‘Can we get it taken down?’ I asked.
‘I’ve already reported it but… I don’t think so.’
‘I’ll speak to the girls,’ said Miles. ‘I’m sure they’ll take it down.’
I swallowed hard, my throat bone-dry.
‘I wouldn’t be so sure about that,’ Martha said, her eyes still glued to her phone. ‘Beebee’s loving the attention. Look, she’s already posted three more reels.’
My stomach churned. This was spiralling out of control faster than I could have imagined. I needed to think, to plan, to get ahead of this somehow.
‘Let me see those,’ I said, reaching for Martha’s phone. She handed it over reluctantly.
I scrolled through Beebee’s profile, my heart sinking with each swipe. There were close-ups of framed family photos, zoomed-in-on faces, with ominous music playing in the background. Another video showed a timeline of the three deaths, complete with dramatic sound effects. The comments section was a cesspool of wild speculation and amateur sleuthing.
‘This is ridiculous,’ Miles said, peering over my shoulder. ‘Let me sort this.’ He threw back the duvet, crossing the room in just his boxers, and pulled his clothes off the chair.
* * *
The girls refused to take the videos down. By evening, they had made more, but this time it was of them doing choreographed dances in their oversized clothes to sound bites about serial killers. Miles, Martha and I decided there was only one thing we could do.
The three of us stood in the doorway of Callum’s bedroom. Piles of clothes, empty glasses, and plates with half-eaten food lay discarded around the guest bedroom as he lay sprawled on the bed.
He quirked an eyebrow up at us. ‘What?’ he said, crossing his legs with his console held in front of his face.
‘We need your help,’ I said. ‘We need you to fix something for us.’
Martha was scrunching up her face at the teenage-boy smell.
He sighed. ‘Can I do it later? I’m busy.’
‘No,’ I said firmly, ‘I need you to do it now, darling.’
We reluctantly entered the room and Miles closed the door behind us.
I perched on his bed next to him. ‘Beebee and Ceecee have made a TikTok about the family, and it’s going viral. Not only is it bad for our family, but it’s also bad for your father and I. What if one of the university faculty sees it, and your father is asked to leave? What if my publisher sees it?’
Callum carried on staring at his screen, violently tapping at the buttons as something or other came into view that required dispatching immediately.
‘Yeah, I saw it. What do you want me to do about it?’ he said distractedly.
‘You’re good at this stuff,’ said Martha. ‘Come on, Callum. We hate them. It will be fun to wipe those smug smirks off their faces.’
Callum looked at her momentarily.
‘It would be fun. But it’s a lot of effort just for that. It’s TikTok, no one is going to remember it by next week.’
‘We don’t know that,’ cut in Miles. ‘We can’t risk that. And anyway, it’s the principle.’
‘What do I get out of it?’ asked Callum, already bored by the conversation.
‘What do you want?’ I asked, earning an exasperated look from Miles.
‘I want a gaming computer?—’
‘No,’ said Miles. ‘I’ve told you, they’re too expensive.’
‘Then I guess you’ll be riding out the storm,’ Callum said cockily, ‘literally and… metaphorically.’
