by Claire Frost
‘Arabella Makepeace, if I ever hear you shorten your sister’s name to the name of a lettuce like that again I shall be forced to enrol you in daily elocution lessons for the rest of your time living in this house.’
From then on Cosette had been Cosette, and had spent much of her life adding ‘Yes, like in Les Misérables’ to every introduction. Bell had half expected her to use meeting Rich as an opportunity to reinvent herself and change her name, but perhaps Janet had threatened her son-in-law-to-be with a fate even worse than endless elocution lessons, or maybe Cosette had finally accepted her unusual name and the way people began humming the first line of ‘Castle On The Cloud’ immediately after meeting her. Needless to say, Cosette and Rich had chosen ‘normal’ names for their two children.
When Cosette had helpfully suggested she be the one to inform their parents that Bell and Colin had broken up, Bell had all too readily agreed. There had then followed the inevitable phone call, during which Janet and John had both told her they were sympathetic about what had happened, but Bell had been able to smell their disappointment despite the thousands of miles separating her from them and their home in Portland, Maine.
Her parents had retired to America with almost unseemly haste once they could tick off Cosette’s wedding vows and Bell’s supposedly stable and settled status from their list of obligations. Not that Bell was complaining, obviously. In fact, she’d been worried the news of her break-up would see Janet and John vow to give up their charmed expat existence and hotfoot it back to Blighty to console their heartbroken daughter. Thankfully, they were both far too selfish to even contemplate such an act, and merely contented themselves with telling her how worried they were about her before launching into a long and complicated story about their friend Barbara’s son – a dentist called Hal – getting divorced and having to pay his ex millions in the settlement. Bell suspected Hal had been showing a little too much interest in his pretty dental nurse’s mouth, so felt she had nothing positive to contribute to the topic and invented someone at the door to quickly bring the call to an end. Although not before her mother had wistfully added, ‘I suppose we’ll just carry on fielding questions from all and sundry about when our youngest daughter is going to finally get married and produce a grandchild for us. You’ve really not made things easy for us, Arabella, have you?’
To which she knew the only response was, ‘No, Mother, and I am truly sorry.’
As the bus trundled along, Bell let out a long, loud sigh (Mr Cheer-Up Man could go to hell). She was so used to being one half of a couple – Bell to his Col – that it felt like she didn’t know who she was anymore without her other half to make her whole.
Even her Instagram account had been full of pictures of two pairs of feet on a gorgeous tiled floor, his ’n’ her drinks in front of a sunset and two hearts drawn on the sand as the sea lapped at their edges. And they had been happy together, hadn’t they? Maybe not the love’s young dream her Insta implied, but whose relationship really was all rose petals on the bed and kissing beneath the Eiffel Tower? No one wanted to see photos of Colin changing the duvet cover because he knew Bell hated doing it and got in a real stress about it, or Bell buying Col a supermarket frozen pizza for dinner because she knew he had a secret love for a poor-quality Pepperoni Passion despite professing himself to be a foodie. No filter was ever going to make her shaving his back hair for him sexy, or him fishing out the decaying food from the kitchen sink plughole in a pair of blue rubber gloves look cute. There was nothing wrong with a little enhancing, tweaking, filtering and, well, boasting about their relationship, surely? So why did it all feel like a lie now? Probably because, for all his duvet-changing and sink-cleaning, Colin had clearly not felt the way about their relationship that she had. She’d imagined him proposing and them enjoying their old age together, while he’d been planning his escape. She sighed again.
BEEEEP
Bell was woken from her mental Instagram scrolling by the sound of the bus almost colliding with a cyclist in head-to-toe reflective gear. Deciding she’d rather not take her life in her hands by remaining on a bus driven by a gesticulating, swearing madman, Bell got off a stop early and hurried towards the imposing red-brick building on the corner of the main road. Style It Out occupied the second floor, nestled between a payday loans website and a debt collection agency, like an inverse shit sandwich.
