No Filter Read online

  2

  I’d played on this aspect for my blog, Brighton Belle – I saw it as part of my USP. A lot of the blogs were run by gorgeous brunettes and beautiful blondes and, whilst a lot of beauty advice can be applied to everyone, I’d had quite a few emails from young redheads who were getting teased at school or just didn’t know how to make the best of their fabulous colouring. Tilly and I shared the task of replying to emails and comments, but I always replied personally to these ones because I knew exactly what these girls were going through, and I’d ask them to let me know how they got on, if they chose to take my advice. When replies did come back, with the sender clearly in a happier place, it always made me a little bit teary and I’d send Mum a quick email, telling her about it.

  People sometimes accuse bloggers of being vain, and that it is all ‘me, me, me’. Some comments were downright nasty. The Internet could be a wonderful thing, but it certainly had its dark side too, allowing people the opportunity to be incredibly unpleasant whilst hiding behind a shield of anonymity. The days when I got a response from a reader who had been made to feel better about herself by trying something I’d suggested helped wipe all the mean stuff away. It reiterated to me that my blog, which was now my full-time job, had a purpose, and a good one at that.

  Tilly returned with the drinks.

  ‘Sorry it took a while. There’s some sort of conference on at the Brighton Centre and everyone’s stocking up on drinks before they go in.’

  ‘Not to worry. Have a pew,’ I said, indicating the other side of the blanket I’d folded over several times to sit on.

  We sat back and watched the surf splash to shore. The beach was getting busier now as tourists and locals on a day off came down to take advantage of the sun. The windsurfers from earlier were now further down the beach, pulling their boards on shore. At the end of the Palace Pier, the rides were beginning to move and Tilly and I watched as the Booster started to spin, the wire-enclosed pods on the end of its arms reaching out over the sea on every turn.

  ‘Have you ever been on that?’ Tilly asked me, pointing at the ride with her takeaway cup.

  ‘No. You couldn’t pay me enough.’ I turned and looked at her from under the shade of my umbrella. ‘Have you?’

  She nodded. ‘Sam made a big deal about wanting to go on it a couple of years ago. Then promptly threw up all over the place. Including me.’

  ‘Oh, no!’ I screwed my face up at the thought. ‘And this is the same Sam you’re about to marry? I hope he realises just exactly how much of a gem he’s getting with you.’

  ‘I remind him frequently. And he’s banned from all rides now. At least if I’m in the vicinity.’

  ‘That sounds like a very good strategy.’

  ‘How’s the dress?’

  I looked down at the fabric of the skirt I’d spread out in the sun, my legs folded up and crossed out of the way underneath it.

  ‘Definitely drying. My bum still feels pretty soggy though, which could be tricky. I’d rather not walk to the car with my knickers on display.’ I glanced at the bodice. Its double-layer construction had at least helped make this part a little less embarrassing now it was drying in the warm air. ‘The top will be OK. And I’ve got a scarf in here I can just sling round my hips to cover my unmentionables.’

  Tilly laughed. ‘I don’t think there’d be too many people complaining.’

  ‘I’d be complaining! Come on, help me make sure I get everything under wraps.’

  We got to our feet, and I rummaged in my bag for a scarf. Pulling it out, I tied it so that it sat low on my waist and covered my bum and the front of my dress, preventing anyone from seeing that today was, of course, the day I’d chosen to wear my tiniest pair of knickers. We gathered up our stuff and headed back up to the car. After loading the gear and ourselves in, I pointed the little Fiat back in the direction of the marina, and my flat.

  Leaving Tilly to upload the photos and do any editing required, I grabbed my dressing gown and headed into the bathroom. Stripping off the dress and my underwear, I stepped into the shower.

  With body and hair now free from sand and salt, I stepped out and began drying off. My eyes took in the small beach of sand in the bottom of the bath. Flicking the water back on, I rinsed it away. Not exactly the best start to the day.

  ‘How did they come out?’ I said, returning to the living room after blasting my hair with the hairdryer. I’d got the worst off but it was still damp, so I twisted it up and stuck a butterfly clip on the back to hold it out of the way.

  ‘Good!’ Tilly said, her eyes still locked on the screen. ‘It looks like we got some good shots before you took a dip, so we can just go ahead as planned. I think this is really going to be a great aspect to the blog – you know, incorporating more of the city into the shots.’

  ‘I hope so. I’m thinking we might need a bit more practice with location photography though.’

  ‘Yeah, I think you’re right. Sorry I didn’t get to warn you about that wave. I didn’t really notice it coming until it was too late.’

  ‘Don’t worry, no harm… What the hell is that?’ My eyes fixed on the image now displaying on Tilly’s laptop.

  ‘Oh! The camera was set on burst mode. It was still taking pictures when the whole wave thing happened. I guess it caught you as you stood up.’ Tilly giggled. ‘I’m pretty sure the hits on the blog would go sky high if I put this one up!’

  On the screen was a picture of me standing at the edge of the beach, soaking wet, eyes closed, just as I’d pushed my hair back. The yellow dress was plastered against my body, leaving little to the imagination. My mind whizzed back to the windsurfer. Oh God, please don’t let him have seen anything!

