1
Roxi
Roxi glared in disbelief at the YouTube video playing on her tablet. “How the hell has she bagged that?” she muttered.
Walking across the white sandy beaches of one of the Maldives islands, an energetic young woman gesticulated with the gusto of a children’s television presenter as she described to the camera the soaring temperatures and natural beauty of the tropical paradise.
“If your bingo wings flap any faster you’ll be airborne,” Roxi continued as the camera panned out to focus on the luxury resort.
Autumn Taylor’s tan was rich and her skin glowing, her hair was immaculately coiffed and, despite her claims of having only just woken up, her makeup was flawless. She clenched a tube of sunscreen in one hand and, in the other, a bottle of water. Both labels faced the lens.
Roxi paused the video, picked up her phone, opened the Notes App and began to dictate. “Sunglasses: Prada. Bikini: Harper Beckham. Sunblock: Nivea. Mineral water: Acqua Panna. Tits: sponsor unknown.”
She glanced at the data surrounding the Vlogger’s online channel, titled Autumn’s Endless Summer. It contained forty-two videos shot around the world in Bali, India, Fiji Islands, the Seychelles, Musha Cay and Bora Bora. Her most recent clip, posted yesterday, had already garnered more than a million views. Her position as one of the world’s top ten Influencers ruffled Roxi’s feathers every time she thought about it. Which was frequently.
Autumn’s content was a far cry from the videos Roxi had been editing that morning in an overcast New Northampton. Yesterday, she had been wandering around the shop floor of a discount home and fashion outlet discussing the week’s new best buys. She’d made sure to use the key words and phrases in every Influencer’s dictionary—“hey guys,” “community,” “get ready with me,” “collab,” “challenge” and “haul”—and with the same enthusiasm as booking a French Airbnb and being handed the keys to the Palace of Versailles.
Her footage had been shot on a camera phone and lit with a portable LED ring light, both operated by her reluctant offspring, Darcy and Josh. The end result was as far removed from Autumn’s high production values as the sun and the moon. And when Roxi had briefly dragged her daughter in front of the lens, no amount of sharp editing could disguise Darcy’s thunderous expression. She would rather be burning in the fiery flames of hell than be in Costland.
“I don’t even get why you’re making videos,” Darcy had moaned, her negativity buzzing in Roxi’s ear like a trapped mosquito. “Nobody watches your Vlogs.”
“Let’s try a little positivity, shall we?” Roxi had replied. “One hashtag seen by a PR could change everything.”
“You’re far too old for this.”
“Jem Jones isn’t much younger than me.”
“She’s a dinosaur but at least she’s a dinosaur people give a damn about.”
“I have twelve thousand combined social media followers.”
“Is that all?” Darcy had laughed. “That dog with the lazy eye and patch on its back that looks like Prince Louis has more followers than you. Vlogging isn’t going to make you famous. You’re embarrassing yourself.”
“Shall I tell you what embarrassing is?” Roxi had retaliated. “You turning up at school tomorrow with no phone because it’s been taken away from you as punishment for not doing as you’re told. Now be a good little girl, shut up and point that camera at me when I tell you.”
“I hate you,” Darcy had muttered.
“The feeling’s mutual, darling.”
It wasn’t, but Roxi couldn’t deny that when children had appeared in her world, her former life had swiftly crumbled. Even now, she was struggling to rebuild it. And she quietly resented them for it.
Watching Autumn’s video was forcing Roxi to accept that, despite her best efforts, her clip lacked excitement in the subject matter. Not even a warm color filter, background music and a screen filled with positive emojis could save it. The Taylors of this virtual universe received beautifully boxed high-end fashion, jewelry, luxury holidays and perfumes. The Roxis received nonaspirational products like espadrilles, panty liners and renewable wooden cases for Audites, the mandatory Artificial Intelligence–powered personal assistants installed in all Smart Marriage homes. Regardless, she was always the consummate professional, reminding herself that even Jem Jones had started somewhere.
