Page 17 of Role Model

I realise, as we arrive home, that it is not going to be a nice evening.

Mum is sitting in the living room with Dad and Keren.

She’s been waiting for us to get home. She looks exhausted.

Her eyes are slightly bloodshot and her dark circles are visible from the other side of the room.

Fizz and I both deflate as we realise that we are about to be confronted and I slowly lower my giant elephant toy to the ground.

“So tonight was actually a party?” Mum says bluntly.

I see no use or merit in lying anymore. “Yes.”

Dad makes a noise of defeat and looks down at his shoes. Keren releases a performative sound of disappointment, one that makes me want to fight her. Mum just stares at me.

“What’s gotten into you?” she finally says and she 135 sounds so silly to me.

Like a character on a television show. She wouldn’t know the first thing about me.

The only thing she’s parented in the last year is her career.

That’s what she truly cares about nurturing.

The fruits of her ambition are what she talks about at parties, not us.

Never us. I’ve fooled myself, these last few weeks, letting them put me on every show, every paper. She doesn’t see any of it.

“I knew if I told you the truth, you wouldn’t let me go,” I say.

“Your father called Sable’s mother to check in and she told us everything,” Keren says and I’m instantly fuming at her, acting like she’s a family member when she’s nothing. “Did anyone see your fallout?”

“My what?” I spit.

“Your, you know… what happened. Did anyone see?”

“Are you asking if I embarrassed the family with my stupid little autistic meltdown?” I ask her, and I’ve never heard myself sound like this before. All venom. “No, Keren. I was locked in the bathroom.”

“All right, enough,” Mum interjects, addressing both of us. Perhaps she has finally grown tired of how Keren speaks to me, I certainly have. “Aeriel, I’m disappointed in you.”

I fling up a mask of indifference before her words 136 can land. I pretend they’re rain and I’m underneath an umbrella of experience. I’m used to her disappointment, so there is no need to be hurt by it.

“You’re unbelievable.”

The words come from behind me. I turn to look at Fizz.

She’s glaring at Mum with an expression I’ve never seen her wear before.

Fizz is like her name, always vibrant and alive.

Now she looks pale, her hair wet from the snow that fell as we started walking home tonight.

She looks like a ghost in our living room, her fun and fashionable clothes so at odds with the sensible brown and sage green colours all around us.

“Felicity, you can go home,” Mum says. Her words remind all of us that Fizz doesn’t live here. She’s in her twenties and a possible liability to Mum’s image. Keren has certainly encouraged distance, Fizz is never in any of the family pictures that are sent to the press.

I’m reminded of the edited photograph in Ana’s house.

“Oh, trust me. This soulless dump is the last place I want to be,” Fizz says, with a voice full of equal ice and flame. “But I just want you to know that you’re missing everything.”

Mum blinks at her. “I’m sorry?”

“You’re missing everything, Mum. Aeriel is miserable!

137 While you run the country and Dad runs all over London with Gideon, you are both missing it!

She’s miserable. She’s falling apart. She’s being crushed under pressure you and only you might be able to understand, because the public have claimed her as some magical role model for the nation’s kids.

Which means she can never make a mistake!

You could understand that, given what you do for work, but you’ve decided not to.

Instead, you’ve lorded all of it over her like a dragon!

She couldn’t have fun in the snow because of how adults who print newspapers might make it look.

Her friends treat her abysmally and she takes it because she’s so lonely.

She walks and talks and lives like a nun because she’s petrified of letting you down and the worst part of it all is, you either don’t know or you just don’t care!

You’re not a parent anymore. Public opinion is the parent. You’re missing everything .”

“This is disgraceful,” Mum says, but her words fall out in a stammer, not in her usually calm and composed voice. “Do you think I would ever speak to your grandmother the way you’re speaking to me right now?”

“Then throw me in jail!” yells Fizz, darting forward with her face ruddy and full of rage.

I press myself against the wall and plug my ears.

“Because I’m too old to care about you shutting me out anymore.

You’ll 138 have to lock me up if you don’t want to hear this.

Maybe if I put it in an email, you’ll get it. ”

“I don’t have to listen to any of this, get out!” Mum persists but she looks fearful of Fizz, as if this is all a step too far.

