Shame on You: The addictive psychological thriller that will make you question everything you read online

by Amy Heydenrych

  ‘It isn’t.’ Her tone is firm, confident. There is something she isn’t telling her.

  ‘How do you know for sure?’

  She looks away from Holly. ‘I called them this morning while you were still sleeping. They are completely legit.’

  Silence. Holly doesn’t buy it.

  ‘OK, OK. I know the owner from her past life.’

  ‘You mean a past scandal?’

  ‘The Queen of Lost Causes never reveals her secrets.’ She laughs.

  Holly wonders what Zanna feels about this particular lost cause, deep down and behind closed doors. Neediness closes in on her. She feels as if she is being pawned off. Why does she have to go away when the people outside are the ones threatening her, attacking her, and even planting evidence on her? It doesn’t seem fair.

  ‘It sounds a bit too idyllic. I mean, what if this is some elaborate ruse that the press have constructed to humiliate me? Like, “Survivor: Shamed Edition”?’

  ‘No. Although that sounds like a wonderful publicity opportunity that I’m putting in my pocket for a rainy day.’

  The note lies on the table, furiously red. It is at once offensive and compelling. She is one of the shamed now, part of the ousted who have been reduced to their sins. Holly wants to believe the best – really, she does – but trusting first appearances has got her nowhere. It feels like she is breathing through a blocked straw, suffocating.

  But what if it’s real? Maybe a few weeks in a secret location is just what she needs. Maybe she needs some time to gather her thoughts without the constant background noise, the unrelenting throat-clenching terror that he might be around the corner, waiting for her.

  ‘Zan – I need to sit down for a second. I can’t breathe.’

  She misses simpler times. When she used to write long stories about the latest turn in her illness or the latest superfood she was obsessed with. There, there, Holly, everyone would say, everything is going to be OK. She was the hero, propped up by pillows, with everyone online cheering her on.

  ‘Holly,’ Zanna says firmly. ‘This is the best thing that’s happened to you in weeks.’

  ‘Is it,’ though? An invite from what sounds like a leper colony? ‘Cause that’s what everybody wants right? To keep the shamed locked away so that it’s not catching!’

  Her speech is coming out as a growl. Froth builds around the corners of her mouth, until it trickles down her cheeks. For once, Zanna steps back. Panic flashes across her dark brown eyes. She puts on her calm voice, usually only reserved for Oxfam campaigners and mental people lurching out of the bus towards her.

  ‘OK, Holly, do you trust me?’

  ‘Yes,’ she says, voice shaking.

  ‘Do you agree that a lot of shit has happened in the past few weeks and maybe you’re not in the best place for making decisions right now?’

  ‘I guess . . .’

  Zanna spins the envelope on the table. Holly stares into its ruby blur.

  ‘Here are your options. If you stay here, you are going to be subjected to more questioning by the police and more bullying from your haters. You will need to be chaperoned everywhere you go. No matter what you do, or where you go, you will carry the stench of what has happened to you. As for your attacker . . .’ she says carefully. ‘He is still out there trying to get into your head. Even if you think you can cope with the fallout of what’s happened, you are still not safe. Not yet.’

  ‘So what do I do?’

  ‘You let me make this call. Pack your bags and go. I’ll be here at home on the frontline, making sure they don’t destroy your name completely. I’ll say you’ve checked into a wellness centre. And obviously I’ll be a call away if you hate it.’

  ‘What about Tofu?’ She leans over and strokes her small, purring body. Cats are smart, and she has become increasingly skittish as Holly’s life has unravelled. What will she do if Holly, her only flimsy constant, disappears? Will she run away? A burning sickness thrashes in her stomach. She’s a no-good fraud, who lets both humans and animals down.

  ‘I’ll take care of her, don’t you worry.’

  Fresh tears sting Holly’s cheeks. Before she tries to look after anything else, maybe it’s time to start looking after herself.

  ‘OK, fine, let’s do it.’

