He stopped at Liberty one day and left with a tasteful slip dress by Alexander Wang, short enough to show her legs and loose enough to hide her bones.
‘Put it on,’ he cooed, pushing the package into her hand. He wanted to see her face illuminate the way it used to, back when they were happy. All he got in return was a weary, blank stare.
‘Isn’t this a bit austere for my taste?’ she said thanklessly.
‘Frankie, it’s a timeless classic.’
‘For the one thing I don’t have. Time.’ Ah, she was always so sharp. He smelt vanilla, rose and vomit as he enfolded her weak body in his arms.
‘Please, baby. Just put it on,’ he said softly, kissing her perfect ears.
‘I don’t want to,’ she whispered. The cancer had made her like this – weepy and prone to petulance. ‘I’m so tired.’
He unbuttoned her silk pyjama shirt slowly. ‘Don’t worry, I will help you. A new frock and a sunny walk will do you a world of good. Even Holly would say so.’
She was a vision in that dress, and as they walked down the street together, his hand clutching her arm, they looked like the couple everybody wanted to be. Him, slim and solemn in a tailored suit, and her, a thin sliver of light, quivering with energy. Women leered at Frankie as she walked past, wishing they too could be that skinny. If only they had known what had happened to get her there. Don’t worry, ladies, you’re always one terminal illness or unspeakable tragedy away from your goal weight. He wishes that time in their lives could have lasted forever, where she was so vulnerable and pliant, resting against the heel of his hand. Needing him.
Hanging around Paddington was a mistake tonight. Every woman, man, child walking past him makes him angry. ‘I fucking hate the lot of you,’ he whispers.
Seeing Holly one more time and knowing that the truth was out there wasn’t enough. He actually thought it would be. Just one more chance to fuck with her muddled little mind. Seeing the panic in her eyes did nothing either. The buzz from last time would not be sated. Even when he sat drinking coffee in the canteen and saw the news headlines, the buzz only dulled slightly. The world hates her now. He’s got what he wanted yet he still feels hollow, like he needs just that little bit more. Would he only feel at peace if he was able to bring Frankie back? Where is the feeling of release he needs so badly?
The neon destinations on the departure board in front of him shift and shimmer. Where to now? If only his next move could appear on a board, like Twyford, or Cardiff Central. Everything is gloriously uncertain. There is only one thing to hold on to. There are always new ways to hurt.
Chapter 33
Holly
The hatred is incessant. It hits from all angles, over and over. The ferocity of people’s imaginations is astounding. There are so many different ways they wish Holly would suffer and die.
It’s all too much to process. Holly just can’t make sense of it. She lines the facts up, one after the other. Yes, what she did could be conceived as wrong, but doesn’t everyone lie in some way on social media? People leave out their Friday nights alone, the pictures where their arms look fat or their face looks rounder than they imagine. That’s not reality, they say. Then they take a filtered selfie from an angle so high they may as well use a crane.
Holly wishes these outraged masses could have seen her in the beginning, shoving thirty bananas in her face a day and chewing on raw kale, all in a hysterical attempt to see some results. Foregoing bread, sugar, alcohol, meat and then nuts and grains. They weren’t there the day all her efforts finally fell into place and she began to glow. Yes, there were some lies, but the passion she felt for her diet was always true.
She knows she had her reasons, but now there is a lethargy, a sickness setting in. The only thing to do is sleep. Aided by a fistful of multi-coloured pills, Holly passes out open-mouthed and motionless until her spit blooms into a rash on her new, fragile skin. She’s untroubled by dreams or nightmares, and wakes in the same position she fell asleep in. Her heavy blinds have been pulled down, so there is no knowing what time it is.
Fuck you all.
