#Help

by Rae Earl

  “I don’t think they had scented candles in Victorian times.” Even for Teresa, this sounds crazy.

  “Whatever!” she says excitedly. “You can freestyle. Shiver a bit. You can moan too. It’ll be really –” and Teresa pulls this super serious face and twiddles her fingers – “eerie.”

  Usually, I’d be shouting, “NO WAY!” but my mouth hurdles over my brain and says yes. Perhaps it’s about time I did something for someone else. I want to take my mind off everything. Ghosts will do that. And let’s be honest – I’ve reached peak dork on the vlog. What could possibly be worse than that?

  “Just promise there’ll be no photos shared on the Internet. ANYWHERE.”

  Teresa slightly looks away from me. “I can’t promise that completely, as anyone can be snapped these days, but I will tell people not to take photos of the match girl because it’s dangerous while our workers are channelling spirits.”

  “Just to be clear, Teresa,” I say, “I’m not pretending to channel anything. I’m only doing this as a favour.”

  “I know.” Teresa hugs me very tightly. “And I really appreciate it.”

  That’s not completely the truth though. Doing something, ANYTHING, will take my mind off things. Even if that anything is pretending to be a starving under-age worker in a vintage dress.

  “Oh,” Teresa adds quickly, “by the way, we start tomorrow night. Hope that’s OK for you. Here’s your tray. All you have to do is tie the ribbons around your neck and pretend to be ill. Try some flour on your face. That trick regularly got me off school, I looked so ill. I’ll leave your costume out for you. See you at six outside the old church that’s been converted into a posh block of flats – you know the one – opposite the driving-test centre.”

  Teresa disappears very quickly.

  I may die a social death but not an actual death. Being a starving Victorian match girl will hopefully remind me that life isn’t so bad, even though, at the moment, it feels terrible.

  I’m having a sensible burst again. I’m still in there somewhere!

  #GHOSTBUSTERS

  For most of Thursday, I opt for a social coma at school. I’m physically present but not mentally there. Lauren is still away and I have enough hiding spots to avoid all boys. I spend all of lunch in the Zen loo. Lovely Gracie was worried I was in there too long. I told her I’d been having a nap.

  I was glad to get home, until I saw what I had to wear for the ghost tour.

  There are no two ways about it. I’m dressed up in an old lace nightie and cardigan, with batter mix on my face. I look like the ghost of a pancake. Not of a little match girl. Also I’m very, very cold. So I may be dying an actual death too. Teresa has made sure I’m on a main road. This is great for personal safety but not great for how many people are staring at me. I wish she would hurry up.

  Just as I’m seriously thinking of packing everything in and going home, I hear Teresa and the group of ghost hunters coming towards us. She’s telling them that the church couldn’t be turned into flats until they’d rid the place of the ghost of a sad, weeping match girl who died of cold in the graveyard. I stiffen up, knowing this is my cue to start moaning and acting generally very ill indeed.

  Teresa turns the corner and says, “Behold the little match girl! See her terrible rags. We will tell the horrible story about how no one would buy her matches and how she died because of the cruelty of Victorian society. And how she’s back, haunting these posh flats because she wants to remind the rich people of today that having really nice Ikea lampshades and probably underfloor heating isn’t enough. You need to be a NICE PERSON too.”

  I know for a fact that Teresa is saying this because she is jealous that she couldn’t afford one of the posh flats.

  At this point, I say in a really feeble voice, “Buy a match from a poor match girl. Buy a match…”

  As I slump like a really ill person, I notice a figure towards the back of the ghost-hunter crowd. Staring at me and flashing me a smile that would probably bring a very dead person back to life is Danny. And two people that look a lot like they could be his parents.

  And Erin.

  And I’m dressed as a match girl with food smeared all over my face.

  I’ve probably had worse days in my life but I can’t remember one.

  I wave at Danny. He bounds over to me, leaving Erin with his parents.

  “Hello,” I whisper and pull a “this is actually really embarrassing” face.

  Teresa growls at me, “Ghosts don’t wave at their earthly friends!”