  A few mumbled phone calls later and Holly is booked on a train leaving from Euston. She lies dead-eyed on the bed while Zanna packs her clothes. In less than half an hour, she has a small suitcase with modest contents that include a pair of hiking boots, a raincoat, two pairs of jeans, three jumpers and a surprising number of socks.

  It is so far from her old life, it’s laughable.

  ‘Zanna! That’s the most practical, least fabulous selection I’ve seen you make in our whole time together!’

  ‘Honey, there are some things fabulous can’t fix.’

  They hold each other tight. In that moment, Holly finds it hard to believe that there is no meaning behind the rocky course her life has taken. After all, it led her to her first true friend. Zanna pulls out the oldest clothes she has from the back of the closet: frayed grey tracksuit pants, a stained beige fleece top, old trainers and a ribbed navy beanie.

  ‘There you have it. Your travelling attire.’

  ‘No glossy wigs or Jacqui Kennedy sunglasses for me, then? Not even a spray of perfume?’ Although awkward at the time, Holly misses the specialness of her first exit from hospital after the attack. Now it is a mere memory, reframed as an embarrassing mistake never to be repeated.

  ‘Nope, that would be a male-friendly kind of mystery. To truly be ignored, all a woman needs to do is be ugly.’

  Oh, she knows that all too well. ‘And what about other women?’

  ‘All you need to be ignored by other women is to be fat and/or lacking in style. This ensemble gives you both.’ It’s the first time in years that she has tried to be anything other than attractive. Every item of clothing she has chosen, every beauty product she has smudged on her skin, has always been in an effort to look sexier, more enviable.

  Holly’s not ready to go. It feels too much like a confession that she’s not yet ready to make. It’s also embarrassing to admit that it’s been a long time since she travelled alone. When her fame hit, her trips were cushioned by well-meaning, over-enthusiastic PR chaperones, or Zanna herself.

  Zanna looks her up and down, proud of her work. ‘Listen, you’re going to do great. All you need to do is sit on the train for a few hours and your chaperone will meet you at your destination.’

  A panic seizes over her.

  ‘Have you told them I’m vegan?’

  She looks desperately disappointed. ‘Does it matter anymore? I didn’t mention it. The old Holly, with the crazy diet and complicated lifestyle, is dead and buried. If you want to keep parts of her, I won’t stop you, but I will always remind you that it’s not necessary. Just be whoever you want to be. Maybe it’s time you figure out who that really is.’ She looks down at her phone. ‘Oh, your taxi is arriving outside. Come, let me help you take your things around the back.’

  The most important moments in life happen too quickly. You wait endless hours for your world to shift yet when it does it all becomes an imperceptible blur. The taxi driver quietly deposits her outside Euston station. She rushes to the train without anybody so much as turning to look at her. Every person in her periphery feels like a threat. She is petrified that if she stops moving for one minute, someone will recognise her. And do what? Tweet a picture of her looking fat? Snapchat her putting away another distasteful meal? Report her? There is an undercurrent, a knowledge churning in her stomach that the police would not approve of her travel plans.

  The blurry haste of the day has faded into an excruciating present. Her layers of clothing chafe against her dry skin. Sweat gathers between her breasts and in the persistent rubbing together of her thighs. In her seat, flipping through the pages of the latest InStyle magazine, the aching clarity of each moment burns into her bones. By the time t
he train lurches into motion, she feels brittle and empty, a twitching carcass left for dead that nobody can bear to get too close to.

  Chapter 40

  Holly

  ‘This train is now approaching Windermere.’

  The passengers shuffle towards the train door, adjusting their hats and scarves. There is a biting chill in the air that scrapes Holly’s bones down to the marrow. She rubs Vaseline on her aching face. Even as the tide of passengers rushes from the platform towards the exit, there is a sense of calm about the place. It feels timeless, magical, as if her twenty-first-century problems may not have reached here yet.

  Her suitcase catches on the ground as she drags it towards the exit. She unfolds the instructions Zanna has written down for her. A woman named Ayo will be waiting outside, and together they will take a cab to her new home for the next few weeks, a sanctuary at the heart of the Lake District. Could Jack have had something to do with this? He seems to have orchestrated every traumatic event in her life so far. But she trusts Zanna – she has to – and Zanna thinks this will be good for her.

