by Paula Byrne
I believe we are sending our children damaging messages about the need to be ‘flattered and followed’ – it really is appalling that we’re creating a society in which children, and many adults to boot, crave constant validation on social media. Surely the half-life is the one where you feel the need to be flattered and followed, not the one in which you are not flattered and followed. This compulsion to live one’s life through the eyes of others is just crazy
I don’t know who the stalkers and/or trolls were and I don’t know who wrote the letter, but I can think of a few possibles as, sad to say, there is a lot of ill-feeling around at the moment. I’ve been here for a fair while, but sometimes I think this school is a nest of vipers.
*
‘There’s been another anonymous letter, Bee.’
‘Oh Lordie, poor you. What is wrong with people? There’s just so much Puckish intrigue in Blagsford.’
‘It’s a bit more serious than that, Bee,’ Lisa protested. ‘This is someone really trying to bring us down. I feel sick to my stomach. Edward’s furious with me.’
‘Did they invoke your Tweets, like last time?’
‘Yes, so I guess you are going to tell me off for tweeting. That’s what Edward keeps doing.’
‘You know my feelings about Twitter,’ said Belinda primly. ‘Besides, I like old-fashioned letters on proper note-paper.’
‘Well I bloody don’t like old-fashioned letters. Look what they’re doing to me.’
‘Twitter is not the answer. It’s a form of premature mental ejaculation. Why should any of us believe that we are intrinsically interesting? It’s all part of this Me, Me, Me celebrity culture. I suppose in the world of social media we are all celebrities. Except that most of us are not. Twitter gets you followers, and Facebook finds you friends. But what is that all really about? Are they really your friends? And I’m sorry, but I think you’re tweeting to keep some sort of contact with Sean. Direct Message him if you’re still intent on contact.’
God, you couldn’t get anything past Belinda. But Lisa wasn’t going to admit to it. Furthermore, she would never DM Sean. Far too risky, as his wife could easily hack his account. An innocent-seeming tweet to the whole world was much safer than a DM or a text, which risked discovery. Lisa was surprised that Bee knew about DMs. She was always full of surprises. She might look and sound old-fashioned, but she was anything but.
‘Bee, I like Twitter. People spend a long time creating the perfect tweet. I think it’s a bit like a haiku. There’s a discipline in making every syllable count, in expressing yourself in 140 characters. People who share your values retweet fascinating articles that I wouldn’t have time to find. It’s like being able to sit and have a chat with people who share an interest no matter where you are or how solitary your workspace. I hear about new exhibitions, calls for conference papers, how fashion is regarded in the media, refuting silly “news” pieces, especially on corsets, for example. Sharing professional opinions on dress history about exhibitions, films, TV shows, books. No wonder I love it.’
Bee was unimpressed.
‘It’s not real, Lisa. It’s a substitute world for real friendships, real people, real communities. Twitter’s just as full of fake friends as it is of fake news.’
‘I disagree. I feel like it’s a way to communicate with my female friends. Lots of us don’t have the time for anything more than a quick tweet. It keeps us close, and women are so funny on Twitter. When I’m writing away on my computer, I love it when an amusing Tweet drops in. It’s really entertaining, if you don’t take it too seriously. You should try it.’
‘No thanks. Lots of women get abused on Twitter, Lisa. Much more than men do. It gives damaged people a forum to bully and abuse women.’
‘I know that. J. K. Rowling and Mary Beard get the most toxic Twitter abuse, but they keep on tweeting. And they put down their trolls with great skill and wit. And why should they be silenced? You’re supposed to be the ardent feminist.’
‘It’s addictive, and they’re giving the abusers what they most desire: attention.’
‘And I suppose you think that’s what I’m doing? But how else do I respond to an anonymous hater? I don’t want them to think I’m weak, or that they’ve got to me.’
‘But that’s precisely what you’re doing. Giving them oxygen, giving them air-time. Perhaps dignified silence is more powerful.’
That was the problem with Lisa Blaize. She didn’t really do dignified silence. She had always been the one at school sticking up for the bullied kids. She would not allow herself to be intimidated. And she wanted revenge on the person who was hurting Edward. She changed the subject, partly because she knew that Bee was right: she was addicted to Twitter.
CHAPTER 21
‘I’m Not a Troll’
Lisa knew it was another one. She wanted to throw it straight in the bin, but Edward insisted on donning a pair of gloves to avoid smudging any fingerprints, slitting it open with his antique paper knife, and poring over it for clues.
‘Elementary,’ he said, examining the postmarks. ‘This has a second-class stamp and the one that came three days ago was first class. They were posted on the same day.’
It was indeed a continuation of the previous rant.
I’m going to get a little bit more personal now, at risk of you thinking you have a second deranged ‘troll’ or ‘stalker’, but I’m not a troll, not a stalker, and have no intention of looking at your tweets again. Twitter is an efficient way of promoting one’s work and networking with people who share one’s interests so I wouldn’t want you to go running scared from it, but I do question the motive for, and wisdom of, some of the very personal things you share on Twitter. I don’t know anyone else who does that in the same way and to the same extent. I find it very unusual (a more cynical person would say it is a bit weird!).