She doesn’t understand this defiant new person settling into her skin. Anger darts through her veins as she reads every insult. The fear of being hated was the silent driver of every picture she took. It made her slap on extra make-up to appear pretty enough; it stopped her from saying anything too political; it made her post pictures of cuddly pets and hugs with fans. All to appear squeaky-clean and pliable. That’s the problem with the Internet these days. Everyone is locked in an evolving social experiment in cooperation, a delicate dance between fitting in and being noticed. Now that there is a mob out there baying for her blood, she’s beginning to realise that maybe it wasn’t hatred that she feared the most. It was being forgotten.
Her new phone lights up. It’s only Zanna. As in, it could only be Zanna. She hasn’t even given this number to her mother, who can’t seem to tell the difference between a concerned friend and a journalist.
‘Well, I’m ready to hear your warped fucking sob story now.’
‘Um, wow, OK. I’m free whenever.’
‘I’m outside, and I’ve got fresh spinach and coconut water, if that’s still your thing.’
‘What? Uh yes, of course it is.’
Holly opens the door so there’s only a small crack and Zanna slips in. The entrance to her apartment smells overwhelmingly of egg and urine. Any gifts from former sponsors and brands are conspicuously absent. A slap of blood stains the wall.
‘Meat eaters took to your wall the other day. Apparently, your fake little life turned people off animal products and they’ve had enough of your lies.’
‘That makes no sense.’
Zanna shrugs. ‘Does it have to?’
They try and make small talk but it’s impossible. What has Holly done besides binge-watch multiple series and sleep on various surfaces indoors? As for Zanna, she is swimming in her baggy Balmain T-shirt and a vein pulses threateningly on her pale forehead. Both are barely holding on. Seeing her so disempowered causes a physical ache in Holly. She’s responsible for this, and she has no idea how to make everything go back to the way it was. Once again, regret crawls along the surface of her skin. She’d do anything to scratch it out.
‘Can I offer you anything, Zan?’
‘The truth please. Neat, no mixer.’
‘OK, yes, the truth. But anything else?’
‘Just a glass of water.’
She’s making this as difficult as possible, but Holly tolerates it. Zanna has the right to a mild tantrum. At least she is here.
‘Well, your face is looking . . . better . . . at least.’ Better is not the word for it. Her skin is uneven and red, and her features a warped replica of how she used to look. It’s as if a child drew her face and while everything is there and intact it just looks a bit haphazard, a little off. Having someone see her, bandage free, makes her want to retch.
‘Thanks. I feel like shit. Anyway, you’re not here for that. The story is a bit complicated.’
‘Yeah, I’m struggling to see that bit. I mean, surely you just get a blood test, receive a diagnosis and then you are confirmed with having cancer.’
‘Your sarcasm is making this difficult.’
‘Well, your pathological lying isn’t aiding things either.’ They stare at each other for a moment in fury, now strangers.
‘I was told that I was at risk of cancer by a traditional doctor and needed to have a tumour in my breast removed.’
‘OK . . .’
A tumour she had removed and tested, only for it to be found benign.
‘After this, I walked away from normal medicine and managed my cancer risk with a holistic healer called Dr Ray. Because of this, there are no formal medical records that document my struggle with cancer, but it was present in my body. It just hadn’t manifested yet. Why would I make this up, Zanna?’
Dr Ray, a guy whose website she found online. They spoke once over Skype, bu
t other than that, she never saw him in person. She never dared.
‘I don’t know, Holly. To be honest, I can’t tell you why half my clients do the things they do. I just manage the fallout.’ She takes her hands. ‘Please, please, tell me that you’re not leaving anything out. Please, assure me that if I was to call this – Dr Ray – he would repeat everything you have said word for word?’
He may struggle to recall who she is.
‘Oh, Zanna, of course he would. This has all just been a horrible misunderstanding.’
Zanna sways back and forth, tugging her hair repeatedly. ‘Fuuuuuck! Holly, this is so bad. So, so bad. Risk communication is my thing, you know. If you’d just told me I could have put a strategy together, and worked with you. I’m just so broken that you wouldn’t think to trust me with this.’
It doesn’t really matter if everybody hates you, disappointing your only friend is far worse. For a second, a flash of a thought enters Holly’s mind, of breaking open the razor next to her bath, and pressing its cool edge against her neck. Nobody would miss her now.
