Lucy Goodliffe wished that real life could be as wonderful as the life she had created online. A cashier in a pound-shop by day, by night she transformed into a social-media magpie – her blog and Twitter feeds filled with exciting, beautiful things she’d discovered. On the Internet she was a queen, followed by a faithful army of subjects who liked, re-tweeted and commented on her every word. Seven-and-a-half thousand people she had never met in person, who nightly flocked to her virtual side to view her latest treasures. Even as she served the unsmiling, uncommunicative and occasionally unwashed masses of Wolverhampton in PoundUniverse by day, she was dreaming of the next post for Lucy_Hearts, her blog, which only last year had been hailed as a ‘Blog to Watch’ by one of the many blogger collectives she belonged to.
Today had been a particularly challenging day IRL (In Real Life), her pockmark-faced boss Derek accusing her of not keeping her mind on the job, in plain sight of the queue of shoppers lining up at her till. He’d called her thick, too! Did he know who she was? And how much of her brain did she really require, to ring up baskets of items with an identical price, anyway? She was hardly likely to have to query anything, other than the sanity of the people choosing to shop there.
Honestly. If it wasn’t that her rent was due and the prospect of moving back home with her dad and his horrible chavvy girlfriend was worse than death itself, she would have told Dodgy Derek to stick his job, right then and there. But until she could save enough to support her blog full-time, she was stuck in her loo-cleaner-blue tabard and would have to put up with it.
But her shift was over for tonight – and she’d taken tomorrow off as holiday to schedule in a raft of new blog posts to sate the appetite of her faithful followers. Snuggled up in her favourite PJs with a large glass of white wine provided by her flatmate, she began to surf her favourite sites for sparkling titbits of loveliness. As usual, the hours melted away as Lucy lost herself in the virtual world. When she eventually looked at the clock at the top of her computer screen, she was surprised to find it was midnight.
And that’s when she saw the story on the Daily Messenger’s website. It popped up at 12.05 a.m. – and it stopped Lucy in her tracks.
Oh.
My.
Goodness!
An ordinary girl, just like her, receiving mysterious parcels from a secret admirer! It was like the plot of a rom-com, only it hadn’t been dreamed up by a team of Hollywood writers: this was actually happening! She quickly checked the news postings to see if any other eagle-eyed blogger had reposted the story. Half an hour later, she was satisfied nobody had.
This was perfect! A real-life fairy-tale mystery – and a blog exclusive, to boot!
Sleep could wait. Clamping a hand across her mouth to suppress a squeal of delight, Lucy set to work . . .
Within an hour, the story was flashing up on blogs and Twitter timelines across the UK, an army of late-night and early-morning bloggers seizing it with all the vigour Lucy had. Within six hours, social-media commentators had picked up the story in the US and Australian bloggers were quick to follow suit. Across the world, people who longed for good-news stories and tales of real-life romance devoured the details of ordinary Englishwoman Anna Browne, her secret admirer and the gorgeous gifts delivered in brown-paper parcels.
It must be a man, the unseen speculators asserted. The love of her life she doesn’t know yet – how romantic is that?
It restores your faith in happy-ever-afters, others said, their own secret dreams of a mystery benefactor and sublime gifts being fired by the news of it happening to someone, somewhere in the world.
Hundreds, then thousands, then tens of thousands of bloggers, tweeters and Facebookers like Lucy Goodliffe felt the same surge of hope that the story offered as they read it in bedrooms, on buses and trains and from behind official work documents when their bosses weren’t looking – passing it on with the click of a mouse.
By 8.30 a.m. the story was a full-blown viral sensation . . .
Ben wasn’t in Freya & Georgie’s next morning. Anna checked her phone for messages, but found none. She was sure he’d mentioned meeting, although in her blissful mood it was entirely possible she was mistaken. Unconcerned, she bought herself breakfast and enjoyed a conversation with Megan, the friendly barista, who was overjoyed to hear that the young couple she’d placed so much hope in had finally acted on their chemistry. Anna noticed that she blushed profusely when her good-looking boss walked by.
‘Is there anything happening with you two?’
The barista shook her head, but her expression belied the truth. When he was out of earshot, she confided in her customer. ‘You have to swear not to tell anyone, but we kissed last night! We were closing up and the other girls had gone home. I’d arranged to go on a date with my sister’s friend’s brother and was just about to leave, when Gabe suddenly blurted out that he liked me. He begged me not to go on the date and go out with him instead! Turns out he’d been so jealous all day and couldn’t stand the thought of me meeting someone else. Then we kissed and . . . well, safe to say he doesn’t have to be jealous any more.’
