Alex Campbell - Cloud 9

Above all, dont lie to yourself. The man who lies to himself and listens to his own lie comes to a point that he cannot distinguish the truth within him, or around him, and so loses all respect for himself and for others. And having no respect he ceases to love.

Fyodor Dostoyevsky, The Brothers Karamazov

Sadness is a scourge

Leata

Her

Live life with hope

I get the usual burst of pleasure tapping out my catchphrase, seeing those familiar words, black on white. Proudly, I lift my fingers from the keyboard, drumming them on my lips. What next ?

Its imperative I keep every post fresh, see, and more importantly, uplifting. I mean, people actually live their lives by what I say! What I say matters.

I switch from my blogs dashboard to its proper site, checking out todays pop-up. Leatas promos often inspire what I write There, see! Artistic as ever, and oh-so pretty! All sepia print with swathes of colour painted in. Like always, the advert holds a moral story: a confident, cool-looking boy strolling relaxed and happy through a field, while blue and yellow hot-air balloons rise up behind him. Theres a girl with him hes making laugh who, hey, if Im honest, doesnt look that unlike me! Right? Dark brown hair, olive skin, even the dimple in her chin. Which reminds me of that nice comment from EvieR last night:

You make the perfect Leata poster girl, Hope!

Wow, thanks, Evie! Believe it or not, youre not the first to say that.

Cue a stream of believers. My followers are all adorable. Theres so much love on my blog and my channel!

So what do my followers want to hear today? I cant just write anything. There are millions of other blogs and vlogs and random posts competing for a piece of Leata sponsorship. Not that Im in it for the money. No, for me its enough that Im helpful to others. That I bring positivity into millions of lives.

Okay: click back and curl my hands above the keyboard like Im about to play piano. No Im simply making music with my words ha! But seriously though, its what Im known for: Yeah, like Hope, the Live Life blogger? You know: Livelifewithhope?

I am known therefore I am. Isnt that what some ancient philosopher said? At the end of the day though, its not about me, I understand that. Its about making others my age feel connected and good about themselves thatll be my 1,998,042 total subscribers (and counting) ahem, need I say more? I am incredibly blessed.

Except still, my fingers remain poised mid-air.

I can sense it, something blocking my words. The something curling snake-like at the far corners of my mind. The funeral. Is it today?

I dance my shoulders about a bit, take a deep breath. Dont even go there. Squash. It. A smile, there you go, thats it: a big beam of a smile.

Okay! Countdown Back to Happiness!

Ten: Bad thoughts lead to bad lives.

Nine: I have an incredible family.

Eight: Fantastic friends.

Seven: Lifes short. Enjoy it!

Six: Nearly TWO MILLION SUBSCRIBERS! And lets not get started on Twitter and Instagram!

Five: My followers LOVE me

Four: Theyre forever telling me Im beautiful! That I bring positivity into their lives!

Three: When darkness comes, turn the light on brighter.

Two: I have a BRIGHT future.

One: I can become whatever I want to be.

It always works. Every time. I really must tweet again how the Ten Second Countdown is the best tip from LeataLiving.com. And I love the app for it. It counts down with you, then leaves you with a mirror at the end, Smile for a Leata selfie!

I copy out that last quote onto my draft post (officially, one of my favourite Leata messages to date!) as Mum calls up the stairs, Girls! Hurry! Youre going to be late! At the same time the bathroom door opens fin-a-lly, Rose! I hear her padding barefoot to her room. I swing off the bed, darting onto the landing.

Knock slam into Dad.

How many times? he snaps. His hands are up like he doesnt want to catch something. Do not run around the house in only a towel, Hope! Smartly suited, his harried face is the only creased part of him.

I beam a big sorry at him as Rose pokes a wet head out of her door. Dad continues along towards her, his voice softening. Honey that Egyptian project youre working on, I was thinking about a trip to the British Museum

Wow, Dad can be so sweet, despite being seriously stressed. What with being a senior partner in his law firm, and PharmaCare his main client (so, so, sooo proud). And of course Mum doesnt work; its Dad alone who pays for all this. Massive house; our education; clothes allowance; skiing holiday; summer holiday; occasional in-between holiday! I watch Dad tuck a wet strand of hair behind Roses ear. Were privileged to have a father whos such a family man.

I am incredibly lucky.

Him

He rubs a hole in the condensation on the cabinet mirror. Stares blankly at himself. A younger version of his dad stares back. His insides churn. Tom darts back to the toilet. Hes been about ten times already, even though hes not eaten since god knows when.

Hes drunk though. Yeah his tongue skates over the morning-after fur in his mouth hes drunk all right.

Tom flushes again. One hand circling his battle-strewn stomach, he returns to the sink.

I dont want to go, he murmurs at his reflection. Somehow it makes it seem more final. He doesnt know why. Its not like his dads not already dead. His mum went and saw him DEAD two months ago. Accompanied by his godfather, Ralph Dad, lying in a morgue, life leaked out of him; a parcel label probably hanging off his toe: MATT RILEY: DEFINITELY NOT IN HERE ANY MORE.

Yet somehow, putting his dad into some cushioned box into a worm-hole in the ground means its really over. Dad isnt coming back.

How can Dad not be coming back?

How can that even be possible?

Tom picks up his black-rimmed glasses from the side of the sink, pushing them on. His features grow magically defined: a junior version of Dads widows peak hairline, same shade of mud brown. A thin crooked line of a mouth beneath a straight nose partial to flaring. Not a great legacy, but then his dad was all about the inside. His dad had life sussed.

Pity he didnt inherit that too.

What would Dad say for right now? No one knows when the lights going to get switched off, Tommo.

Tom bangs a fist against the cabinet, rattling its contents. But couldnt you have bloody warned me you were going to switch yours off?

The dread thats ever-brewing in his stomach boils more furiously. Shit. Shit. Crap. Shit.Just. Want. You back. Dad. Here. Home. Each thump on the mirror accelerates the pumping rhythm in his head. Its becoming second nature, to have a permanent hangover, pulsing under his skull like some crap Ibiza dance tune.

Physical pain, it might alleviate the other kind, but it still hurts. Flipping open the mirror, he roots through the cabinet for pain relief. Constipation, diarrhoea, anti-histamines, old pills, new pills.