my album cover.
Why not take a look for yourself?
Do you think I could use it? I’ve attached a contract—it contains details of the fee and royalties and other things. I can put you in touch with a lawyer if you want to get someone to look it over. Then, if you’re happy with everything, you can send me the high-res image and this can happen!
I really hope you agree that it looks perfect. You’re an amazing photographer, Penny!
I miss seeing your face on tour already. You can bet that as soon as I’m back in the UK I’ll be down in Brighton to visit you—and I won’t accept no for an answer!
Your friend,
Leah xx
My hand is shaking as I click on the attachment and open it.
There it is. My photograph of Leah, on her album cover. ON HER ALBUM COVER. They’ve cropped the top corner so you can’t tell that it was taken in Rome—and, even though she looks so different with her cropped bob and bright lipstick, there’s an aura round her that is distinctly Leah. Down at the bottom of the cover are the words LIFE IN DISGUISE in neat type, and Leah’s distinctive signature, with a heart on top of the a.
This is real.
Tom’s words echo in my brain: Do something you love. Photography is my passion. I can follow this dream.
I grab my phone and reply to Lea
h with a big string of emoticons that are barely able to describe the combination of excitement, honour, and amazement I feel.
I hit send, and my phone buzzes immediately.
But it’s not Leah or Elliot.
It’s Alex.
Penny, can we meet up?
Chapter Forty-Nine
I agree to meet Alex the next morning at the Flour Pot Bakery in the Brighton Lanes. I can see why he chose it: it’s the perfect place to have a quiet, private conversation. My fingers are tingling with anticipation. I’m not sure why Alex wants to speak to me. I swallow down the other feelings—the ones that are screaming BETRAYAL for meeting Alex behind Elliot’s back. But Alex had one other request for me, and that was to keep our meeting a secret until I’ve heard what he has to say.
A large part of me wants to tell Alex where to shove his meeting request, having seen how badly he hurt Elliot, but I’m also intrigued. Alex has become a friend to me over the past year—a good friend—and he deserves to at least be heard. I don’t have to like what he says, but I owe him enough to listen.
I walk into the bakery and lock eyes with Alex. He is sitting towards the back at a small table with a cappuccino.
It takes all the self-control I have to contain the look of surprise that threatens to spring to my face. Alex is the type of guy who usually makes a lot of effort on the appearance front. Elliot used to call him preppy-chic, even though it didn’t seem to fit with Alex’s day job at the vintage store. Today, though, it’s like I’m meeting a stranger. He looks forlorn, and his eyes are so empty and sad. He’s wearing a hoodie and I swear the cuffs have holes in them. His hair clearly hasn’t seen a shower—let alone any product—in days, and his cheeks are sunken. I immediately feel my heart swell for him. I haven’t looked much better myself over the past week and, as much as I love Elliot to pieces and he’s my number one, I can see Alex is taking this hard too.
“Thanks for meeting me, Penny,” he says, moving his rucksack to one side so I can sit down.
“Of course.” I drop down into the chair, and there’s a moment of awkward silence. “How are you doing? It’s all been a bit . . . difficult, hasn’t it?”
“Difficult is probably an understatement.” He lets out an exasperated sigh and takes a sip of his cappuccino.
I decide to get straight to the point—I know that Alex wants to speak about something, and I don’t want to dart around the issue. “So, what was it that you wanted to talk to me about?” I look at him and muster a smile, hoping he feels able to talk openly with me.
“I’ve screwed up, Penny. We both know that. Elliot is everything to me, and I threw it all away because I was too afraid to deal with my emotions and I cared too much about what everyone else would think. This relationship hasn’t been easy for me—Elliot is the only guy I’ve ever been with.” I watch him as he swirls the cappuccino froth with his spoon. “After everything ended with us, I finally told my close friends and family that I’m gay.”
My breath catches in my throat. “Really? I know what a big step that is for you. How did it go?”
A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth and he shrugs. “Honestly, I don’t know what I was so scared of. They’ve all been so supportive and are happy for me. It turns out that the only person I was ever hiding from was myself.”
“Wow, Alex. I’m really proud of you. That’s amazing,” I say, and I mean every word. I can’t believe how far he’s come.
“Yeah, but now the one person I want to tell won’t listen. I’ve been trying to contact Elliot and he won’t respond to any of my calls, texts, or emails . . .” He rests his chin in the palm of his hand and gazes at me, his face full of both hope and despair.
My heart goes out to him. Elliot is an all-or-nothing kind of guy. He will be dive-in-at-the-deep-end-with-both-feet in love, but he can also be ruthless in shutting people out. He just builds a fortress round his feelings that’s more impenetrable than Gibraltar.
“Elliot takes a bit of time to warm up . . . he’s like Elsa from Frozen.” I smile, but Alex doesn’t smile back. Clearly now is not a good time for Frozen references. “I just mean it takes a lot to make him come round. He’s really stubborn.”