Perhaps there was something in the air today, Anna mused. As she looked around the coffee house she saw couples and soon-to-be couples emerging from the sea of city suits. The hum of conversation even carried a different tone – warmer and more convivial than she’d noticed before. The sight of smiles in the heart of the city was new and extraordinary, mirroring the optimism Anna felt.
Positive vibes seemed to be at work in the Messenger building, too. The atrium, much busier than usual, was buzzing with an energy all of its own, as people turned to smile at Anna as she entered. She glanced up at the large chrome clock above reception to make sure she wasn’t late, but the time was identical to that on her watch.
Strange, she thought, lifting the hatch to move behind the reception desk. Maybe there’s a meeting this morning that I’ve missed in the diary . . .
No sooner had she taken her place at reception than the first group of Messenger employees approached.
‘Great morning, Ms Browne,’ one of them said.
‘Is it?’
‘Indeed. Great for us, great for the paper – and especially great for you . . .’
Anna stared back. Were the people here so starved for news that her date with Ben was cause for such celebration? ‘This is about Ben McAra, isn’t it?’
The group nodded, their identical smiles a little unnerving.
‘Well, I’m delighted, obviously. But, you know, taking each day as it comes and all.’ Her answer did nothing to end the conversation, and the undiminished scrutiny made her shift uneasily behind the desk. ‘I’m sorry – is there anything I can help you with?’
‘You’ve done enough already,’ a woman said. ‘It might just be you’ve saved us.’
Anna could feel her hackles rising. ‘I don’t know what you mean. And, with the greatest respect, if you don’t need anything, can I ask you to leave the desk, please? We’re likely to be busy today and we need visitors to be able to sign in.’
The group shuffled away, but Anna heard, ‘Oh, she’ll be busy in here all right’ as they left. Gradually the crowd in the atrium dispersed, but Anna still felt as if she were being watched as the morning shift began. More strangeness soon followed.
‘Excuse me, are you Anna Browne?’ a smiling woman asked as she signed in.
That’s what it says on my name badge, Anna thought, smiling at the visitor. ‘Yes, I am.’
‘I think it’s wonderful,’ the woman rushed as she picked up her briefcase and began to walk from the counter. ‘Just wonderful!’
Frowning, Anna watched the visitor hurry across to the lift, still waving and smiling towards reception. What was wrong with everybody today?
It was only when Sheniece arrived for work that Anna’s questions were answered.
‘Oh. My. Life. Anna, are you okay?’ she asked, gathering a stunned Anna into her arms before she had even taken off her coat.
‘I’m fine,’ Anna coughed back, prising herself free of Sheniece’s too-tight hug. ‘Everyone else is acting oddly, though.’
‘No surprises there.’ Sheniece slapped a folded copy of the Messenger on the reception desk. ‘I expect they think you’re the saviour of the paper. But if you ask me, it’s sneaky, using you like that.’
Utterly bewildered, Anna followed Sheniece’s stabbing acrylic nail to the newsprint – and her heart hit the floor:
SIGNED, SEALED, DELIVERED – BUT WHO BY?
‘My Mystery Parcels Changed
My Life,’ Says City Worker
A mystery is unfolding within the walls of the Daily Messenger, reports CHIEF CORRESPONDENT, BEN MCARA.
An anonymous benefactor is showering a young receptionist with gifts that, she claims, are having a profound effect upon her life.
Parcels began arriving at DMHQ two months ago for receptionist Anna Browne, 31. Wrapped in brown paper and bearing no details of the sender, they have sparked a conundrum that has employees of the leading national paper befuddled.
The pretty brunette, described by colleagues as ‘charming’ and ‘sweet’, was practically unknown at the newspaper until the deliveries began. But it appears someone has been watching Ms Browne and has singled her out – making her the talk of the town.
It is unclear what the stranger’s intentions are towards the young woman, with some suggesting a sinister purpose. A senior source at the Daily Messenger confirmed that internal security is keeping tabs on the situation. ‘It could be anyone – with any motive. We believe in protecting our staff,’ he said.
Ms Browne refutes this. ‘It’s very kind. I’d like to thank the sender in person.’
Gifts have included perfume, jewellery, a treasure-hunt-style jaunt to a Notting Hill vintage store and, most recently, a sumptuous pair of handmade shoes.
More on this EXCLUSIVE story follows TOMORROW.
‘He’s a dog!’ Sheniece proclaimed. ‘Ben McAra is not worth your time.’
‘I – can’t believe it . . .’ Anna felt sick as anger, betrayal and fury churned inside her. She wanted to run, but couldn’t move, forced to stare the horrible truth in the face: Ben had lied to her. It was all a lie. The friendship, the date, the kisses that had meant the world to her – all just a part of . . . what exactly? Just another story? A plan to set her up? Was he laughing at her now? How had she been so blind?