I have no envy of your life or Edward’s life at all, Lisa, I genuinely don’t; quite the reverse, in fact. I am extremely happy and fulfilled in my own life, but I think that Twitter is leading to a situation where people are living their lives through the eyes of others all the time and need constant validation and praise. We all of us need to question this. The people who use social media most effectively are those who have acute self-awareness and a really sharp wit. If you don’t have those things, you can come a cropper and look self-obsessed and deeply insecure.
I think that the person who wrote the letter pinned to the noticeboard was out of order in many ways, especially when it came to comments about your physical appearance. I was reminded of the way that Mary Beard got so much criticism on Twitter. It’s very mean to pick on anyone for the way they look, but in our misogynistic society middle-aged women are an easy target.
There are a lot of writers and other very successful people out there who only use Twitter for work-related matters, and who, no matter how successful, don’t succumb to self-praise. Often, they get an agent to handle their Twitter account for them, thus avoiding the cringeworthy, attention-seeking that some people succumb to. The person who wrote the letter I found was complaining about a certain childish attention-seeking, and I wholly agree with that sentiment even though it was expressed in such an unrestrained way. The truth is, no one reading that letter could fail to see where the writer was coming from.
I didn’t think I would end up joining the ranks of those who’ve been moaning about you on Twitter, Lisa, but there we are. I had to see your tweets at first hand to believe what everyone was saying. I’m not sure what to do with the letter I rescued from the noticeboard, because some of the comments scrawled on it might upset you. But I think I should probably return it to you and Ed. Either that or just destroy it.
Unlike the person who wrote the letter I found, I don’t give a fig about Blagsford’s reputation (it will survive all of us, of that we can be sure), but I do care about the damage Twitter is doing to us and our children.
I think we should all try to resist the whole egomania thing if only for the sake of the
next generation and their mental health, as they are the ones not knowing what life was like growing up without Twitter and Facebook. You’ve got a following because teenage girls are interested in fashion, and I’m not going to deny that you’ve won yourself a bit of a reputation with your book and your Alexander McQueen piece in the paper. You can lead the way, Lisa, by behaving in a more grown-up fashion on Twitter. Admit you’ve been naïve, vain, self-centred, and a show-off, then you could help girls to feel they don’t have to be under so much pressure from social media to be seen to have the perfect life. You might just be listened to if you made a public repentance. You like to represent yourself as a good Catholic girl, so go on, have a Road to Damascus moment.
Yours, a true well-wisher
*
‘They’re not very kind people.’
‘Well, that’s assuming it is a staff member. But you’re probably right that no one comes to Blagsford in search of the milk of human kindness.’
‘These last two letters, though …’ He held them up, having retrieved the previous one, just to check that the typeface was indeed the same. He had read them both very slowly, twice.
Blimey, he thought, it goes on and on. I thought it was never going to end. Someone really is obsessed with her. He could understand that: they’d been married ten years, and he still couldn’t keep his hands off her. But it was very important not to panic her. He must play it down. He summarized the main points, the general thrust. He was good at that kind of thing.
‘I am staggered, I have to admit. I mean, the time it must have taken to write these two efforts. I wish I had that kind of spare time in my life. There is remarkable attention to detail. And to grammar. I must confess they are rather well written. Definitely someone educated, not your traditional spotty teenage troll in a darkened room. In fact, this latest letter is a textbook masterclass in deranged reasonableness.’
‘I’m glad you admire their style. That hurts, Edward. How can you be so calm about it? I’m scared – are you saying that someone really put that first spiteful letter about me on the noticeboard?’
‘No, Lisa. I’m not. Don’t worry, I have my spies in the staffroom. And remember, as far as I can tell, everything in all these letters has been based on information that you have posted on Twitter. This person doesn’t know you from Adam.’
‘I’m not so sure. Did you say that they knew I’m Roman Catholic?’
‘Don’t you exchange frequent tweets with a holy father? You might just as well say that detail proves it’s someone who doesn’t know you, because they’re assuming that your confessor is a Catholic when he’s really an Anglo-Catholic.’
‘And you say that it talks about middle-aged women. Maybe it is Moira.’
‘No, it’s not Moira. She’s not a woman hater.’
‘Yes, from your description of it, that first letter was steeped in misogyny.’
‘And you saying so on Twitter has clearly riled the author into writing the second and third ones.’
‘It’s the misogyny that makes me think it really is a member of staff. You know how the masters treat women. I’ve heard how they talk about women. It’s appalling. I don’t like your staff. All boys’ schools – they’re hideous. Not because of the boys, but because the men in the staffroom have arrested development. They’re just petulant schoolboys themselves.’
‘That’s just teachers, Lisa. You know what we’re like. You were once one yourself. Too much time in the classroom. We’re all socially dysfunctional.’
‘Speak for yourself. That’s why I got out. Because I didn’t want to end up like those dried-up losers.’
Then she put it out of her mind. She washed her hair, applied a rose-scented face mask, and rubbed oil over her body. The one good thing about the end of the affair and then the letter was the weight she had lost. She couldn’t eat when she was stressed. She’d also started jogging every day, instead of just when the mood took her. Running was the best antidote to Twitter and trolls and stalkers and not seeing Sean.