  She quickens her pace, hoping her shaking legs will hold out a few more steps. She’s on edge. Every situation has the potential to disintegrate into a scene. After the KFC incident, she no longer trusts herself in public.

  Hooting, loud voices close in on her as she tries to pull her bag up the staircase. She can smell the alcohol on their breath before she turns around to face them.

  ‘Need some help there, love?’

  Four men wearing matching Superman suits and a fifth shivering in a pink leotard and ballet tutu grin at her blankly. Holly takes a step back. She has always feared the manic sexuality that festers among men in packs. It’s all smiles and unfunny jokes until it turns poisonous, or even deadly. Their mouths gape open and shut like fish as they battle to say something smart about her face.

  ‘I’m fine. Thank you very much.’

  ‘Johnny, don’t listen to her. Take her bag up the stairs, lad! Will prepare you for life with the missus!’

  The groom, a bloated pink figure with skin the same colour as his costume clumsily drags her suitcase towards the station’s exit. Holly tries to snatch it back before they have more time to examine her. Too late, he is already clutching her arm with his chubby fingers.

  ‘Excuse me? Yeah, you! Excuse me, love?’

  There’s something in his eyes. He knows. It’s OK. Stay calm. Be polite. She looks over him, eyes searching for someone who matches Ayo’s grainy photograph.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Don’t I know you from somewhere?’

  ‘No . . .’

  Please God, no.

  ‘No, I do, I do. That’s it! I saw your face on the telly just last week!’

  He’s gesturing excitedly now, trying to call one of his buddies. If one of them is smart enough to take out their phone it’s all over. The prison that she is so desperately trying to escape will root its bars around her once again. Only the view outside will be different. Desperation consumes her life like a fever and she finally appreciates the genius of Zanna’s plan. She’s not just going along with this anymore. She wants it, more than anything. She’s not ready to go back home just yet.

  His friends reluctantly tear themselves away from a group of pretty girls and Holly frantically tries to find her phone. There’s a number that she’s just remembered Zanna gave her to call when she got there.

  ‘Lads, look! The girl with the bag – she’s somebody famous,’ shouts the lad. A scream threatens to escape Holly’s throat. No, no, no. A strong hand grabs her hand and pulls her roughly.

  ‘That’s enough of that,’ a powerful, lightly accented voice bellows. ‘Why don’t we all leave this young lady alone.’

  Holly looks into the brown eyes of a dreadlocked woman. Her magnificent hair is contrasted by a sensible navy puffer jacket and sturdy shoes. She ushers Holly and her bags into a waiting cab.

  ‘Good grief! Sorry about the rough welcome, darling. Hello there, I’m Ayo. Zanna has told me all about you.’ Just the uttering of Zanna’s name makes Holly relax a little. She’s brought a little bit of home with her after all.

  Ayo smells of essential oils and her hair carries a smokiness that reminds her of the incense her teacher burns in the yoga studio. She’s all soft edges and big breasts, the type of woman who is good to hug. There is another layer to her; Holly feels it shifting between her gestures. The person she was before and the person she is now.

  The road curves around a breathtaking, vast body of water. A flock of geese break the golden surface as they swim, leaving trails of deep blue. It’s sunset, or the ‘magic hour’ as she used to call it during her Instagram days. Nothing about the magic hour was instant – she used to spend hours searching for just the right spot for her pictures, and just the right light. How strange it would feel to just take a picture of this splendour with no forethought! Does a sunset even matter if its liquid gold is not captured and stored inside her phone?

  ‘Go on, you can take a picture if you like.’ Ayo smiles.

  ‘Thanks. I’ve never been to the Lake District before.’ Despite her fears, this feels special. For once, she is on a trip where she doesn’t have to perform. She can simply enjoy the fresh scenery and watch a new place unfold.

  ‘Seeing it for the first time is always magical. Sometimes I wish I could relive that moment whenever I start to take this place for granted.’

  ‘Where were you before?’ says Holly.

