Chapter Four
‘SAM!’ I yell out into my apartment as I open the front door, desperately needing the immediate comfort and reassurance of my favourite person.
‘In here, babe,’ she shouts from the living room.
I enter to find her standing still on the arm of the sofa in the corner of the room.
She has her arms raised in the air, hands like claws, and a goofy expression on her face.
Her tongue lolls out of her mouth and her eyes are crossed.
On her back, she is wearing giant plastic wings.
‘What are you doing?’ I ask after a moment of stunned silence.
She puts her tongue back in her mouth. ‘Duh! I’m a daddy long-legs!’ She sounds exasperated. ‘I’ve come to take more videos of you and share them online.’ She pauses. ‘I thought it might distract you from your unbelievably shitty day.’
She resumes the pose, tongue hanging out of the side of her mouth like an inbred Yorkshire Terrier. When I still don’t react, she jumps down from her chair and starts chasing me around the room. I shriek and run away – and despite everything, I am laughing.
‘It’s not funny to mock my terror,’ I scream through mirthful tears. ‘You knobhead.’ She collapses on the sofa, crushing her wings, and I sit beside her, still laughing. ‘You’re the best.’
‘I know.’ She closes her eyes.
‘I love you.’ I close my eyes, too.
‘Fuck off,’ she says mildly, and I reopen one eye.
‘Where did you get the wings?’ I take them in. They look familiar.
‘You wore them last Halloween,’ she confirms, thick, dark eyebrows raised. ‘When you were dressed as a slutty fairy.’
‘I was just dressed as a fairy, actually,’ I point out. ‘Any sluttiness was all me.’
‘Fair enough,’ she acknowledges. She leaves a beat, then turns to face me on the sofa.
The left wing bends in half and I wonder if it will break.
I consider asking her to take them off. If I’m going to be out of a job, I can’t just re-buy fairy wings every Halloween, can I?
She reaches over to poke me in the shoulder.
This is Sam’s idea of spontaneous affection. ‘Are you okay?’
I wonder how to answer this. I want to tell her the truth, but I don’t know how I feel right now. Not after that second conversation with Spencer.
‘Did you see a second video went up?’ I ask after a moment.
She nods gravely. ‘I did.’ She raises her eyebrows.
‘I actually think you came off better in that one. Very relatable.’ She pauses, waving open palms. ‘I mean, who hasn’t wanted to eat cheesecake under a table?
Plus, Cheesecake Woman is a much cooler nickname than Tiramisu Girl.
’ She shrugs. ‘At least everyone knows what cheesecake is.’
‘Do people really not know what tiramisu is?’ I ask, baffled. ‘Are some people not obsessed with boozy, creamy desserts like me?’
‘I guess not.’ She shrugs, sinking into the sofa. It squishes the wings even more and I frown. Now I’ve remembered I own them, I want to be able to wear them again. Next Halloween I could dress up as Cheesecake Tiramisu Daddy Long-legs Girl.
‘Did you read the comments?’ I ask quietly, and she nods.
‘Do you not want to cry or whatever?’ she asks nicely. ‘I know you love crying.’
‘I do love crying,’ I confirm, nodding. ‘But no, not this time. I don’t know, I feel… sort of hollow. Empty. A meat sack.’
‘Like a Scotch egg without the egg because eggs are disgusting,’ Sam comments in a wise voice.
‘Erm, sure, yes, like that.’ I nearly laugh again. Sam’s very anti eggs. ‘All hollowed out apart from my sausage meat.’ I sigh. ‘But at the same time, my stomach feels all spiky. I feel really sick, but also numb.’
‘I expect you’re in shock.’ She continues quietly, ‘I watched the show – Morning Tea – earlier I noticed you weren’t on at your usual time…’ She pauses. ‘They haven’t… you’re not… they didn’t…?’
‘No, not fired.’ I fill in the blank, then add quickly, ‘Not quite.’ She breathes a sigh of relief, before I add, ‘Except I probably am.’ I shake my head.
‘Spencer, the cunty little frog, says I have to go to therapy. Can you imagine? He says the only way I’m going to keep my job on the show is to spend the next six weeks in therapy.
It’s rubbish. It’s a bunch of pandering nonsense that people would see straight through!
I am a therapist for god’s sake! And they’re saying I have to go speak to some parachuted-in counsellor. It’s pure nonsense. Complete bullshit!’
Sam nods slowly. ‘I can see you’re upset,’ she says carefully, and I want to knock away the therapy words pouring out of her therapised mouth. Doesn’t she know I can hear them? That I know them inside out?
‘You don’t think I need therapy, do you?
’ I ask pointedly, frowning. ‘Last night in the restaurant was just… it was just a moment. I had a silly moment last night, that’s all.
It’s not like that was the real me. I was just momentarily upset about the situation – like anyone would be – and some horrible dick leapt on the chance to film and humiliate me.
I’m not the one in the wrong here. I’m not the one who should be punished.
The guy who videoed and transcribed my break-up is the one who needs therapy! ’
‘I think everyone needs therapy,’ Sam shrugs. ‘And if it’s the only way you get to keep your job, it would be worth it, wouldn’t it?’
‘But I’ve had a bunch of therapy! Every therapist has,’ I cry.
‘It’s part of the training. I know it all!