  ‘The only thing you’re going to do with that is to delete it. Now!’

  ‘Oh, Libby. I never thought I’d say this but you’re no fun.’

  I pulled a face at her.

  ‘Delete. Now.’

  The post dropped through the door and we turned at the sound. I heard Tilly pressing keys as I went to fetch it, my mind working as I did so.

  ‘Although, we could do a sort of mini feature about the mishap – not with that picture though!’ I flicked through the mail. Nothing interesting. ‘Have you still got the one you took with the seaweed in my hair?’

  ‘Yes… here.’ Tilly brought it up on screen.

  ‘Certainly not the most flattering shot but, if I crop the X-rated bit off, it might make a funny little story as an extra post. I’ll set about writing that up, if you can finish off the main one?’

  ‘No problem.’

  As we’d started early in order to catch the light and the relative peace of the beach, I’d offered to let Tilly have the afternoon off. Once she’d gone, I was going to settle in and try to get my head around the tax paperwork. Again. A couple of days ago, I’d rung an accountant but within minutes he was talking in what seemed like an entirely foreign language, asking me things I didn’t understand. Eventually I’d feigned someone at the door and hung up before proceeding to work myself up into even more of a state about the whole thing.

  But today was a new day. If I could make even a little progress, it would go some way to making up for being washed up on shore this morning.

  ‘You’re going to love me!’ Amy announced as I answered my phone.

  ‘I already love you.’ I laughed.

  ‘Well. Obviously. I am fabulous. Totally understandable. But what I mean is you’re going to love me even more!’

  ‘Not possible, but tell me anyway.’

  ‘I am going to help prevent you going to prison.’ She paused for a moment. ‘Really! Some people are so judgemental. You should have seen some of the looks I just got!’ Her voice faded a little as she turned away from the handset. ‘It’s all right. It’s only the one body,’ she called to her colleagues.

  I grinned, imagining Amy now doing the same. Most definitely not the shy type; if she could get a reaction out of someone with a bit of harmless fun, she was having
a good day. Her corporate career was going well, but her latest position had also landed her in an office with some people best described as ‘a little stuffy’.

  ‘So? Why the love fest?’

  ‘Because, dear heart, I was chatting to Marcus in the staff kitchen today—’

  ‘Is this Marcus-that-has-been-asking-you-out-forever-Marcus?’ I interrupted.

  ‘The very same.’

  I made a ‘hmm, interesting’ noise. Amy ignored me and continued.

  ‘He was asking what I’d been up to lately, and I mentioned that, among other things, I had been drinking wine as a sign of comradery with my best friend, who was stressing over having to do her first-year business accounts.’

  ‘Comradery? I believe the wine was your suggestion.’

  ‘Semantics. Anyway, the upshot is that Marcus’ brother, Charlie, is some sort of Risk Manager in London, but lives down here.’

  ‘Right,’ I said, not entirely following.

  ‘But, he started off as an accountant before moving into Risk Management,’ Amy clarified.

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Marcus already had a chat with him and Charlie’s agreed to pop round next weekend and take a look at your books.’

  ‘What? Here? Aren’t I supposed to make an appointment or something?’

  ‘Yes, there. It’s a favour to his brother. He was hoping to be able to do it this weekend but he’s about to jet off to New York or somewhere equally glitzy for work.’

  ‘Nice.’

  ‘Quite.’

  We both reflected for a moment on the glamour of jetting around the world on business before I pulled myself back to the subject at hand.

  ‘Oh, Amy. I’m not sure.’

  ‘Too late. It’s arranged. And poor Marcus would be crushed if it fell apart now.’

  I paused.

  ‘Amy?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why is Marcus pulling in favours for you?’

  ‘Umm…’

  ‘Seriously? You’re finally going on a date with him?’

  She lowered her voice. ‘It wasn’t that I was averse to him before. I just had to make sure I was over the whole John thing. Marcus is too nice to be used as rebound fodder.’

  ‘But are you sure?’ I suddenly realised that, despite being alone in my flat, I had also lowered my voice. I shook my head and returned to normal volume. ‘I mean, please don’t feel you have to do this to help me out. I’m sure there are plenty of other accountants I can try. Don’t get into something you don’t want—’

  ‘Libs. It’s fine. I do want. And he’s taking me up to Nobu in London. So I definitely want! Also, this way, I know that you’ll be getting good advice. You’ve worked too hard not to have the best people helping you when you need them.’

  ‘You know, you are right. I do love you more.’

  ‘See? I told you. It’s just inevitable.’

  ‘When are you going out with Marcus?’

  ‘Tomorrow night. We’re catching the train up to Town after work. Know something?’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘I can’t wait. After months of putting him off, I’m actually really excited to see how this goes.’

  ‘I hope it goes brilliantly, Ames. Text me after, won’t you?’

  ‘Will do. And Charlie said he’ll be round about half ten next Saturday morning. Is that OK?’

  ‘Of course. Thanks for setting this up, Amy. And thank Marcus too. I really appreciate it.’

  ‘Least I could do. OK, got to go. Talk to you later!’ And she was gone.