  But just as Teresa tries to shoo Danny away, a man in a suit races out from the posh flats and starts yelling, “Oi! YOU! Get lost. Spreading rumours about this place could take ten grand off my property price! Move yourself!”

  Aunty Teresa shouts, “This is a public right of way and I can tell people what I like!”

  Someone in the crowd yells, “Is this not true then?”

  “Of course it’s not true!” the man in the suit says. “She’s making money off of gormless tourists like you!”

  Teresa goes quiet and then says, “You can’t prove that!”

  At this point, all the crowd starts tutting and heading their separate ways. Teresa says, “No … no! Look! Look at the match girl! She’ll die without your fee.”

  Just about everyone rolls their eyes at Teresa.

  “Why didn’t you take the money at the start?!” I ask her.

  Teresa is furious. “I didn’t think my match girl would start chatting up the punters!”

  I’m adding Teresa to the “Doesn’t like Millie much at the moment” list.

  Danny, who has hung around, ignores the fact I have gone bright red under my pancake mix. “Can I buy some matches please?” Then he winks.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask him.

  “I like to find out about social history. I like to know the facts about different places.”

  “Me too,” I say. “For example, I totally know what to do when a randy elk charges at you after you’ve stared at his girlfriend.”

  “What’s that?” Danny says.

  “Run!”

  I think at this point I am both wise and slightly hilarious.

  However, I can see that Danny is wondering why I’ve started going on about elks.

  Why have I started going on about elks?

  “Anyway,” he says, “we’re, er, going for a pizza with my parents. Want to come too?”

  It’s the right thing to do but it’s obvious he doesn’t want me to come. Erin and me. It’s just not going to work.

  “Er … no. I’d better get home and check that my aunty is OK.” I also think eating a margherita dressed as a Victorian match girl may not be a good look.

  “OK,” Danny says, sort of gratefully. “Catch you another time.”

  “Yes!” I say and I wave goodbye to him and Erin. Erin doesn’t wave back. She’s too busy taking photos.

  Goodbye, perfect man. Matches, elks and the fact I’m a useless person have come between us but that is just today. The worst day in history. This is like the last day in Pompeii when Vesuvius exploded. I am currently breathing in hot volcanic rock of embarrassment and I’m dying. My fossilized remains will be discovered in 2,000 years from now and people will know that I died of terminal spoon.

  I just need to get home and talk to someone.

  #OVERANDOUT

  By the time I get home I’m just about over everything and I don’t care. I wipe the batter off my face, get changed out of my costume and go to the shed. Dave follows me in. She’s still scratching and disappears behind me to tackle her fleas in peace.

  I’ve learnt a lot these last few days. I feel I could share something REALLY useful. And who cares about subscribers or trolls or any of it. This could save someone from what I’ve suffered. It’s time for a really REAL vlog. I turn on the camera.

  “Millie here. #Help. #Help me.

  “Help me because I NEED help.

  “I’ve decided I want to v
log about friendship and relationships and everything and then I’m NEVER vlogging again. And this time, I’m going to be totally honest with you.

  “The fact is, I feel like a liar. I’m giving all this advice and I can’t get my own life sorted.

  “I’m all glow-y online but offline I’m a massive scribble of manky-la. Here’s what happened today. Basically, I was meant to be acting like a Victorian match girl for my aunty Teresa’s ghost tour. And while I’m dressed like that, I see … someone I really like, and instead of saying something GOOD, I start talking about Canadian ELKS. WHY? WHY? WHY? It’s like my brain left my body.

  “But on here, I pretend I know stuff and that I’m the one that can give YOU advice. I can’t! I mess almost everything up. And not just boys but …

  “The IMPORTANT STUFF.

  “I know some of you know me or sort of know me. But do you? And do I really know me? The thing is, and please don’t think I’m not grateful for all your feedback, I’m spending so much time thinking about this and what I’m going to do on this vlog that I’m missing things in front of me. I’m sorry. This sounds so twonk. And yes, this is a bit of a meltdown but I have someone in my life I’ve let down so badly. Not by failing to be scary on a ghost tour or by talking about Canadian mammals to a boy I like. I’ve been ignoring someone who really, REALLY needs me. AND someone who really likes me. And I’ve been … well, I haven’t been fair.