“You think I don’t know that?”
“I know he really likes you, Alex. I’ve never seen him as happy as when he was with you, and I mean that.”
Alex leans back in his chair. “What will it take for him to listen to me? If he won’t answer my texts or calls, what else can I do? I don’t want to just show up at his house, because he’ll only shut the door in my face.” Alex sighs dramatically—almost as dramatically as Elliot does. “I need to do something that will capture his attention.”
“Something big. A grand gesture.”
“Something epic.” Alex reaches forward and grabs my hand. “That’s why I asked you here today, Penny. Will you help me? I need you on board if I’m going to have a hope of pulling this off. You’re his best friend, and you know him better than anyone.”
It’s clear that Alex is really regretting his actions, and I know Elliot isn’t over this relationship either. I nod; I’ll do it. “Maybe I can take him on a “decoy day,” so he thinks he’s doing something with me but actually you have a surprise planned for him?”
Alex sits bolt upright and his eyes are as big and bulging as a pug’s. I can sense the optimism rising in him and, before I get swept away, I just have to say one more thing: “Whatever you end up doing, he needs to know you’re serious about being in a real relationship, out in the open.”
“Of course. I want to be with him. I want to show the world I’m in love with Elliot Wentworth!” He says it so loudly the other bakery customers turn and stare at us.
I laugh. “Save some of that for the surprise! This is so romantic. You need to get your thinking cap on.”
“Well, I have a few ideas already . . .”
Alex and I sit for another half an hour, thinking about every aspect of Elliot’s surprise. It brings me so much joy to see Alex motivated and passionate about winning Elliot back. By the end of it, we have a list of Elliot’s absolute favourite things, including (but not limited to):
- sunsets
- the beach
- fashion
- general knowledge
- things with sparkles
“There’s got to be some way to pull this all together,” says Alex. “The sooner we can, the better, as I don’t think I can wait much longer.” He puts his hand on top of mine. “Even if . . . even if he doesn’t take me back—which I would deserve, I know—I want him to know what he’s done for me. How he’s made me want to be true to myself.”
This is what true love is: admitting that you’ve made a mistake, and going out of your way to make it right. Even if Elliot doesn’t take Alex back, at least he’s trying. If even half of what we have planned comes off, it’s going to be like something from a movie.
I can’t help but think of Noah.
Why doesn’t he want to make it right?
Chapter Fifty
When I leave the bakery, I head straight for To Have and To Hold, Mum’s wedding boutique in the Lanes. I need to ask for her advice on the Elliot surprise.
Mum is always the best person to go to at times like this. She is a true expert when it comes to big celebrations and planning (hence her successful wedding-planning business), but she’s great at the small stuff too.
Mum and Dad are hopeless romantics with each other. Dad will often come home with a bunch of flowers, or a random card filled with love and admiration for Mum or, sometimes, an inside joke that neither Tom nor I understand. Mum will always make sure she gets Dad’s favourite treats from the bakery for dessert, and runs him baths with scented bubbles, which he secretly loves.
Their over-the-top PDA used to make me cringe, but now it melts my heart. I hope that, whoever I end up with, we always take the time to be romantic with each other, just like my parents. They are my ultimate relationship goal.
I take
a deep breath. I haven’t been back to the shop since before I left for Berlin, and my nerves are tingling. I take a moment to shake them off, then head into the shop.
Mum is finishing up a consultation with a bride. There are scraps of tulle and strands of pearls everywhere, and the bride is grinning from ear to ear. “I love all of these ideas, Dahlia—I can’t believe it’s only a few weeks away!”
“Time flies . . .” Mum catches sight of me in the doorway and her eyebrows rise in surprise. “Oh, Penny! You’re here! Have you met Miss Young?”
I extend my hand. “Nice to meet you.”
“It must be so nice to work surrounded by so many images of love and happiness all the time!” She disregards my hand and kisses me on both cheeks instead. I’m used to this from brides—they tend to be quite touchy-feely. Before I have time to say goodbye, she’s out the door.
“Penny, it’s so nice to see you here!” says Mum, squeezing me tightly into a hug.
I’ll admit it: I’ve been avoiding the shop. There’s probably no place anyone would want to go to less after a breakup than a wedding haven. All those symbols and images of love and happiness . . . Yeah, that’s not exactly what I’ve needed.
But I’m surprised. I don’t feel the urge to throw up while I’m in here. Maybe it’s because I have a mission now. Mission: Get Alexiot Back Together.
“Darling, did you have a nice coffee with Alex? Is he OK? I can’t imagine he’s coping well. He walked past the shop earlier in the week and he looked terribly blue.” Mum starts gathering up armfuls of tulle. “In emotion, I mean, not clothing.” She winks at me. “Can you turn the sign on the door, sweetie? If another bride comes in here we won’t have time for lunch! Now, I know it must be around here somewhere . . .” She flings open one of the cupboards and starts rooting through it.