“Hey, Mum, what’s Aeriel’s favourite food?”

The switch-up, the sudden change in tactics, makes all of us nervous. Mum gets a defiant look in her eye, glancing briefly at me. “Pizza?”

It comes out as a question. Fizz makes a buzzing sound, as if Mum has got a question wrong on a quiz show. “Incorrect. She had lobster at the ambassador’s house and now that’s her favourite, as long as there is garlic butter.”

All of them look at me and I nod my head, somewhat jerkily. “It’s true.”

Mum’s eyes widen.

“What about her favourite colour?” Fizz says, her voice shaking as she speaks. “You won’t let the kid paint her bedroom but if you did, what colour would it be?”

Even Keren and Dad are eyeing Mum now, wondering if she’ll get this one right. She swallows and glances away from me. “Purple.”

“Nope. It’s baby blue,” Fizz says and I’m amazed that 139 she’s correct. I’m shocked at how well she knows me.

“What’s Aeriel afraid of, Mum? Other than the grown men with cameras who have taken to following her every move recently. Apart from that, what’s she afraid of?”

“I’ve spoken to multiple editors about the photographers,” Mum insists, bypassing the question. “And parliament are looking into a law about public pictures of children–”

“What’s Aeriel afraid of, Mum?” Fizz pushes, refusing to drop the question. She’s scarier than any reporter Mum has faced as Prime Minister.

“She doesn’t like snakes and spiders,” Mum says and she’s not incorrect but only because that’s true for so many people. It’s a guess and a lucky one at that, but those aren’t my deepest fears.

Fizz looks at me, before she speaks with so much love in her voice it makes me feel like I could cry.

“She’s scared of being hated, Mum. She’s scared of people hating her.”

I close my eyes and a tear breaks loose because it’s true; it’s the thing I have been too afraid to say aloud.

Fizz keeps going.

“Every time you roll your eyes at her or ignore her or yell at her, she feels hated. You don’t get it, you 140 think she should just be able to read that you’re tired or stressed or busy but she’s thirteen.

And autistic. She can’t. So you make her feel hated.

While you’re staring at your phone or your tablet or–”

“As always, you are being overly theatrical,” Mum says, matching Fizz in volume.

“The pair of you, all of you, have had the best schooling. The best nutrition. The best toys. The best of everything. Do you know what kind of children I’ve seen while doing this job?

Children whose family are abusive! Children who live in squalor. ”

“Yes, Mother,” Fizz says, sarcasm filling the room like steam from a boiling pot. “If we’re not being hit, we can’t complain. That’s such a serious line of thought. Thank you.”

“This is all too much,” Dad suddenly says quietly, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I agree,” Keren says. “And your mother is right, Felicity. You all have had every luxury afforded to you–”

“Shut up!” Mum, Dad and Fizz all shout at Keren in chorus.

I almost smile. Keren looks affronted but I can’t imagine why she should feel surprised.

She is not a member of this family, no matter how hard she tries to insert herself into our business.

Dad, looking 141 immediately apologetic, ushers her out of the living room so that it’s just Mum, Fizz and me.

“I’m not going to stand here,” Mum says, her voice full of quiet, simmering rage, “and be spoken to like this from a spoiled, selfish girl who is no longer a child. You wouldn’t understand the stress I’m under, Felicity, because you’ve never held down a job for more than a year.

You’ve never had anyone relying on you. It puts pressure on you, it makes you a little short sometimes, but you could never wrap your head around that because you’re too busy dying it another colour or getting a new tattoo. ”

I shiver. They’re both in the same emotional warzone and they know exactly how to hurt each other. Fizz takes one more step towards Mum and her eyes are wild.

“I’m going to make something great someday. Something important. A symphony. A painting. A script. A novel. An epic poem. A collection of fabulous clothes. And it will have nothing to do with you. It will be in spite of you, not because of you.”

I watch Mum, horrified. I wonder if she’ll cry but her face is blank. She makes a chuffing sound, like she’s clearing her throat. She inspects her nails.

Then, “I don’t think you have the drive or the discipline to do that, Felicity.”