Lisa had always used clothes and make-up as armour, but now she stepped up her game. She couldn’t quite shake the suspicion that the troll was a member of staff. If that was the case, she wouldn’t let them see that they had got to her. Her weight loss was so extreme that she had to invest in a new wardrobe. She bought dresses by Chanel and McQueen. If she was going to be trolled by a disgruntled member of staff, she was going to look fabulous. She was going to age disgracefully.
CHAPTER 22
Malicious Communications
Dear Ms Blaize,
I am writing to you about your wonderful and informative book on fashion, which I bought last year and thoroughly enjoyed. Like you, I’ve always been fascinated by the relationship between fashion and feminism. In your book, you argue that in the late 18th century, women writers such as Mary Wollstonecraft, Mary Hays, and Mary Robinson (Hail the three Marys!) made powerful political statements about female fashion. How interesting that the chemise made fashionable by Mary Robinson in 1781 accorded women an unprecedented degree of liberation: physically and psychologically. I must say, it hadn’t really occurred to me that without restrictive corsets and hoops, women were able to move about more freely: so obvious!
But those chemise dresses were so daring. You could see everything when it rained, and the flimsy fabric clung to every curve and line.
I hope you won’t mind my saying that I once had a daughter who loved fashion. I thought of her when I read your book. Sadly, she died. She was suffering from anorexia nervosa, and she didn’t make it. Ms Blaize, I implore you to stop posting selfies on social media. It gives such a bad example to young girls like my daughter. Girls today are under such a lot of pressure to look a certain size, weight etc., they don’t need people like you adding to their misery …
*
Fuck, she really got me there, thought Lisa as she carefully folded the letter and popped it into a clear plastic cover. Clever. She’s upping her game.
‘Edward, there’s been another letter.’
‘Why did you open it, I thought you said that you never read anonymous letters?’
‘She invented a name and a fake address. I didn’t realize what it was until I opened it. It began as a kind of fan letter about my book, then suddenly veered into abuse. But she wrote about a daughter who died of an eating disorder. Can you imagine faking a dead daughter? You’d have to be really sick to do that.’
‘Well, what if it’s genuine? It’s by no means certain that it’s the same person.’
‘Edward, it is. I know it. Look at the address. No house number or road. God, she nearly had me there. She knows that I don’t read anonymous letters because I said so on Twitter. She’s desperate to get to me. To make sure that I read her vile invective.’
‘Here, give it to me. Let’s put it with the other ones. I think it’s time to call the police. If you’re right and it is a woman who is mentally ill, who knows what she’ll do next?’
*
‘Is there anyone who holds a grudge against you?’ the young community police officer asked.
‘Too many to list,’ Lisa laughed.
‘For example?’ asked the policeman.
‘Well, there’s Lee the maintenance man, for a start – I fired his mother. He always looks at me as if he wants to kill me.’
‘Lisa, don’t be ridiculous,’ said Edward. ‘Lee can hardly string a sentence together – we’re dealing here with someone highly educated, but with a psychotic streak.’
‘We are looking for two things in cases like this. Blackmail and physical threat to your person. I can’t see any evidence in these letters.’
‘What about the claim that the sapphires were a bribe?’
‘Possibly, sir, but we’d need a little more than that to make the case for forensic analysis – that sort of thing doesn’t come cheap, you know, and, to be honest with you, our budgets are very stretched.’
Lisa liked this young policeman. He was sweet and kind, and
took it all seriously. But he had, inadvertently, put himself in Edward’s bad books. Edward had been playing catch with George when the officer arrived, asking for Sir Edward Chamberlain. The young man nodded at the baby, ‘Your grandson, sir?’
‘No, my son,’ said Edward, curtly.
‘Oh, well done, sir!’ came the beaming reply.
Edward didn’t know what was worse. Being thought of as his son’s grandfather, or being congratulated for still having it in him to be a father. I’m not yet fifty, he thought. Has leadership aged me that much? Bloody cheek.
The policeman left his card and said that they should be in touch with him if matters escalated. ‘If there is a persistent pattern, sir, madam, you might be able to invoke the Malicious Communications Act.’
‘What’s that?’ Lisa asked.
‘It prohibits people from sending or delivering letters or other articles for the purpose of causing distress or anxiety.’
‘Our case exactly,’ said Edward.
‘But that would be a matter for your solicitor and the civil courts, not the police,’ came the disappointing explanation.
Once he had left, Edward and Lisa discussed possible suspects. She was annoyed that she had thrown the most recent envelope into the fire before realizing that its contents were not a fan letter. The postmark on the first letter had, tantalizingly, been too faint to read. But on the second and third ones it was Birmingham. No great distance from Blagsford. That told in favour of the staffroom and against Moira – there was no way she would have travelled from Guildford all the way to Birmingham. If it had been her, she would have posted the letter from the anonymity of London, where she worked. It had to be someone local. Could it be a parent or someone in Blagsford town? Lisa hadn’t moved in that world at all. Maybe she should start doing some digging.