‘Zan, do you hate me?’
She slams both hands on the table.
‘Fuck, Holly! It’s not always about being liked! And I really don’t know right now. I think you’re naive, stupid, and batshit crazy. I think you have a loose relationship with the truth. But no, I can’t hate you. I know you too well.’ She sighs and slumps back on the couch. ‘Besides, I actually believe your ridiculous story.’
You shouldn’t.
Holly tentatively reaches over to Zanna, touches her arm.
‘Oh, Zanna, thank you! I don’t know what I would do without you right now!’
She pulls away, still burned. ‘Yeah, yeah, whatever. Now for the important bit. Is there anything else you feel you need to share with me right now?’
‘No,’ she says calmly, looking straight into her eyes.
Once a liar, always a liar.
‘Are you really sure about that?’
‘Yes.’
‘No little misunderstandings where you think you are completely innocent but everyone else thinks you’re a little psychotic?’
‘Definitely not.’
‘OK, perfect. Now I’m heading to LA to help another client on her press tour for a week. Try to stay in the house and don’t do anything else to make people hate you, OK? Literally, don’t move a muscle from where you are. Lock that camera away. Don’t go online. I’ll have a good think on how to get you out of this mess.’
Chapter 34
Tyler
‘Would you like to see our wine list, sir?’
It’s the one Friday he’s not on call, and Tyler is celebrating with some daytime drinking among the bloggers, suits, and embalmed housewives at Brinkley’s. He sneaks into the leafy conservatory for some peace and quiet. It’s not quite his style, but he’s too restless to while away the day in the safety of his apartment. He’s feeling on fire, like things are finally going his way.
The little girl with the dog bites has been playing on his mind the past few days. The sound of her voice whimpering in his ears while he rocked himself to sleep. Such a perfect, precious thing, yet he couldn’t save her. Thinking about her parents was worse. He saw them leaving the hospital, all worn-out clothes and weathered skin. The type of people who never get a break, and now their only hope has been ripped away from them by the jaws of a dog. These are the people that deserve all the help in the world. He got their details from the girl’s file and called them a few days ago to tell them he had given a statement to the police regarding the dog bites. Today, he found their Facebook group begging for donations to help them take the dog’s owner to court. Tyler quietly transferred two thousand pounds into their account, a gift to them and himself.
‘So, what will it be?’
‘The Chateau La Lagune, please.’
‘Marvellous choice. Special occasion?’
Why yes, Tyler wants to say, it is indeed a special occasion. There was a ripple of disgust when Holly left the hospital. Rumours spread like wildfire among the nurses about how she had violently thrashed on the table, how she’d even lashed out at cuddly Dr Warner, for heaven’s sake. One of the kindest guys in the hospital – the closest thing they have to a saint. She bucked under his arms until his wedding ring had cut into her wrist.
She hadn’t reacted well to the anaesthetic either, screaming and biting her way into consciousness as it wore off, only to swear at the nurses. Obviously, she pushed her jelly and custard off the tray, wailing for a vegan option. When the news broke that she was a fraud, the nurses got immense joy in force-feeding her several doses of dairy and gelatine. Not even Duchess Kate gave them such trouble – she had pizza on the eve of giving birth, for Christ’s sake! The full monty with gluten, full fat cheese, salami and everything. Now, there’s a model English woman if there ever was one.
It gave him a little frisson of excitement, watching others share his hatred for Holly. Look how powerful he is, turning all these people on her and turning Holly on herself. Yet, people are easily distracted and the appalling behaviour of one is replaced by the more appalling antics of another, especially in a hospital where people are being pushed to their emotional limits. Just the other day some new-moneyed brat had to be moved out of intensive care for screaming at his parents on the phone he had sneaked into intensive care and disturbing the other patients.
