Page 2 of One Week in Paradise
‘What’s passion got to do with it?’ Dad yelled at me when I told him I didn’t want to go to university.
But what’s life without passion? That’s how I fell into influencing. I started off simply by sharing my natural hair journey on YouTube and Instagram. Growing up, it had always been difficult to find inspirational women on the internet who looked like me and understood my hair type. And don’t even get me started on the struggle to find products that worked with my hair.
So I started my channel,The Curly Bailey, and it turned out that a lot of other young women resonated with me. I’d created a small but thriving community – a safe space for girls and women who look like me. And I was proud of it. I felt proud when young girls slid into my DMs tellingme they’d never considered their hair or skin beautiful before, but my videos and posts had started them on a journey of self-love. Although my parents didn’t understand it, I knew that what I was doing was important and necessary, and it gave me a sense of purpose.
My small community continued to grow and, before I knew it, hair brands were in my DMs, desperate to send me their products to review or book me for social media campaigns. I started branching out into make-up and fashion, and soon enough,@TheCurlyBaileywas a hot commodity on the influencer scene.
Not anymore, though.
‘Thanks for the pep talk, Dad,’ I mumble as I make myself a cup of tea, then flee into the living room before he can say anything else.
Mum is sitting on the couch with a spread of tiny sandwiches on the coffee table in front of her.
‘Hello, darling,’ she says distractedly as I plop down next to her. She’s absentmindedly watching the television, where a blonde woman is gingerly poking at a definitely undercooked chicken.
‘Come Dine with Me?’ I ask.
Mum hums in acknowledgement. ‘She’s making chickenfrancese. Or she’s trying to, at least.’
We watch in silence and eat our sandwiches for a few minutes as the blonde woman (Julie, according to thepresenter) burns the chicken. Then Mum turns to me and smiles, but it’s not a good smile.
‘So,’ she says, delicately folding her hands in her lap.
‘Mum,’ I groan. ‘Please don’t start. I just got it from Dad.’
‘I’m not going to start,’ sniffs Mum. ‘I’m just—We’rejust worried about you, darling. You turn up at our door crying, telling us you’ve lost your apartment and that you’ve broken up with sweet Ethan.’
Sweet Ethan. I snort. She doesn’t know how wrong she is.
‘And then you tell us we’re not allowed to ask any questions,’ Mum continues. ‘You can’t expect us not to worry.’
She’s right – I know she is. But I can’t bring myself to tell them what happened. I wouldn’t be able to bear the shame. Thankfully, I’m spared from having to answer by the sound of the front door being flung open.
‘Anyone home?’ yells my big brother, Dane.
I say ‘big brother’ but Dane is only two years older than me, and our age gap has begun to feel smaller the older we get. To me, anyway. Ask him, and I’ll always be his baby sister.
Mum leaps up from the couch as soon as she hears his voice. I roll my eyes. Dane has always been her favourite. I used to be Dad’s favourite, but I’ve not held that title in a very long time.
‘Darling,’ Mum coos as Dane pops his head around the living-room door.
Growing up, people used to think we were twins, and I can see why. We’re both brown-skinned, with thick, curly dark brown hair, though Dane’s hair is now in long locs that fall to the middle of his back. I once posted a photo of us together on Instagram, and it got more likes and heart-eye emojis than anything I’d ever posted before. Girls love Dane, and he knows it.
He embraces Mum in a tight hug and shoots me an inquisitive look. I bite my lip.
Dane isn’t on social media. He has a Facebook account he made back when it first came out, and then he never touched it again, but that’s about it. The chances of him having seen The Video are low, but not zero. I’ll have to approach this with caution.
‘Hey,’ I say coolly as he pulls me into a one-armed hug. ‘What’re you doing here?’
‘Checking out the space for the conservatory,’ he explains.
‘The conservatory?’ I ask.
‘Didn’t I tell you?’ Mum jumps in. Her eyes are dancing with excitement. ‘Dane’s offered to do our conservatory for us. An early anniversary present.’
Ah. That makes sense. I feel a twinge of jealousy but quickly brush it away. Dane didn’t go to university either, but Dad didn’t mind. Instead, he did an apprenticeship at a construction company and eventually started his own. Great Dane Construction Services. The logo even has a littlecartoon dog on it, with its tongue poking out. I thought it was kind of cringey when he first showed me the logo, but he’s done incredibly well for himself. Much better than I have. I’m proud of him, no matter how much it stings right now.
‘Yeah,’ says Dane. ‘Cash is just parking the van round the corner.’
