On-Camera Dolly exclusively uses what Mum calls my ‘telephone voice’. Maybe it’s a coincidence, but the minute I started making content without my normal accent, dialling my cadence up towards the posh London lifestyle girls, my followers and views rocketed up. I had tested it out, just to see if I was right that people want their aspirational life content from someone who sounds like they’re off the BBC or went to Oxbridge. I leaned into it, and haven’t looked back.
My family love to rip into me about my posh persona. You can’t rely on the algorithm forever – hell, that’s why I’m here – but so far, On-Camera Dolly’s content has given us a stable enough income that means I can be at home with Mum and we’re not quite so terrified of the harbinger of doom from my childhood, i.e. the brown envelope.
Coming onWedded Blissas On-Camera Dolly was a bit more controversial. Mum doesn’t like the lying of it; she’s never been good at hiding how she feels. I think she thinks I’m getting notions.
Jas made me practise at home so that I don’t get caught out.
And yeah, obviously I don’t have the connections of people with an actual silver spoon in their mouth, but I can sound right even if the rest isn’t there. Fool them just enough to get a foot in the room.
I think this might make me a class traitor. I’m sure plenty of people have done worse for less good reasons, but I might need to get my moral code checked.
‘Liverpool,’ I manage to say, before there’s a cheer as another woman enters the flat.
‘And that makes ten,’ says Whit.
I try very hard to hide any flicker of recognition as the little redhead walks in.
In this light, her red hair looks less phoenix feather and more ground cinnamon. Her smile is enormous and infectious. She’s small and slight, like most of the women, but where some of the others are striking, she’s cute. Pretty in a delicate way. Her patterned tea dress looks straight out of one of those size-inclusive faux vintage brands that always get advertised to me, because the algorithm knows I’m a fat woman.
I wonder what took her so long. I hope she’s alright.
Bridget rushes over to her first, almost sending Cherry’s bag-carrying chaperone flying. ‘Hiya, babe! It’s dead nice to meet you!’
Bridget wraps her up in a hug, and I swear I see a sparkle of terror in her eyes.
I’m truly thankful I walked into an empty warehouse. The poor girl is being accosted by nine of us at once.
When they break apart, Cherry waves to us all. ‘Hello, I’m Carys.’
‘OMG you’re Welsh too!’ cries Bridget huskily, clearly detecting something in her that the rest of us missed. They babble together in Welsh (I’m pretty sure) but then abruptly switch back to English.
As everyone greets her, this would be a great time for Whit and I to try to learn everyone’s names, but I’m too distracted by Cherry.
No,Carys. You can’t start giving girls nicknames, Dolly. Youknowhow that goes.
Eventually, Bridget drags Carys over to Whit and me in a way that reminds me of a small enthusiastic child with a less-enthusiastic leashed puppy.
Her eyes lock with mine, just for a moment. She seems stiffer in here. And there’s that nervous look again – the one I saw when she hugged Bridget, or rather, when Bridget hugged her.
‘I’m Dolly,’ I say, as though it’s the first time.
‘Carys.’ Hesitation hangs heavy on her lips. It’s plastered over with a smile, but I swear I can see the edges, where it’s not quite real.
‘Oh, you must be Dolly’s roommate then,’ Whit says.
Fuck. She’s right.
I feel rather warm all over. ‘Our room is this way,’ I say, taking Carys’s bag from her harried chaperone, who bids goodbye.
As I nudge open our bedroom door, Carys catches up to me. We pause on the threshold, and don’t speak. A silenthello again.
It takes a certain something to leap out of your car to follow a stranger into God-knows-what, just in case someone needs help. And now we’re stepping into another uncertain situation, still as strangers and allies. I just hope she doesn’t put two and two together.
But maybe this will be fine. Maybe I’m worrying for no reason.
The only problem is that I’ve always had a thing for redheads.
Chapter ThreeCarys
