Chapter 31

31

Roxi

Roxi was mulling over a script for her next Vlog when an Audite positioned beneath the television pinged. She gritted her teeth.

“Couples shouldn’t just get along,” came the first of today’s Push notifications. “They should always be assisting their partner’s dreams and ambitions so that, together, they can accomplish their goals and bask in achieving each other’s objectives. How can you help your partner to achieve their goal?”

‘By trading myself in for a more complicit model,’ she muttered. Roxi didn’t have the time or inclination to put any thought into what her husband’s goals were. A new hockey stick or an upgrade to his car, most likely. His dreams were provincial while hers were aspirational. And lately it finally felt as if she was making headway in achieving them. She couldn’t let this Level One lunacy distract her. Besides, it was just a warning, she reasoned, a gentle nudge to remind them to be a little more thoughtful in the way they spoke to each other. If they could hold their tongues for the next few weeks and throw in some affirmations and mutual praise for the machine to pick up on, the intrusion would soon blow over.

In the short term, however, it wouldn’t stop the notifications from grating on her. They arrived at random times of the day and often when Roxi least expected them. Once one appeared so swiftly and with the Audite’s volume on high as she was on the toilet, that it quite literally scared the crap out of her.

Today’s script wasn’t flowing as effortlessly as it should, so Roxi diverted her attention towards her social media comments. The positives far outweighed the negatives. And after weeks of television appearances, podcasts and video chats, it was like water off a duck’s back to read threats of rape, arson, driving her car off the road and the kidnap and murder of her children.

But there was one exception. @JustSayingBabe. Roxi was allowing that troll to make a home under her skin. Their increasingly frequent attacks felt more personal than those sent by others. Today’s comment was posted under an Instagram image of Roxi’s tanned legs. The stem of a cocktail glass brushed against one of them, an infinity pool and setting sun on the horizon surrounded her.

‘Longing to go back to #BoraBora again,’ Roxi had written. ‘Best #holiday ever,’ followed by the maximum allowance of hashtags.

‘You’ve never been there, you #virtualfuckingtourist!’ @JustSayingBabe had written, followed by a dozen crying laughter emojis. ‘U have no shadow & a stock background image. Can’t unsee the photoshop. Spend time keeping your marriage together not photoshopping fake holidays! #Level1 #BeHonestBeBetter.’

Red-faced, she pressed her tongue against her bottom front teeth as she deleted her post. She wouldn’t be able to get away with throwaway boastaposts like this now that she was on her way to becoming a public figure. Judgemental fingers were always poised and ready to point at the slightest provocation. But what was with the comment regarding her marriage? And how did her troll know that she and Owen had been placed on Level One? All Roxi’s acquaintances were virtual and she didn’t confide personal matters in them. Phoebe had been her only real friend since their time in foster care together. But following Phoebe’s murder, Roxi hadn’t attempted to create a connection with anyone else for fear they too would disappear from her life. So the leak must have come from Owen’s side.

She clicked on the troll’s profile but, as before, it contained no information. A thought flashed through her head – was her daughter Darcy responsible? Had she discovered Roxi was responsible for having all her social media accounts deleted? It couldn’t be ruled out.

Her mood lifted at the sound of a vehicle pulling up outside and recognition of a courier delivery van. A robot appeared as the rear doors opened and made its way down a ramp and towards her front door. As Roxi opened its rear panels and removed a brown box, Darcy hurried up the driveway and into the house without acknowledging her mother. Tears streamed from red eyes and down her cheeks. Roxi reasoned that if she was already that upset, it wouldn’t make much difference if she dealt with it now or after she’d carried the package inside.

With each television or radio appearance – and there had been seventeen now – Roxi’s media career was gaining traction. Instead of approaching PRs cap in hand, they were approaching her. Closer inspection of documents attached to the box revealed it had been sent by a French cosmetics company. Darcy could wait one more minute. Inside it was a selection of moisturizers and perfumes. It was a high-end brand she had targeted in the past but her requests had fallen on deaf ears. She totted up the value – there was at least £3,000 worth of merchandise here. Delighted, she clasped her hands together as if in prayer.

She made her way upstairs and into the bathroom to cleanse her face and sample one. But on reaching the landing, a faint sobbing emanated from her daughter’s room. Roxi let out a long breath and opened the door.