  I put my phone to the side of my workstation and allowed a small wave of relief to wash over me. Although I’d earlier decided on having another attempt at looking into the accountants, I’d procrastinated about it for most of the day. Now, thanks to Amy, there was something actually happening – at last. I smiled and let the worries of finance get pushed to the back of my mind for the first time in ages.

  Opening a new email, I entered a familiar address and quickly typed an update of the situation.

  Hi Mum

  Looks like I might be able to finally stop worrying about all this tax stuff. Got a chap coming round next weekend to take a look. Very relieved!

  Love you xxx

  Picking up a pile of notes from the side of my computer, I spread them out on the glass top of my desk and grabbed a pencil from the outsized ‘Visit Chicago’ mug my brother had brought me back from a medical conference.

  ‘Is it for holding a beverage or for swimming in?’ I’d asked.

  ‘I believe they’re marketed as multi-purpose.’

  So, it now sat as a handy holder for all my pens, pencils, and other implements I might need close to hand whilst working, which was preferable to spraining a wrist whilst trying to use it for its primary purpose.

  Pushing my chair away from the desk, I went over to where I’d set up my camera and the ring light I used for my YouTube channel videos. I checked the battery level on the camera. Fully charged. During my early days of doing them, I’d once forgotten to charge it and discovered that it had switched off halfway through a make-up tutorial, resulting in me having to redo the entire thing from scratch.

  Sitting in front of a camera, recording videos that would then be sent out into the great unknown, hadn’t come especially easy to me. Although I loved what I did, and loved sharing it with people, I had initially been entirely satisfied doing all of that via the blog. Taking photos of myself with certain make-up looks or wearing an outfit I’d put together had just grown organically. I’d always been looking to improve the blog, even when it had been just a hobby, so I’d worked on relaxing in front of a camera. After reading somewhere that the key was just getting comfortable with it all, and the secret to it was just practice, that was what I’d done. I’d practised, just snapping and deleting for ages until it had finally stopped feeling quite so awkward.

  The video side of the blog was something I’d really had to consider. I hadn’t been worried about the haters or the oddballs, or anything like that. It just hadn’t seemed to me at the time that it was a direction I’d needed to go in. It had been clear that it was a popular avenue for many, with some blogs getting an incredible number of hits and their owners becoming recognised as ‘celebrities’. I was happy for those bloggers. This was their main thing, and what they wanted to do with their life, so publicising it as much as possible and building a brand made sense. But when I’d first started the blog, it hadn’t been my main thing. I’d been a PA, and I’d liked my job. The blog had just been something I’d enjoyed doing in my spare time, my hobby. I loved it when I got comments – and always made a point of replying to them. I knew that for however many views a blog got, hardly any of those translated into a comment. It was hard when there were so many things vying for attention – I was guilty of it myself in many cases – so I really appreciated that those people had taken time to leave a comment on the blog.

  Gradually, I’d started getting more and more requests to do videos to show in real time how I’d created certain looks, to help readers recreate them at home. I’d talked it over with Amy, who had been all for it. Amy loved clothes and make-up as much as I did. We had pretty different looks – I tended to fall more into the Boho camp whilst she was definitely more Classic – but our differences in taste only strengthened our friendship and she’d been behind me from the start when I’d done my first video. I’d recorded it and then spent hours editing, learning the software, mostly through trial and error – a lot of error – as I’d gone along. Once finished, I’d shown it to Amy for her feedback. I knew she loved me enough not to tell me it was great if it wasn’t, and risk me looking an idiot online. The next day, Amy had called round to my flat wearing the same make-up look as I’d done in my video. Exactly the same.

  ‘I followed it, step by step,’ she’d said. ‘I love it! You were brilliant! You absolutely have to post this, and do more.’

  Her positivity and support had been the boost I’d needed. I’d
pressed the button to upload my first ever video, all the while feeling just a teensy bit sick. The response was amazing! My blog hits went up, the link had been shared and I’d started getting a bunch of ‘thumbs up’ on the YouTube channel.

  By the time I’d done my second one, I’d relaxed a bit more in front of the camera and the views had gone up again. I couldn’t help but get excited by the enthusiasm filtering through to me via the blog. I’d had an email from one of my viewers, saying that she had used my tutorial for her prom and it had sent her confidence soaring – in her own words, she had felt like the ‘belle of the ball’. I’d actually cried when I’d read that.

  Perhaps to some it was a frivolous pastime – a grown woman playing with clothes and make-up and sharing lifestyle tips. Who was I that people should listen to me? And I got that. I really did. I could understand how all of this might come across as a vanity project to those who didn’t understand what it meant to me to share these things. Or what it meant to those women out there to gain that extra bit of confidence by discovering something new. Whenever I got a negative comment, or a dismissive sound was made in my hearing by someone who found out what I now did for a living, I searched in my mind for that happy email, and others like it, mentally reading it over. If I helped just one person feel better about themselves, then that was all I needed.

  Flipping on the studio ring light and checking the camera’s settings, I took a seat opposite them. I pressed a button on the remote control and saw a red light on the camera begin to blink.