Thankfully, stepping into the Style It Out office was like taking a breath of stiletto-filled, coat-hanger-strewn fresh air, and it always felt a million miles away from the grey day on the other side of the large, slightly crumbling windows on the far side of the room. Bell stepped round a huge pile of what she assumed were belts rather than the snakes they resembled and stopped to rifle through a rail of sunshine-yellow dresses, which were all a similar shade but very different styles. Her eyes snagged on an off-the-shoulder Bardot-type sundress and she pulled it off the rail and held it in front of her.
‘Yep, that would look amazing on you, with some cork wedges and a tan, obvs,’ Suze said as she walked over to her desk and began relieving herself of her outer layers. ‘It won’t be long till the sun is shining again.’
‘The sun? Oh, you mean that yellow thing in the sky that seems to have been missing in action these past six months? Nah, it’s gone, never to be seen again, I’ve heard,’ Bell replied. After one last stroke of the material, she replaced the dress on the rail with the others and plonked herself down on her chair with a groan.
‘You really are a ray of sunshine today, Bellster, aren’t you? But I did mean it about that dress; you should definitely get in there. It will be on the site in a few weeks and you know it will sell out quicker than you can say “Summer stock has dropped”!’
‘I’ll think about it,’ she grunted. While she was waiting for her computer to stutter and splutter through the ten-minute start-up process, she absent-mindedly reached for her phone to scroll through her feeds. Then, remembering her new lack of any social media apps, she placed her phone face down and drummed her fingers on the desk.
‘Saturday night was fun, wasn’t it?’ Suze beamed at her. ‘Though you def did the right thing going home when you did. Next time I think it’s a good idea to go clubbing till 3am, please can you kindly remind me I am thirty-eight years old and hangovers do not get better with age. Yesterday was a complete write-off and me and Els barely moved from the bed all day. Although there are worse ways to spend a Sunday I s’pose!’ she cackled.
Bell rolled her eyes at her friend but couldn’t help laughing.
‘You know, Bell, I’ve been thinking,’ Suze declared through a mouthful of coffee and croissant.
Bell rolled her eyes again. ‘You, thinking? Is that really wise?’
‘As it happens I am very wise. I’ve been thinking about you. I think you need a new focus.’
‘Suze, if you even mention that app beginning with T and ending in -inder . . .’
‘No, not that kind of focus. Though when you do want to get back on the horse, I’ll be only too pleased to help. No, I mean a focus to stop you fixating on Col. A project.’
‘Urgh, I’m not a jockey. Anyway, I don’t really have time for a project.’
‘Erm, but now you’re not stalking Colin on social media, you do actually have time, Bellster.’ Seeing Bell’s face drop, Suze hurried on. ‘Look, I’m not saying you suddenly have to start going to yoga raves left, right and centre – although that does sound a-mazing and I’d def be up for coming with you – but what about an evening class or a new hobby or something? Or even just more nights out like Saturday. You used to love dancing, didn’t you? It will do you so much good just to get out there again, it really will.’
‘I’m just not sure I’m ready yet, Suze,’ Bell said quietly. ‘But I do really appreciate you listening to me go on and on about me and Col; I know I need to get on with my life, and I will, soon, I promise. I just need time.’
‘Yep, okay. But, Bell, I am always here for you, you know. I am totally up for
listening to you go on and on about Col for as long as you need. But I’m also not going to give up helping you move on and find who the real Bell is – and that’s a promise.’
Chapter Four
Millie
Millie sighed for what felt like the millionth time that day. And it was only 9am. Wolf had been a nightmare that morning, refusing to get up when he would normally be jumping on her bed at six-thirty despite her instructions that he wasn’t allowed out of his room until the big hand was pointing to 12 and the little hand to 7. When he’d started school the previous September, he’d been so excited to put his uniform on and race into the playground to see his little classmates. But ever since he’d gone back to school after the Christmas holidays, she’d noticed he was less and less enthusiastic about telling her what games they’d played in the classroom and what books the teacher had been reading to them. He still loved explaining in great detail about how he’d scored a goal in football during their PE lessons – like father like son, she grimaced – but he wasn’t quite the same overexcited little boy before and after school as he had been at the end of last year. Millie sighed again as she replayed the scene of Wolfie tearfully eating his cereal that morning after she’d shouted at him to put his school clothes on or she’d have to dress him herself like a baby.