This can’t be it. This can’t be all the punishment she gets. People like Holly deserve to carry the full weight of society’s hatred like a yoke cutting into their necks. We’re too relaxed these days, too quick to forget, and soon, even the most despicable get to rebuild. And the people they destroyed along the way? Well, they get forgotten too.
Two young girls titter nervously at the table next to him. Their high hair and cheap, unblended make-up parody their natural loveliness. Their carefully coordinated clothes too, while acceptable at some distance, reek of that Chinese burnt-plastic smell that no fast-fashion retailer can ever quite steam off.
They’re looking at him now. Being an obviously wealthy and handsome young man sitting alone with a glass of wine makes him prone to being noticed. While many women at this establishment have money in their own right, these two are the types that venture five tube stops too many to go fishing for prey. Because, while they may be faking their riches, there’s an emptiness in them that makes them crave the real thing. To them, he is just a stepping stone. Even if he fucks one of them and never calls back, it still brings them that much closer. He should walk over with the candle from his table and set fire to their flammable dresses, or . . .
‘Hello, ladies. Mind if I join you?’
Giggling, blushing. God, they really are too young. Two untouched salads and a bottle of sparkling water are arranged before them, like a still life celebrating restraint.
‘What are you girls up to?’
The worldlier of the two replies, ‘Oh, we’re making a flat lay for our lifestyle blog. Our fans love them.’
‘Ah! Are you two famous or something?’
‘No, not yet. We’ve got, like, three hundred followers, but we only started last year.’
‘What’s your blog about?’
‘Oh, it’s, like, a pretty new concept. It’s just about two young, ordinary girls who love fashion, beauty and having fun!’
The other pipes in, ‘Yeah, we have these, like, really crazy snapchats of all our adventures. Hey, why don’t you help us with this pic? Just reach in like you’re about to steal a cherry tomato.’
They’re so pathetic it’s charming – two fame-hungry little clones desperately trying to stand out. Again, part of the toxic legacy that Holly has helped to create. This kind of toxicity is like the slow-burning, constantly polluting fumes of a radiation plant, sickening and deforming us without us even noticing it.
He should just bring it up into conversation as if it’s nothing. See what the mindless public really thinks.
‘So, what do you girls think
of this whole Holly Evans scandal.’
‘OMG! We’ve been glued to the whole thing. I mean, how shocking, right?’ They rustle next to one another like little flowers caught in a gust of wind, more alive than ever before.
‘Like, pretending you have cancer is really serious.’
He nods gravely, ‘It really is. She must have hurt a lot of people.’
‘Yeah, everyone is going mental! Just mental. And did you see the pictures her biggest fans put up? She wasn’t even one hundred per cent into natural remedies like she claimed to be – she secretly took painkillers and antidepressants!’
Her friend gnaws on a lettuce leaf. ‘Her recipes are still good, though. I mean, she clearly knows her shit. Like, I went on her detox once and I lost a stone.’
‘Oh my God, babe, like you needed to lose a stone anyway!’ Giggles. Blushes.
‘Shut up! I was looking like a heifer! But yeah, I loved her. If she just came out with the truth and apologised, I’d still follow her, you know?’
All he sees is white. ‘So it doesn’t even bother you that her life was fake?’
‘Well’ – she bats her eyelashes – ‘isn’t everybody’s life a little bit fake on Instagram? We all choose the things we want to put on show.’
Tyler imagines grabbing her by the pretty, pert ponytail and smashing her face into the table until blood seeps into her fat-free salad dressing. Don’t they understand what makes Holly so despicable? He’ll allow himself one more question, for fear of reaching down into his briefcase and doing something he regrets. Come on, Tyler, their blood isn’t worth it. It isn’t Holly’s.
‘Why do you think she got attacked?’
They look at each other, giggling. ‘Should we tell him?’
‘Yes, tell me!’
‘We don’t think anybody did it actually . . .’
‘Yeah, we think that maybe she thought someone was about to expose her and she pulled a crazy PR stunt to distract everybody.’
Shame on You: The addictive psychological thriller that will make you question everything you read online Page 15
