‘I first created my blog as an online journal – just for me, and, although it probably sounds a bit strange, it was a way for me to share my love of fashion, and beauty and design with my mum. Even though she would never read it. Like I said, that might sound a bit weird but the first post I did, it helped me feel close to her.
‘My mum was amazing. Beautiful, clever, funny and joyful. She loved all the things this blog is about but I never got much of a chance to share them with her. When I was thirteen, she suffered a brain aneurysm. One moment she was there, laughing with us, and then she had gone. My bright, vibrant, full of life, wonderful mum…’
I scrunched the tissue in my hand and wiped my cheek with the back of my hand before carrying on.
‘I miss her every single day. I think of her every day, and there’s not a day I don’t wish that she were here with me, so we could do all the things mums and daughters are supposed to do together. I created this blog as a way to keep a link with her. It’s sort of like my own memorial to her. With every post or video, I feel closer to her. But it was never supposed to project an image of perfection and if I ever did that, if anyone ever thought that, then I’m truly, truly sorry.
‘Life isn’t perfect, and mine certainly isn’t. I’m lucky in a lot of ways – I have a wonderful family who support me in my artistic endeavours, even though it’s completely different from their more academic bent. But I am not perfect. I’m never seen without my make-up on in my videos, or in real life. Until today, as I’m sure you’ve noticed. My make-up is my armour, and it has been for years. I didn’t have the self-belief that I could be seen without it, or that people would accept me just as well without that polished finish. It’s my insecurities that have led to me being that way, not any natural ability to casually capture that perfect Instagram moment. Those candid moments aren’t real. Not on my feed or anyone else’s. We are all just trying to put our best selves out there. And for many, including me, it’s because we’re a little afraid that we might not be accepted, or loved, or thought worthy of attention if we do anything less.
‘But we should never think that. I know that now. The people that care about us don’t care if our make-up isn’t perfect, or if our hair isn’t stylishly tousled, or if we’re wearing the right clothes – whatever those are. The people that matter are the ones that take care of you when you come to them with a heart so broken, you wonder if it will ever mend. The ones that let you sob when you’ve fallen so hard in love with a man you never meant to, and who doesn’t love you back. And in telling him that fact, realising you’ve lost a best friend who you know you will never, can never, replace.’
My throat sounded croaky and rough and I tried to smile through the fresh wave of tears that now trickled down my cheeks.
‘It wouldn’t surprise me if Miss Anthrope attacks this post as a carefully constructed PR stunt and if she wants to think that, I can’t stop her. But it’s not. She was right in that I always posted about happy, bubbly Libby, but it wasn’t to push some unattainable vision. It was to make myself happy because life isn’t perfect. And because I miss my mum every single day. Some days it’s a real, physical pain and I’d do anything to have her back. It’s to offer ideas and advice that I wish I’d been told when I was young, and shy and feeling out of things because I was trying to be something I wasn’t.
‘It’s just a blog. It wasn’t meant to change the world. It was just something to help change my own a little.
‘So!’
I did my best to wipe away the tears and smile at the camera phone.
‘Now you know. This is me. The currently heartbroken, unadulterated pure Libby. With her red eyes, red nose and not a splash of make-up in sight. The thought of doing this made me feel sick, if I’m honest. But I needed to do it. Whatever you, or anyone, thinks of it is something I can’t change. All I can hope is that you know you are everything you need to be. It doesn’t matter what you wear, who you know, what you know, what colour your skin is. You are unique. And, more importantly, you are more than good enough.’
I gave a final smile and a little wave then leaned in and stopped the recording. Before I could change my mind, I pulled up the admin for my blog and posted the video. What reaction, if any, it might generate was out of my control.
38
The sound of shingle shifting close behind me made me turn. I shaded my eyes with my hand against the early morning sun as I looked up and saw two uniformed police officers standing to my left.
‘Oh no.’ I let out a sigh.
‘Funny how about 80 per cent of women greet you with that phrase, Alex.’ The shorter officer grinned.
‘Give us a minute, will you, funny guy?’
Alex’s partner nodded and scuffed off up the beach a little, his fingers hooked in the front of his stab vest. Alex watched him go for a moment and then crouched down next to me.
‘Hi.’
‘Just passing?’
He picked up a pebble and tossed it to and fro between his hands. ‘Got a call that there was a woman looking suspicious near the pier.’
I turned to him, gave a quick glance around then looked back at him. ‘Me?’
Alex nodded.
‘I’m not suspicious! I’m just sitting here.’
‘Yep. And apparently you’ve been just sitting there for the past two hours. With a piece of rope.’
‘What? Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t have any rope!’
Alex reached around me and picked up the wrap I’d been fiddling with. It was cream and currently rolled into a thin snake.
My eyebrows rose. ‘Oh! Oh no. I didn’t even think… I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to waste anyone’s time.’
He gave a smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. ‘Don’t worry about it. Believe me, this is a much nicer surprise. Every once in a while stats about the town apparently having a higher than average suicide rate pop up. It can make some people a bit jumpy.’