And it’ll make me look ridiculous! A therapist in therapy, ugh.
It’ll undermine my credibility, and the viewers will see straight through it.
They’re saying I have to do this to save my reputation, but it’ll ruin my reputation!
Who’s going to trust a therapist who’s been ordered to go to therapy herself? ’
‘Yeah, but who’s going to trust Tiramisu Girl?’ she points out rather brutally.
‘I thought I was Cheesecake Girl now,’ I mutter, and she shrugs again.
‘Tiramisu Girl, Cheesecake Girl, Cheesecake Woman – whatever. At least this could give you a clean slate.’
‘I don’t need a clean slate,’ I tell her sulkily.
‘I need none of this to have happened. I need Justin not to have dumped me when he was supposed to propose. I need arseholes not to have put it all on the internet. I need someone to go back in time and stop Spencer’s parents from ever having sex or procreating. What I really don’t need is therapy!’
‘But what will you do if they sack you?’ Sam looks worried and I shake my head defiantly.
‘Fuck them!’ I yell furiously, not meaning a word of it. ‘I don’t need therapy or Morning Tea.’
Sam looks suddenly excited. ‘Hey, you know what you should do? Record a response video! We’ll tell the entire internet that they’re all stupid twats and that you did nothing wrong.’
Even in my fog of despair-cum-rage, I know this is a terrible idea.
Sam is the queen of terrible ideas. ‘Er, thanks, dude,’ I hedge.
‘But I have been heavily encouraged to avoid the internet altogether for now.’ Sam looks disappointed as I shake my head.
‘No, I know what I’m going to do. I can go back to properly seeing clients at my office.
I’ve barely been there for more than a few sessions a week in months.
’ Something occurs to me and I sit up straighter.
‘And there’s the book! I’m supposed to be writing my book and the publisher has been asking when I’ll get the first draft in.
This will give me a bit of time to really focus all my energies on writing it.
’ I pause, nodding. ‘This will be good for me, actually. I’ll hide away for a few months, write Orange Flags: Your Ultimate Guide to a Healthy Relationship, and when I’m finished, the internet will have forgotten all about any stupid viral videos of me.
I’ll be able to emerge from my cocoon like a beautiful therapist butterfly. ’
‘Or a beautiful therapist daddy long-legs.’ Sam stands up, her wings flapping.
I nod enthusiastically. ‘Sure, like a beautiful therapist daddy long-legs. And Morning Tea will be begging me to come back. I’ll probably get an offer from one of the rival shows, and then there’ll be a bidding war over me.’
I meet Sam’s eyes and there is pity there, clear as day.
‘Hey,’ she says brightly, very obviously changing the subject. ‘I know what’ll distract you from all of this today!’ She raises an eyebrow. ‘Let’s go trick or treating. I’ve already got my daddy long-legs costume on. You can go as that viral Tiramisu Girl. It’s so now.’
‘Oi!’ I say, laughing despite myself. ‘And what are you talking about, Sam, it’s the 2nd of June, Halloween is nearly five months away.’
She grins. ‘So what? Who says you can’t celebrate early? You know some people start celebrating Christmas in June. Halloween is far more reasonable.’ She looks at me faux-sternly. ‘And if anyone asks us what we’re doing, we’ll say it’s our trick, and then we can demand treats.’
‘I do want treats,’ I admit begrudgingly.
‘I think seeing some ghosts might make you feel better.’
‘It would certainly make me feel different,’ I confirm. ‘I’m not sure better is quite the right word.’
Sam looks thoughtful. ‘Why are all ghosts from the Victorian era? Like, if ghosts were real, you’d think you’d see them from all different times. Where are all the caveman and dinosaur ghosts?’
‘Maybe they’ve had long enough on earth to torment the living, and have passed on?’ I offer and Sam accepts this logic.
‘Okay, that makes sense. So, then you’d think the biggest number of ghosts would be, like, from recent times. But you never hear about some embarrassing nineties ghost wearing a crop top and Spice Girl white wedge trainers, on the arm of some loser ghost in a bucket hat and a bomber jacket.’
‘Good point.’ I nod, then peer at her closer. ‘We’re not really going trick or treating, right? Aren’t you meant to be working?’
Sam works from home on a Friday. In theory, at least. She doesn’t actually get much of anything like work done.
Before she can answer, our Ring doorbell goes and we both jump.
‘Who the hell could that be?’ I ask in a whisper. No one ever comes here. Even the delivery driver just lobs our loo roll deliveries over the back fence. It usually bounces into the neighbour’s bird bath but who can be bothered to complain? Once the loo paper dries out, it works just fine.
‘God knows,’ Sam whispers back, as we stare at one another, me with horror, her with exhilaration. She loves the drama. ‘Do you think we should check the video?’
‘What if they see us checking?’ I ask with a tremble.
‘We’ve been through this,’ she sighs. ‘It’s not a two-way video, Liv. They can’t see through the camera.’
‘I swear to GOD the postman could see me that time,’ I say stridently, but she just rolls her eyes. We both jump as the bell goes again, and Sam picks up her phone and opens the app.
‘Who is it?’ I ask her, my eyes wild. She looks up at me – she’s frowning. ‘Who?’ I ask again, suddenly feeling afraid.
She takes a deep breath. ‘It’s Justin.’