  “I have someone in my life who has parents who aren’t bad but they are useless. Anyway, she’s always been there for me but when I needed to put her first, I didn’t. Whereas she’s been there for me in EVERYTHING. From the time I got really worried about earthquakes to every test and exam we’ve ever done at school, when I always think I’ve done badly. I know I’m sensible but I’m also a very annoying worrier. You can be both at the same time. Sometimes, one leads to another. The more you know, the more scary the world is.

  “BUT ANYWAY…

  “Anyway, the point is, I didn’t give her enough time because of THIS. My vlog. You. And you are magnificent. You are lovely. I can’t say that enough. You’re not the problem. It’s me. It’s simple. I need to just make sure I don’t miss out on people and actual life. I know, I KNOW, I sound like my mum. I probably sound like your mum too and seriously, I’m not giving a lecture here and neither am I saying I’m giving this up for good. I’m not. I LOVE doing this. I’m just putting life in the right order for now. The order that I think it should be…

  “And SEE, this is the real me.

  “And I want to say sorry to a person I hope is watching this.”

  (I get a bit teary at this point.)

  “So this is #Help over and out. I’ll see you again sometime. Just please know that I haven’t got all the answers and I get a lot of stuff wrong. I’m off to put it right now. Well, in the morning. It’s late now and my cat needs flea treatment. Not glamorous but fact. Bye.”

  I upload it. This is probably leaving myself very open to lots of things. But I want Lauren to see it. And I want everyone to know I’ve messed up.

  I pick Dave up and go back to the house. Teresa and Dad are working out the new route for the ghost tour. They’re thinking of avoiding the posh flats altogether and using mainly graveyards instead. I hear Grandad saying, “The good thing about dead people is they can’t disrupt your ghost tour and, even if they do, that would be a blessing.”

  Grandad should vlog. He’s definitely the most sensible person in this house.

  Just as I’m about to put my head on the pillow, I get a notification that Mr Style Shame has posted a photo. When I go to his account, I can’t believe what I see.

  It’s a photo of me as a ghost. I look awful. The filter makes me look even worse. I don’t know why Mr Style Shame hates me and Loz so much at the moment. I’ve done NOTHING to him. He must be a dreadful sexist pig.

  I read what he’s written.

  Talk about #WashedOut. This far from Halloween, the ghost look is NOT attractive #FrightNight #MrStyleShame

  How would Mr Style Shame have seen me? There was hardly anyone there. Just a bunch of tourists, Danny and Erin and—

  ERIN.

  And FINALLY, I realize Mr Style Shame is ERIN. All this time, pretending to be so positive and mindful and wonderful. In reality, she’s just a troll with a really big following. She pretends to be a boy but it’s her. It MUST be her. She MUST be stopped.

  I comment underneath:

  It’s me in this photo @MilliePorter. I KNOW who you are “MR” Style Shame. You’ve made it obvious. You need to stop this NOW. Or I am going to tell everyone EXACTLY who you are and EXACTLY what you’re about.

  I lie back on my pillow and think this is the bravest thing I have ever done. I don’t care any more. I’ve had the worst day EVER. Let Erin say and do what she likes.

  I MUST sleep.

  #SUPERSTAR

  My phone goes off at 6.55 a.m. I’ve put it under my pillow and the vibrating wakes me up. It’s Lauren and she’s crying. “I’m SO sorry,” she wails.

  “No, I’m really sorry,” I say. And I’ve never meant anything more. I am.

  “I saw the vlog last night, Millie. I wanted to come round immediately but Dad wouldn’t let me. I’m so sorry.”

  “No! It’s me!” I shout. “I’m sorry!”

  And Lauren and me say sorry for the next five minutes because we both are, even though my “sorry” is more important than hers.

