‘What do you do with all that time on your hands?’
Darby thought about the fact that she had a part-time job that kept her busy, a small but still there mortgage to pay, three offspring to continue to parent into full adulthood and a head full of worries. ‘Oh, you know…’
Lucinda beamed. ‘When I’m in the same boat, I will have hobbies coming out of my earholes. I want to try travel writing and pottery. What about you? Have you got any hobbies?’
Darby wondered if sitting under three layers of quilts in a chilly sitting room, staring at a fire and watching videos online could be considered a hobby. She decided to sound a lot more interesting, cultured and artisan than she was. 'I like going to exhibitions, reading and making my own bread.' Wincing inside at the little white lie, she decided she didn’t care. The last time she’d been to an event, it had been at a library in London, exhibiting the people who made models for street planners. She’d got the time wrong, it had been about to close when she’d arrived, and she’d been bored out of her brain. It had given her something to talk about, though.
Dan, husband of Lucinda, who was standing by the fireplace and on the edge of the conversation, laughed. 'Bread! Blimey,I got obsessed with sourdough during Covid. I was watching videos from all over the planet of people vlogging their bread-making journeys. Who even knew that was a thing, eh? I can’t tell you how many hours I have wasted watching videos online.’
You and me both,Darby thought. She was fairly certain that no one in the room, least of all Dan, would beat her in viewing hours. She pretended to laugh and dismissed wasting time online as absurd. In actual fact, watching people via her laptop was her lifeline. ‘I don’t think you were alone.’
‘You could do one of those bread vlogs. You know the ones where they score a line down the middle and whisper into a microphone about the properties of ancient starters.'
Elise nodded. 'ASMR. That’s huge, too. You don’t even have to do anything.'
'Yes, that. My niece does one where she eats pickles and whispers about lip gloss. She's got hundreds of followers. Thousands, even, I believe. She’s monetised it, too.'
Lucinda nodded. 'Or one of those TikToks where you show your skincare routine. You’ve got good skin, Darby. You should do a glow-up video.'
How funny I must be to you, and oh, the irony, Darby thought to herself. Little did the people making jokes know she now had many hours of thought and a lot of pages in a notebook planning precisely what they thought wassohilarious. She had the beginnings of an online channel without the ASMR but with a lot of her detailed in every way. She wouldn’t be divulging any of that. Instead, she kept her channel planning ideas to herself.
Penny returned with a tray of baked camembert and popped it down on the coffee table. The conversation, thankfully, shifted. Someone asked about bin collection changes. Someone else brought up where they were going on holiday. As the wine flowed and the little candles on the top of the mantelpiece flickered, Darby listened without speaking much at all. Shecouldn’t be bothered, to be frank. Pondering her secret channel, she laughed politely when Elise talked about the cookery classes she gave in her converted oast house and smiled when Dan’s wife rambled on and on about how she was looking at booking a ticket to New York, but only if she could go via Virgin Upper Class and on the QE2 on the way back. Darby wanted to turn her eyeballs inside out; she had more chance of going to Mars than going on the QE2. She hadn’t been out of the country in over 6 years, so much so that her passport had expired.
Sipping her drink, she felt the weight of people who belonged all around her; couples, little units, busy lives, people still in the thick of it. Elise passed around a phone to show a video of her dog chasing bubbles. The screen glowed as it passed from hand to hand. Penny’s husband, Jack, turned to Darby and lowered his voice. 'Seriously, you should start a little online thing. Just you chatting about your week. Books, meals, that sort of thing. I bet loads of people would watch it. You’ve got a lovely voice. Come on, we’ve always poked fun at you that you sound like the walking version of Radio Four.'
Darby smiled and joked. Little did Jack know that she had lists of lists of topics to vlog about. 'I think I’d need a better face than this one.'
Jack laughed, not unkindly. 'They’d love you. People are obsessed with real-life stuff. Just talk about your lovely life in Pretty Beach, your garden and what about all the books you read?’
Penny joined in. ‘Darbs, you know I’d watch it.'
Jack chuckled. ‘Me too.’
Darby shook her head. ‘Nah.’ Rolling her eyes, she pretended to think the idea was preposterous. It was strange, though, how it had come up in conversation. Was the universe telling her something, or at least trying to? She took another sip of wine and wondered how they’d unknowingly picked up on somethingshe was considering. How funny they all thought it was. How she didn’t think it was funny. How she was desperate.
Lucinda chimed in again with a look on her face that made Darby want to smother her with a sofa cushion. 'Yes, you've got that voice, you know. Very soothing.'
Dan pointed his wine glass at her. 'Radio Four voice. That's what we always say about you, isn't it, Pen? Very calming. People love that sort of thing.'
Penny nodded vigorously. 'They would and you've got such interesting things to say about books and all that. Plus, you've got the house and all that potential for before and after content. People are obsessed with renovation stories.'
Darby thought about the peach rose wallpaper that had been staring at her for five years, the threadbare carpet, the bathroom that needed love. If people were obsessed with renovation stories, there was one thing for sure: she had a lot of potential content at her disposal. She attempted to deflect. 'I don't think anyone wants to watch me fail to choose paint colours for another five years.' Thinking about the notebook full of ideas sitting at home on her kitchen table, Darby inhaled. Pages covered with her thoughts about house renovation and cooking for one and the particular loneliness of three failed relationships with three corresponding children and a move to the coast. 'The thing is. I wouldn't have the first clue about the technical side. Filming, editing, all that. I can barely manage to take a decent photo on my phone.'
‘Just go for it. Look at me and the oast house. I started that from nothing. You'll be a proper little business before you know it.'
Darby had to laugh. She’d be lucky if she ever found the courage to actually record herself, let alone make money someday. She'd been thinking about it as a way to force herself to finally tackle things and to give her something to do todrag herself by her earlobes out of the doldrums. The idea that strangers might pay attention to her ramblings and that it might be a business was nothing short of absurd. Bonkers.
'You would get subscribers if you did proper content, that is. None of this double-dancing in tiny outfits nonsense. Just someone real, talking about real things.'
Daisy swallowed as the conversation dipped and turned and moved on to other topics as people refreshed their drinks and someone mentioned the weather forecast for the weekend. Only half-listening, her mind was spinning with possibilities. She thought about her notebook, about the hours she'd spent watching other women document their lives, about the strange loneliness of her days and the way time seemed to stretch endlessly without purpose or direction. Later, as she helped Penny clear plates and load the dishwasher, Penny brought it up again.
Penny rinsed wine glasses under the hot tap. 'You should do it, you know. The channel thing. You've got something to say and you're funny. Plus, you need something, Darbs. Something that's yours.'
The words stung a little bit, mostly because they were so blooming well true. Darbydidneed something that was hers. Work paid the bills but didn't feed her soul, the house needed attention but felt overwhelming, and her days had taken on a very bland, soul-destroying sameness that made her feel like she was sleepwalking through her own life. 'Nah.'
Penny passed her a tea towel. 'Just do it and send it to me. I’ll be your lone subscriber...'
‘Yeah, whatever.’
