To Be Someone by Louise Voss Read Free Book Online Page A

with a camera jammed up his bottom, under the caption: “Yes, Doctor, it’s one of the worst cases of media intrusion I’ve ever seen.” On the back they’d written: “Get Well Soon, little Sis. Wish we could be there for you, but we’re just about to start a Bowie tour—well, it pays the bills. Can we come stay with you next time we’re in the U.K.? Love you lots, D&J.”
    Mum propped the cards back up on the window ledge with the dozens of others, moving the offensive “camera-up-bottom” one to the back. There was so little space left up there that she had to slot Toby’s card inside another one, which irritated me. What was the point of bothering to put it on display if no one could see it? All those supposed well-wishers clogging up my windowsill with cheap sentiment, because they couldn’t be bothered to actually visit me in person. (Well, except for my production team, but I didn’t think that them shuffling in for ten minutes really counted.)
    I made her move the daisy card back into my line of vision.
    “No, it won’t be nice,” I said. “She’ll just sit here and torture me by looking and sounding exactly like Sam, and we won’t even be able to talk about her. I hope she doesn’t come. In fact, I’m glad I’m not getting any visitors. I look like a freak. My life is over. I wish everybody would just go away.”
    Mum took my hand but I shook her off and looked away. I didn’t want her sympathy.
    “I heard the nurse mention that Toby was asking after you again,” she said casually. “Is that the Toby who sent that card? ”
    I ignored her and opened my notebook. I’d started writing about my blissful childhood, when Sam and I were first friends, and it had become almost an obsession. It was the one thing that kept me sane, and kept the black dog of my depression in his kennel.
    “Who’s Toby, Helena dear?” Mum’s hopeful tone made my skin crawl with irritation.
    “Nobody, Mum. He’s just a journalist trying to get a story on me. He says his wife’s in Intensive Care, but …”
    But what? Of course, I knew deep down that Toby’s wife really was in a coma somewhere down the corridor. Nobody could be calculating and callous enough to invent a story like that. Not to mention the child. Me kith Mummy better echoed in my head, and I suddenly felt a deep and long-overdue wash of shame. Did I really think he’d put Ruby up to that? I remembered Toby quite clearly now, from our one meeting all those years ago. The thing that had most impressed me about him, apart from his disarming smile, was his obvious openness and honesty. I’d really fancied him.
    “Well, the flowers he sent you are pretty. And why would he be bothering to write a story on you if his wife is that sick, for pity’s sake? I think you’re being rather overdramatic, and unfair on the poor man. He’s got plenty enough on his plate without you slandering him.”
    Mum sounded quite cross. I realized she’d probably already gleaned the sad tale of my meeting with Toby from Catriona the nurse and was just fishing to get my point of view. For once I didn’t jump down her throat and defend myself. I just nodded miserably.
    “Have you even thanked him for the flowers? ”
    “No,” I whispered, feeling about six years old and in disgrace.
    Mum tutted and rose to leave, tucking the stiff tortoiseshell handles of her handbag firmly over her forearm. She was clearly enjoying exercising a different emotion with me, not one pulled from the tired old selection grab bag of Pity, Sympathy, Patience, and Understanding, all much overused since my accident. No, today we had Displeasure, and boy, it was a refreshing change for her.
    “Well, honey, I’ll leave you to your …  memoirs ,” she said disapprovingly. “I need to get back and ring your father. Heaven knows how he’s coping over there on his own. I expect the house has gone even more to rack and ruin. He told me last week that he put dishwasher salt into the salt