Today, though, Autumn’s video had pushed her to the edge. She made a snap decision and hit the delete button. There would be no more clips like this.
Darcy had been partially to blame for her mother’s Vlogging. Twelve years earlier, her daughter hadn’t been the easiest of infants, thanks to colic, reflux, eczema and frequent sleep regressions. Roxi had spent many a sleepless night online searching for advice. And there’d been a video or a Vlog for just about every ailment known to babykind. But very few of these Influencers had resembled her. They weren’t sleep-deprived moms in torn joggers and threadbare jumpers that hid their lumps and bumps. They didn’t tie their hair up in scrunchies or go outside with makeup-free faces. They were immaculately turned-out domestic goddesses living their best, filter-lensed lives. Roxi had subscribed to their channels, bookmarked their pages, lived vicariously through their videos and photos, queued at their book signings and voted for them as they competed on reality TVshows. They became friends Roxi had yet to meet.
But, over time, envy had replaced her fascination. Why were they traveling the world, eating at the best restaurants, wearing the most-sought-after outfits, while she was doing the school run in decade-old elasticized jeans and returning home to piles of dirty washing? Against the chaos and disorder of her early years, she had found normality in two children and a husband. Only it wasn’t enough. She needed something else, something more.
The solution had appeared as unexpectedly as if God had delivered it to her by hand. She would start her own Vlog.
“You should definitely do it, babes,” her closest friend, Phoebe, had advised. “If that lot can do it, why can’t you? You’d be a natural. You’re smart, funny and very persuasive. You could sell meat to a vegan.”
Roxi had thrown everything but the kitchen sink at her content. Some weeks her posts focused on budget fashions; in others, she offered advice on keeping a relationship fresh. Everything from sex to shopping, beauty and motherhood were covered. But, to her frustration, her audience numbers were slow to grow—and she was not being seen by the brands she coveted.
Her attention returned to Autumn and her followers. The majority were in the lucrative teen and twentysomething female market with high disposable incomes. But one profile image took her by surprise—it belonged to Darcy. She wasn’t aware her daughter had even activated an Instagram account. Roxi skimmed through her posts. They were mostly made up of videos of Darcy and her friends pouting before the camera or performing choreographed dance routines. It was only as she was about to leave that she clocked Darcy’s follower total. It was approaching twelve thousand on one platform alone. Bewildered, she went back to Autumn’s homepage.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you had a girl-crush on her,” came a voice from behind.
“Jesus, Owen!” Roxi gasped as her husband pecked her on the cheek and peered over her shoulder. His sports bag and hockey stick lay in the doorway.
“How is the lovely Autumn today? I see her in this house so often that she feels like part of the family.”
“Another thirty thousand people have followed her in the last week. In the last bloody week. Why? Please explain it to me.”
He shrugged. “People like her? She’s fun, she’s enthusiastic, she’s young and she’s pretty.”
Roxi’s eyes narrowed. “Is that what you want to see online, young pretty girls?”
“Careful.” Owen pointed to the Audite on the kitchen side counter.
The small, black cylindrical device seemed to be staring back at her. Upgrading to a Smart Marriage allowed it to record ten random minutes of their conversation and alert them to any problems it might find in their relationship. She changed her tack. “Any idiot can do what Autumn does. I want to help people; she wants to humblebrag.”
“You’re kidding yourself if you think you’re Vlogging out of the goodness of your heart. You want what she has. And you’re jealous she’s better at it than you.”
“Thanks, Owen, that’s really what I need to hear right now.”
“You know there’s a shelf life when it comes to being an Influencer. Perhaps no matter what you do, age isn’t on your side.”
“So if I looked younger, I might get more work? Is that what you’re saying?”
Owen shook his head. “You look perfect to me,” he added before leaving her alone to research the internet for a discount code for face-tightening procedures. She only stopped when a news alert appeared on her screen, along with Jem Jones’s image.
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