When we get back to Dad’s house, he and Teresa are having a karaoke session. Teresa is in the middle of a serious power ballad. Dad is howling like a dog in pain. They have loads of fun together, but no one has done the important jobs. A sheet of lint has collected in the back of the dryer. The house is Mess HQ, and it’s why everything is on the brink of catching fire.
The safest thing is to go out and see Granddad. As usual, he’s in his shed. He spends a lot of time there. He may not understand women or the Internet, but perhaps he has some idea of a place to film that is slightly sane and quiet.
I knock on the shed door. Lauren waits outside; the shed can fit two but not three. Granddad is sitting there asking a tiny rose in a tiny pot why “she” refuses to bud. Though this sounds a bit weird, it’s easier to deal with than what is happening indoors.
“Granddad, can you…?”
All of a sudden, I have an odd thought.
Granddad’s shed would be a perfect vlogging space if we just moved all the gardening equipment, the potted plants, the green netting, his tools and pieces of wood, and his calendar featuring Britain’s favorite seashore-wading birds.
Granddad spots me eyeing it up. “I imagine that you want to come in here for some reason. Quiet. Nice big inside lock that keeps the whole world out.… I may let you use this shed, but don’t you be taking my bar-tailed godwit, Millie. I want that calendar kept up there.”
Granddad is slightly psychic.
“I was just wondering if Lauren and I could use your shed for a bit of filming. We want to make a vlog,” I say.
Granddad peers at me with his detective-inspector-investigating-a-murder face. “What’s a vlog? Is it illegal?”
“No, Granddad! It’s, like, a video that you can upload to a site and then everyone can watch it!”
“But why would people want to watch it?”
Granddad doesn’t mean to be harsh. He just really does not get it.
“Because,” I explain, “you’ve got something to tell people that might help them or make them laugh or—”
“So what are you going to tell them? What can YOU do?”
Okay. He IS sounding harsh now. And Captain Sexist of HMS Patronizing.
When I answer him, I sound a bit sharp. “I’m starting a funny advice vlog. On how to deal with life and idiots and families and trolls.”
Granddad stares at me. “You do know trolls aren’t real, don’t you, Millie? I mean, I know we told you that they lived under bridges and frightened the Three Billy Goats Gruff, but they—”
I do lose my patience slightly here. “Granddad. A troll is someone who keeps hassling you on social media and the Internet.” I try to make it simple. Lauren nods behind me.
“Well, just tell them to stop it,” Granddad says.
I’m trying to be patient. I REALLY am. “It doesn’t work like that. You can tell them to stop it, but they just carry on.”
Granddad’s face reddens and his fists clench. He shouts, “Tell a teacher then! Or me! I could sort them out for you, love.”
This melts me a bit, but I don’t know where to start.
“The thing is, you don’t always know who they are, Granddad.” I’m thinking of Mr. Style Shame. “Or you can’t prove that they’re really being horrible.” Now I’m thinking of Erin Breeler.
Granddad studies me. “Millie. I don’t know if I want you being in that world much.”
“That world? It is the world!” I yell.
“Well, young ladies have to look after themselves.”
Granddad has a thing about young ladies having to be careful. It makes me cross.
“So do young gentlemen,” I snap. “Please, can I use this shed?”
“You can use it, Millie. Because you’re not a daft girl. Your dad’s crackers gene missed you. But … just be careful. Look after yourself, then look after everyone else.”
Granddad always says this to me. It seems a bit selfish to me, but he is selfish. He had all his laundry done and dinner made for him for thirty-five years. He doesn’t really understand thinking about others.
But he’s helping me, so I just give him a hug and say, “Thank you.”
Granddad nods. As he leaves the shed, he says, “By the way, I’ll sort the tumble dryer before the whole place goes up.”
Granddad is like me. He likes me. He gets me. I love him.
I call Lauren in. “Granddad says we can use his shed for the vlog!”
Lauren says, “You sure, Mills? It’s not very glam.”
I explain that we don’t have an alternative and that we are NOT allowed to touch the bird calendar.
Lauren is disgusted. “We can’t do a serious vlog with a bird in the background.”
I can see her point. “Let’s change it to a different month,” I suggest. “Perhaps there will be a better bird.”
Lauren flips through the common sandpiper, the curlew, and the whimbrel before she asks me whether the Temminck’s tragopan looks “a bit sexy with its incredible Olympic cyclist legs.”
I give her a bit of a look. “It’s a bird!” My best friend’s gone off the planet. I need to get her back. “Leave it on the bar-tailed godwit,” I tell her. “Let’s get started. Granddad’s not going to let us stay in here forever.”
Lauren pulls her superserious face. There’s a long pause before she murmurs, “You know … well … I honestly think you should do it on your own.”
“What?!” The whole point was that this is something good that Lauren and I can do TOGETHER.
“Mills, all I’ll end up doing is repeating what you say AND interrupting you! I will sound STUPID. I didn’t even want to do it that much at your mum’s. Seriously. I thought I would want to, but I don’t.”
“Lauren, I’m gutted. Please do it with me!” I’m begging a bit now, but I don’t care. “You’re funny, and people love you. You don’t even have to try! And you look amazing!”
Lauren’s eyes are on the floor.
“No. You do it on your own, but I want to direct, do your makeup, dress the set, and perhaps be off-camera.”
And then Lauren admits the real reason why she doesn’t want to be on-screen. “I just hate how I look even WITH the contouring. I looked like such a spoon on Mr. Style Shame. I hate my legs. And when I speak on camera, I get twenty-five chins!”
This makes me really angry. “Everyone has twenty-five chins, Lauren! If you didn’t have all those, your neck would split and your head would fall off.”
Perhaps we should vlog about that—people who don’t want to be on film because they hate the way they look, even when they are totally wrong about it.
“I don’t want to talk about it, Mills,” Lauren snaps.
I get it.
“Have you been trolled? Lauren! Don’t let them get to you! Turn them off!”
This is great advice, but I don’t know if I would follow it.
Lauren gets angry. “Millie, I don’t want to talk about it, but I can help with the other things. If I’m going to direct and dress the set, then I’m going to tell you what I really think: Before you do your first vlog, you could do with some expert advice so it looks good. I don’t mean YOU looking good—I mean IT looking good. We are in a shed. We need all the help we can get. Who do we know that does great videos or stuff online?”
“Erin Breeler and loads of famous people who won’t help us.” Yes. I’m getting breathless again now. This was exciting. Now it’s going bad very quickly.
“We do know someone who can help,” Lauren says sort of sheepishly. “Bradley Sanderson.”
“Bradley Sanderson? The king of lifts and escalators?! But we’re not going to be vlogging about machines.”
“It doesn’t matter what he vlogs about, Millie. The point is that he does it really well. He gets loads of views! You should ask him about it at school tomorrow. And keep out of Erin’s way.”
Erin. She’d make my advice vlog into something about birdwatching and wading birds in an instant. I can’t imagine her EVER posting anything filmed in a potting shed. Lauren is totally right. I need James Bond’s geek genius, the one who sorts out his gadgets. I need Bradley Sanderson to be my secret weapon.