‘But Daddy said I’m a big boy,’ he sobbed, before looking at Millie with a glint in his eye and adding defiantly, ‘And Daddy said I could have chocolate cereal every day if I wanted instead of boring Corn Flakes.’
‘I’m sure what he meant was you could have chocolate cereal at the weekend if you’re very good,’ Millie said firmly, though inside she was fuming. She definitely wouldn’t put it past Louis to say he could have the sugar-laden cereal whenever he wanted, especially as he wasn’t the one who had to parent him day in, day out. ‘Now, are you going to show me what a big boy you really are and put your bowl and spoon in the dishwasher nicely?’
As Wolf continued to whine, Millie had craved the post-school-run silence of the empty kitchen, but now he was at school she turned on the radio to fill the deafening nothingness. After clearing up the kitchen, booking dentist appointments for herself and Wolf and sticking another load of washing on (how did a five-year-old boy get through so many clothes?), Millie finally switched on her laptop. Before she tackled her inbox, she clicked on to the spreadsheets she’d set up to keep track of every penny she was spending, as well as what money was coming into her account. Louis’ maintenance payment had been due yesterday, but she was pretty damn sure that when she logged into her online banking it was going to show exactly the same figure in her account as two days ago – an amount perilously close to zero. And she had to find some cash for the babysitter this evening.
She allowed herself one last sigh before logging into her social media accounts. Millie knew that she was lucky to do the job she did, and she was well aware that most people wouldn’t see posting images on Instagram as work, but she also knew that most people didn’t have a clue how stressful it all was. The constant fear one of the brands she worked with would dislike something she posted, the continual worry about the new breed of Insta influencers snapping at her heels every single day, and then there were the trolls. She squeezed her eyes shut in an attempt to keep their nasty voices out of her head. Besides, she had other things to worry about this month. Like making ends meet – a free handbag from a high-street brand in exchange for a post was great in theory, but it didn’t pay the water bill. While spring was in the air and #NewYearNewYou, #Detox and #Veganuary were old news, it still felt like most of the time all anyone wanted to see were images of toned stomachs with hashtags like #Fitspo and #PlantBased, even from mummy and fashion influencers like her. She looked down at her oversized sweatshirt and joggers. What she needed – other than a body like Kayla Itsines and a workout range like Kate Hudson – were a few more of those copywriting jobs like the one she’d done last week
She scanned the comments on her last Instagram post, thankful to see it had over six thousand Likes from the hundred thousand followers on her @mi_bestlife account. Beneath a photo of herself wearing a gorgeous wool coat in front of a cool, weatherbeaten wood panel, she’d written the caption:
I’m in love with my new alpaca-wool coat from @andotherstories. Perfect for keeping out the chill on my way to pick up Wolfie from school. What’s your favourite fashion buy this week? #schoolgatechic #streetstyle #ootd #instastyle #fblogger #fashiongram #mummyblogger #motherhood
She’d also had over eight hundred comments, mostly from people saying how much they liked her coat and that they were off to the shops to buy one now. Millie skimmed over these and kept scrolling until she came to the now inevitable comments from the seemingly incredibly persistent users who pursued her across the internet.
@Jan247638 You might be wearing a nice coat but you still look like trash. You can’t sugar coat a turd
@Stylista_I257 I feel sorry for your son who’d want an ugly bitch like you meeting them at the school gates
Millie swallowed hard and looked away from the screen. No matter how many times she saw comments like this she couldn’t help but be affected by them. Because it was all true. She knew that beneath the Insta polish she was just trash, an ugly bitch. Of course she hadn’t actually bought that alpaca coat – it cost two hundred pounds, for god’s sake. She’d paid for it on her credit card and then asked a stranger in the street to take a picture against the wall next to a now-empty shop in the high street. Photoshop had done the rest – after she’d returned the coat and had the money put back on her card, obviously.
