‘Tired? You young ’uns, you’ve no stamina. When I was your age I was off my tits every night, up until six then straight off to work, sweating like a bastard!’
With that alluring image now placed firmly in her head, Esther checks the time on her phone just as Miles arrives at her side. Soon he and his friends are yabbering away, coked to the eyeballs, shouting over each other and clearly thrilled at how fantastically clever and funny they all are.
‘Don’t be so boring, Esther,’ Andi insists, belly protruding over skinny jeans, buttons straining on his shirt, threatening to pop. Before they set off tonight, Miles promised he wouldn’t do any drugs. He’s trying to straighten out and he’s admitted it doesn’t ‘help’ him. But within halfan hour he was off to the loo with his mate – ‘just to chum him’, he’d said, as if he was worried about Kevin being lonely in there on his own. And now they’re off again, gyrating en masse, unfortunately still within Esther’s sightline.
The scene reminds her of Miles’s pet rat. It’s perfectly acceptable, having a single rodent pottering about quietly in his cage. Likewise, she’d be fine – well, fine-ish– with just one middle-aged person dancing. But she wouldn’t want a dozen rats in the kitchen.
Esther heads for the loo, not to take drugs – she doesn’t do them; she doesn’t even drink much normally – but because she needs to get away from them all for a few minutes. A girl in a vest top and jeans, with a delicate heart-shaped face, catches her eye in the mirror above the basins. ‘Hi,’ she says with a smile.
‘Hi.’ Esther smiles back and smooths down her hair with her fingers. The extensions have filled it out really well. Of course she realises, in the great scheme of things, that when people are battling with war, poverty and all kinds of horrors, ‘having thin hair’ is hardly a life-ruining condition. And it actually wasn’tthatthin. But there’d been some mean comments about it online, that it looked straggly and lank. Izzy, supposedly an old friend, had got in touch to let her know about this dedicated platform for haters where people in the public eye are slagged off. ‘You really shouldn’t look at it,’ she warned. ‘Please don’t. I’ll just upset you.’
Well, it wasexactlylike having a big pulsating spot. The more you’re warned to leave it, the more you’re poking and digging at it until it’s doubled in size, is throbbing angrily and simmering hot to the touch. That’s what Esther did with the haters’ site, and it was so awful seeing herself described as a ‘vain, dumb bitch with shit hair’ that sherushed off and got extensions, which took five hours, cost £750 and made her feel a bit sick – not just because of the cost but because they turned out to be real human hair, harvested from, well, she doesn’t like to think where the hair had come from. The word ‘harvested’ still makes her feel a bit nauseous now.
‘Some poor girl sold her hair,’ her mum’s boyfriend teased her, ‘just to make yours thicker!’
The girl in the mirror takes a cherry red lipstick from her bag and applies it deftly. ‘That colour really suits you,’ Esther says.
‘Thanks.’ The girl smiles, and Esther senses that flicker of recognition in her dark brown eyes. It happens sometimes: ‘It’s Esther Burton, isn’t it?’ Or: ‘You look just like Esther Burton!’ At first, the year or so after theWillow Valereality show, she found it mortifying and didn’t know how to react. Smile and walk away quickly? Laugh and say, ‘Yes, it is!’ as if they’d got a question right in a quiz?
‘Just be gracious, darling,’ her mum had suggested, but Esther couldn’t work out what that meant. For a while, whenever she went out at night, she wore a big hat with a floppy brim, tugged down low, and enormous sunglasses. However, she soon realised that the outfit screamed ‘I’m famous!’ and was drawing even more attention. So Esther gave up on that. And she doesn’t think she’s that famous really. At least, not beyond a certain age group, and a certain type of person. She’s prettyniche.
But even so, what happened after the TV thing wasn’t all good. Izzy, her best friend all through school, went all snidey and distant, and Esther heard her one time in the school library, saying, ‘She’s really changed. She thinks so much of herself now.’