  ‘Well, I’m originally from Lagos, Nigeria, but I studied in London and have lived all over the place. That’s why my accent is such a mixed bag.’

  The lake gives way to rich, emerald-green plains. There is so much space here! Already Holly feels like her thoughts have room to move. Everything feels far away – the crowd baying for her blood, a possible arrest, the attacker hot on her heels. She sends the picture of the sunset to Zanna, with the simple note, ‘Thank you for always knowing what I need. I’m going to do my best for you.’

  The sky darkens as they climb deeper into the mountains. The journey is long, but Ayo doesn’t say much. There isn’t anything awkward about it. Rather, her presence feels like a soothing balm, an unsaid confirmation that everything is in control. She imagines with a smile how she and Zanna must have been fast friends. They both have that added depth that most people do without.

  The vehicle comes to a sudden stop.

  ‘Sorry, Holly, we’ve got a short walk now.’

  They push through the shrubbery and follow a small, cobbled pathway. The bushes soon clear to reveal a tall stone cottage covered in moss. Ferns drift in the evening breeze and bright pink heather lines the cottage’s entrance. Everything is a green, connected, thriving mess. It’s how Holly always imagined the secret garden to be in her childhood dreams.

  The inside of the cottage is warm and alive with the sound of music and voices from another room. Ayo leads Holly upstairs, to a small bedroom at the end of a long passageway.

  ‘I thought I’d give you the room with the most privacy for the moment. You are the newest here and you’re going to want your space while you get used to things.’

  ‘Thank you, Ayo.’

  ‘No problem at all. I’ve also had a bowl of homemade vegetable soup left in your room – it should still be warm. I figured you’re probably too tired tonight to eat with the rest of the guests. They can also get a bit rowdy! Oh, and let’s get the housekeeping stuff out of the way. There is obviously no Wi-Fi, and you’re discouraged from going to the Internet café in town, at least for the first few weeks anyway. Not that this is possible – all the Internet cafés are down the hill around Lake Windermere, which you’d need a car to reach.’

  The panic in Holly’s eyes is clearly apparent, as Ayo adds, ‘And trust me, it’s heaving with tourists over there, which is the exact opposite of what you need right now. Anyway, where was I? Just turn on the shower at full blast and the hot water will eventually come, and breakfast is at 8 a.m. sharp. You
’ll hear me ringing the bell, though.’

  ‘Wow. I, um, don’t know what to say.’

  Ayo twirls her dreads and shakes her head softly. ‘Don’t say anything, love. Just go to bed. We’ll have plenty of time to chat and get to know each other tomorrow.’

  She gives Holly’s shoulder a gentle squeeze and shuts the door. The sound of laughter erupts from nearby. Holly finishes the bowl of soup in a few minutes – she hadn’t realised how hungry she was. She’s no longer sure what her diet is, or what she likes anymore, but she knows she likes this. The shape of Ayo’s nose and mouth plays beneath her closed eyelids. Her mind strains to piece them together, like the random notes of a song she once loved. The realisation is vague, but assuring. Ayo is no stranger. Holly has seen her many times before. The question is, where?

  Chapter 41

  Holly

  He will know by now that she is gone. She felt his cold eyes watching her as she moved in and out of her flat. He will be searching, planning. She should have told the police before she left, while she still had a chance. But what would she have said? They wouldn’t believe her now. Nobody would, not even her biggest fans. She shudders as she imagines the self-congratulatory expressions of the investigation team. If she told them the whole reason she was attacked in the first place, they would say what everyone is thinking, that she had asked for it. In her darkest moments, she thinks they are right. A familiar taunt fizzes through her mind, just as it did when she was fifteen and holding a pack of frozen peas against her swelling eye.

  Nobody gets hurt without a reason.

  But none of this has to concern her today. Birds riot and shake the trees outside. Holly wakes up without a codeine hangover for the first time in weeks. Everything feels a bit clearer, and a bit more painful. She has to try to get her head right and focus on the good things. She’s nestled in the majestic Lake District and free from the confines of her apartment. Holly is walking a fine tightrope of sanity – no matter what, she can’t look down at the chaos and outrage below her.