As she trudged the two miles to the supermarket and filled her trolley with yellow-stickered items reaching their expiry date, she knew she should report the worst of the trolls and get their accounts closed. Except they’d just spring up again under a different username. She glanced at her watch and realised she barely had time to get home, dump the shopping and make it to Wolf’s school. Laden with bags, she half-jogged, half-fast-walked her way home, and arrived at the school gates breathing heavily just as the other mums were all hugging their little ones and relieving them of their bookbags and water bottles. She weaved her way in and out of the bunches of children and adults until she spotted Wolf standing on his own next to the open classroom door looking lost while his teacher glared out across the playground.
‘Wolfie, there you are!’ Millie smiled, trying hard to keep her flushed face hidden from Mrs Boyle who taught the reception class. ‘Have you had a good day?’
‘Ah, Wolf’s mummy, I was beginning to get a bit worried,’ the teacher said, raising an eyebrow.
‘Sorry, Mrs Boyle, I got a little held up, it won’t happen again. See you tomorrow,’ Millie murmured, feeling about as small as a five-year-old herself. She steered her son out of the playground and along the pavement, and he slipped his small hand into hers. As they got further away from school and nearer home, Wolf perked up and began chattering away about his favourite football team, Aston Villa, and who they were going to buy before the transfer window shut.
‘Mummy, please can I get some more stickers for my Premier League album? I’ve only got a few more to get and the last pack were all boring ones I already had. And you said last week I could?’
‘We haven’t got time today, I’m afraid, Wolfie,’ Millie replied, then, seeing her son’s smile drop, she hastily added: ‘But if you’re really good then we’ll get you some at the weekend.’ Wolfie’s face lit up and Millie’s heart leapt. She knew how expensive the stickers were – Louis had been the one to buy him the album and his first packet of stickers, and she’d been the one who had to fork out a fiver every week since only to find that all the packs seemed to have the same stickers in them and a few players still remained elusive. But she’d do anything to see that grin more often.
‘I’ll make you some dinner, and remember Bridget is coming over later to look after you while I go to a work event. Don’t look like that, Wolf, Bridget is lovely.’
�
��But she treats me like a baby,’ he whined.
‘She’s just a bit old-school and likes to do things her way.’
‘She makes me go to bed at seven o’clock, even though I tell her you let me stay up until seven thirty. And she smells musty.’
‘Wolfie!’ Millie said, trying not to laugh. ‘She just likes her lavender talcum powder and it can smell quite strong.’
‘Isn’t talcum powder for babies?’
‘Well, yes, but also some grown-ups, especially older ones. Anyway, Bridget isn’t coming over until six o’clock, so we’ll make sure you’ve had your bath and are in your pyjamas when she gets here, and when you go to bed you can have your story CD on for one story – and only one story. Okay?’
‘Okay, though I might choose a really, really long story!’ he said cheekily. ‘Where are you going tonight, Mummy?’
‘It’s just an event for some people who do a job like me. I won’t be too late.’
‘People who type on their phones and their computers all the time?’ he asked, at the same time as Millie’s phone lit up with more Instagram notifications. ‘Will you come and say night-night when you get home even if it’s really late?’
Millie put her phone in her pocket and bent down so her face was level with the small boy’s. ‘Of course I will, darling.’ She ruffled his wavy blond hair that was starting to curl into the corner of his eye again, and made a mental note to bribe him with sweets to sit still for ten minutes at the weekend so she could trim it. ‘Even if you’re snoring so loudly the whole road can hear you!’
‘I don’t snore, Mummy!’ Wolfie cried indignantly, racing into the flat, discarding his coat and shoes in the hall. ‘Not as loud as Bridget anyway.’
When Bridget knocked on the door a few hours later, Wolfie was indeed bathed and in his pyjamas, but both he and Millie were exhausted. It had not been the easiest couple of hours. Not long after they’d arrived home, Wolf had been lying on the sofa when Millie noticed his school sweatshirt was all pulled and frayed at the bottom.