That so wasn’t fair. Esther was trying her best to keep things normal when all these offers were coming in – moreTV stuff, social media opportunities, magazine interviews and copious gifts pouring in from PRs and fashion brands. She was sent clothes, jewellery and more make-up and skincare than she could ever slather onto her own face. It felt a bit crazy, like she didn’t deserve it, and she didn’t know what to do with it all.
‘Izzy’s just jealous,’ her mum had said. ‘She wasn’t even picked for the show and you were the star of it. She just can’t handle that, sweetie.’ But that hadn’t made it any easier.
Her dad had listened and sympathised and suggested that maybe Izzy felt threatened because their friendship had changed (not that that excused her behaviour, he added). Esther knew what he was thinking: that she should never have taken part in that show. At least he hadn’t said, ‘I told you so.’ Her dad’s not like that. He doesn’t care about being right; he justcares. He wants what’s best for her. And what was happening at school was bullying, pure and simple. Esther was ostracised and gossiped about. Someone – she never found out who – painted ESTHER BURTON UGLY SLAG on the sports block.
Her dad was livid when he found out. ‘I’m going to go in and talk to your teachers,’ he’d announced.
‘No, please don’t!’ she’d cried. ‘It’ll all die down and it’s nothing really. I don’t care.’
Of course she cared deeply, her face burning every time she glimpsed that cruel graffiti in the periphery of her vision. The school caretaker took a week to get around to painting over it. Although the bullying continued, Esther stopped telling her dad about it. Instead, she started hiding in the school loos, sitting there for hours, wiping away her tears with that horrible scratchy toilet paper they had at school. And she reassured her dad that everything was okay now.
Esther did still have friends she’d grown up with. But Gracie and Jess had gone to a normal secondary school, and at Willow Vale she had no one after the show had been aired and she’d emerged as its unintentional star. As Izzy’s influence spread, more of the girls started avoiding her, gossiping in groups and falling silent whenever she approached. The boys were still nice, which fuelled the girls even more: ‘She loves attention!’ But Estherdidn’tlove it. If anything, she’d always been envious of Izzy with her cosy family home, her mum baking mince pies at Christmas and wrapping a huge number of tiny thoughtful gifts every birthday, the number of parcels matching her age.
At birthdays and Christmas Esther’s mum gives her money as she’s too busy to choose things, she says – and she never knows what to buy her. Her dad’s busy too. He’s the busiest person she knows. But he always manages to find her some interesting books, some nice stationery, and fun things like a vintage record player in a portable case.
Miles made an effort too, at the start, with flowers, jewellery and adorable cards scrawled with loving messages. He was so thoughtful and really cared about her. That’s why they got together – because after finding she had no friends left at Willow Vale, she really needed someone. And Miles was different. Older for one thing. More mature. He’d seen and done it all with his music career. Heunderstood.
‘You’re Esther Burton,’ the girl says now in the club loo.
‘Yeah.’ Esther smiles. ‘Are you having a good night? What’s your name?’
Her dad had suggested flipping the attention to the other person, if she didn’t know how to react. ‘Maybeask their name, how they’re doing, that kind of thing?’ he’d said. Of course, Esther thought; he’s used to dealing with the public all day long.
‘Anya,’ the girl says. ‘It’s brilliant here, isn’t it?’
‘Yeah.’ Esther tries to sound enthusiastic. ‘Your lipstick’s lovely. You really suit red. I can’t wear it at all …’
‘Oh, I bet you could,’ Anya says kindly. They have a bit of a chitchat, admiring each other’s jewellery and exchanging tips on vintage shops. Esther feels better as they say goodbye and head off back into the crowd. Anya’s reminded her that people can be lovely, and if she’s feeling a bit out of sorts tonight it’s not really Miles’s fault. He’s just having a night out with his friends, so of course he wants to kick back, have some fun and do a few lines. He’s workedsohard lately. He deserves it.
‘Hey, gorgeous.’ He’s back at her side now, planting a noisy kiss on her cheek. ‘You having fun?’
‘Actually,’ Esther says, ‘I’m a bit tired. And I’ve got that thing with Dad tomorrow …’
‘What thing?’ He frowns.