  Lauren then starts giggling. “It’s weird, isn’t it? You did that vlog and it was really just for me. And yet it’s gone viral and everyone in the world has seen it. I could tell you hadn’t planned it. It was perfect. An apology, some good advice and COMEDY GOLD!”

  I nearly choke on my tongue. “What?!”

  “It’s gone viral, Millie! Didn’t you watch it before you uploaded it?”

  “No!” I shout. “It said everything I wanted to and I didn’t care! I just wanted to make a point about you. I actually, GENUINELY, wasn’t thinking about shares or likes or subscribers.”

  “Go and watch it, Millie. It’s really funny – like properly hilarious.”

  “It’s not meant to be funny.” I feel quite offended.

  “But it is,” Lauren replies. “It’s EPIC!”

  I hang up and watch the vlog. I see a very upset and clearly emotional me saying things I really mean but I do sound a bit like a teacher. I’m also so involved in what I’m saying that I completely fail to notice Dave, who has slinked up behind me and spotted Grandad’s wading bird calendar lying on the bench.

  Dave doesn’t like birds. And she really doesn’t like ringed plovers. Even paper ones.

  When she spots the ringed plover, Dave decides to lift herself up on two legs and dance hypnotically from side to side. She’s better than the “Thriller” cat and she looks like she’s been trained by the world’s best choreographers. She then starts diving up and down on top of the plover, licking, head-butting it and twizzling her bum on it.

  Someone has relabelled the video – “INSANE cat goes mad behind seriously upset girl”. That version has over 75,362 views already.

  There are loads of comments. Mostly about Dave.

  Cat is EVERYTHING

  Need Dave. NOW.

  Sat in my pyjamas. School starts in 4 hours. Worth it…

  Fake

  THAT CAT IS INSANE

  Get cat on Strictly. Want to see her samba and Argentine tango

  Cat needs own channel

  Like if you’re watching this when you should be asleep! (612 likes.)

  Like if you’re watching this and you’d like to lose 10kgs on the Guava Diet! (No likes.)

  Finally, I’ve gone viral.

  For potentially all the wrong reasons, but it’s actually very sweet that some people enjoyed the message and not the sight of a cat doing the rumba while attacking something that looks like it’s wearing a feathery balaclava. So maybe Dave’s gone viral and I’ve—

  Wait. I’ve also got …

 
; 5,680 new subscribers!

  I scream. Teresa rushes in and wants to know what’s happening. I tell her I’ve gone viral. Teresa opens up the window and shouts, “MILLIE IS VIRAL. HEAR HER!”

  Grandad yells, “Is it contagious?! I can’t risk it. I had shingles two years ago.”

  The postman shouts, “I’m thrilled but I can’t deliver with this cat threatening me. There are laws against this, you know.”

  Me and Teresa jump up and down on the bed for a few minutes, then reality slaps me.

  Me going viral will lead to the following problems:

  • TOTAL laughs at my expense. I’ll never be able to move on from this and it will become legendary.

  • Danny deciding that I’m just about the worst example of girlfriend material that there could ever be.

  • Grandad going mad that Dave has trashed his calendar.

  • Mum thinking that something terrible is about to happen to me.

  • Erin…

  Erin. I check Mr Style Shame.

  The entire account has been deleted.

  It must have been Erin! I saw right through her and she went for the safe self-destruct option. I can’t quite believe it.

  My phone vibrates again.

  It’s Bradley. He doesn’t even say hello.

  “You know what you need to do, don’t you?” he almost yells. Enthusiasm (except for lifts) is unheard of in Bradley.

  “Yes. I’m thinking of moving to Paraguay and changing my name.”

  “I don’t think that’s necessary. All you need to do is make a vlog called Cats Happen, where you explain that life, like mad cats called Dave, is completely unpredictable and that you’ve got to roll with it and not worry too much. You can still give great advice. Get Dave in on it. I think it would be really funny. Laugh with the people laughing at you, Mills, and BUILD ON IT.”

  “Oh, because that’s so easy to do – especially with Dave the biggest cat diva ever!” I say. Bradley gets my inner sarcasm like no one else.