‘You look like death, sweets. Here, sit down. Shall I get you some tea?’
‘Tea isn’t what she needs,’ Ted said, pushing Sheniece out of the way and looming large into Anna’s view. ‘Anna needs a bloody big sledgehammer to brain that bas— Pardon my French, girl, but that McAra’s the lowest of the low.’
Sheniece groaned and pressed a glass of water into Anna’s hands. ‘It’s just a story. It’ll pass.’
‘Don’t bank on it, girl. It’s everywhere. Story broke online this morning and it’s all over Twitter. Reg in Security over at the Daily Post says they’re kicking themselves for missing it. Reckons they’ll be heading this way, trying to steal you for an exclusive story.’
‘Ted! You’re not helping . . . Anna, say something. Do you want me to go up there and give McAra a piece of my mind?’
But Anna couldn’t think, let alone answer. The space around her undulated, as Ted and Sheniece’s voices echoed far in the distance. The words of the article tumbled around her, Ben’s name in the byline refusing to leave her sight. Everything she had placed her trust in – their growing friendship, the wonderful night at the riverside restaurant, and all the hopes she had dared to entertain since – were now revealed as nothing but elements of a cold, cynical scheme. How had she missed it?
She had wanted it to be true – and perhaps that was where her mistake had been made. She had allowed herself to trust Ben, when plenty of others questioned his integrity – including Jonah. Now her fingernails carved ugly half-moon marks into her palms as she clenched her fists in her lap. She didn’t look at anyone, not wanting to see the pity on their faces for the too-sweet girl so easily taken advantage of.
And the day was about to become far worse.
By three o’clock a group of journalists from rival newspapers had arrived and were being kept from the door by a very over-excited Ted, possibly the most dramatic thing to happen to him in the twenty-six years of his security career. Sheniece and Ashraf assumed switchboard duties as incoming calls became dominated by press requests. Rea hurried down from the newsroom to report mentions of Ben’s article as far afield as America and Japan; Damien Kendal was rumoured to be prowling the floor with a smile as wide as a month of Christmases, while the author of the incendiary piece was conspicuous by his absence. The accepted wisdom was that Ben had been sent on assignment and wouldn’t return for a week. The unofficial assertion was that he was hiding from Anna’s wrath, like the coward he’d proved himself to be. All of this swirled around Anna in a blur. All she wanted to do was run home and hide. But she couldn’t leave, trapped by the job she’d always loved. It was utterly hopeless and she willed the hours to pass.
A call from Juliet Evans at half-past four summoned her to the top floor. Keeping her eyes to the ground, she hurried through the open-plan offices, not wanting to see the expressions of journalists who had stopped working and were watching her pass. The coolness of the editor’s temporary office was a welcome relief after the weight of scrutiny that had mugged her all day.
‘Anna. Please sit.’ Juliet didn’t smile or make any conciliatory gesture, taking the seat opposite and folding her expensively manicured hands on the glass desk. ‘I won’t waste time enquiring after your health. I think I know the answer. The question is: what is the best course of action from here on in?’
Anna maintained her low gaze, fearing that eye contact might cause tears she would regret revealing. ‘I don’t know.’
‘I would be lying if I said the reaction to Mr McAra’s story hasn’t lifted the load from a great number of shoulders,’ Juliet stated. ‘The story is performing well online and the traffic there is better than we’ve seen all year. It’s a small beginning, but what it’s done for morale today has been great. We are hoping tomorrow’s follow-on story brings more people to the site. I’m sure you understand that this has come at a crucial time for the paper . . . But that isn’t the issue. Scrutiny of you is only going to worsen for the next few days. So I suggest you take a leave of absence – a paid leave, naturally. We’ll handle everything from here, and I’ll do my best to ensure your home address isn’t made available to the press. If you talk to anyone, you talk to us, okay?’
‘I don’t want to talk to anyone.’
‘Not right now, but in time maybe you will. And an interview in the Messenger – perhaps with a video we can post to meet online demand – might just be the way to keep the story small but effective. For all of us. Another newspaper might not be as flattering to you as you have my word the Messenger will be.’
Anna was disgusted by the suggestion, but dog-tired weariness was setting in and she just wanted to leave. ‘Fine, whatever,’ she said, staring at the edge of Juliet’s desk.
‘Good. So go, take some time away from this. I’ll call to advise when to come back to work, yes?’
To be away from the Messenger, her colleagues and a certain journalist she never wanted to set eyes on again was exactly what Anna wanted. ‘Yes. Thank you.’
‘My pleasure.’ For a moment, Anna thought she saw a glimmer of compassion in the editor’s eyes. ‘It will pass. It always does.’
The news story might, Anna thought. But the damage Ben has done won’t . . .