Cyber Cinderella (32 page)

“But what about your baby. What about her?”

“She’s fine. A bit small but I think she’d have been a monster, if we’d left her in there. Already over five pounds, almost six, which is really almost normal. No fine, good, in fact, no tubes sticking in or out of her. None of that bag-of-oranges look that premature babies have. She’s beautiful. If a bit yellow. Bag of lemons perhaps.”

“Shit, you’re a mother. You’re parents. You’re amazing, both of you. All three of you.”

“I’ve got to go now,” she whispered.

“But wait, what’s her name?”

She giggled delightedly and then moaned again. “Ouch. Izobel.”

“Yes, but what’s her name?”

“That’s it, that’s her name.”

“I-S-A…”

“No, I-Z-O-B. It seems like the spelling that will get her noticed in life. We’re in for a few days, please come and see us. But promise not to make me laugh.”

Izobel, a name to get you noticed. Izobel, whose job is about to terminate, whose love life has been a disaster.

Izobel who is, what was it Alice had said, “funny and pretty and stuff.” Izobel, who has been reborn on the same day as her 5 lb namesake has come into existence.

Epilogue

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: what to wear

Hello my fellow non-nine-to-fiver, have you got an outfit sorted for wedding of the century? I’m almost back to my prenatal weight but everything’s in a different place, boobs where stomach was, stomach where knees were, head in the clouds, hand down the diaper dispenser etc. Camilla aka Herod has made it very clear that although the guest list stretches to 200, little Iz is not invited to the big day and I’m terrified about going without her as she’s become my kind of creepy ventriloquist’s doll that I speak through. I have no identity beyond her, what will I talk about? Argggh, M xxx

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: re: what (not) to wear

Ah, just get drunk and know that you’re a hundred times more interesting than the other guests. As token ex at the banquet, I have to look disgustingly chic. Am thinking of blowing one little trickle more of my PR O’Create redundancy hush money or Married Man’s lucrative freelancing fund on an inappropriate frock. You can take the girl out of PR but you can’t take the PR out of me—I may be a penniless psychology student, but damn it I’m not going to dress like one. Anyway, I wouldn’t worry what you wear, as flatmate of the bridesmaid, I can assure you that you can’t look worse than Becksy who’s thrilled at the prospect of looking like a Garruda Air hostess with tubular full-length skirt and matching bolero jacket. So clever of Camilla to have six wan crappily dressed versions of herself beside her so that she looks like the lead singer with an ugly backing band. Love, big Iz

To: [email protected]

From: maternity[email protected]

Subject: re:

Ooo, get you, back in the knife drawer. Are we quite as happy about Frank’s marriage as you say you are? “I’m so happy for them, no really” blah blah. Methinks the lady doth protest too much.

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: re:

Most evil phrase in English language begone. How many times have I been cursed with going through the lady doth protest pantomime. You fancy him, no I don’t, ooo methinks the lady doth protest, no I don’t, yes you do you’re protesting too much etc. etc. Not that it’s a problem now as it is totally clear that I only have eyes for one man. As you know, Iz’s six-month birthday marks the far more important half-year anniversary of my love and me. The first of many I’m sure. But don’t get me started on the wonder of Ivan…

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: re:

Bless, I don’t know which of the three of you is cuter. Are you expecting anniversary gifts? I’ve already spent a fortune on two hand-painted plates from Camilla and Frank’s wedding list. So unfair, why don’t Mick and I get anything for being monogamous?

To: all

From: [email protected]

Subject: hello from Germany

Hello all, just a quick e-mail between moving house, meeting so many fun Berliners and starting the new job (very very high-powered as well as highly paid!! Huge technical skills shortage so if anybody’s hot on Java, get out here!) to give you all my new e-mail address. E-mail me anytime though am so busy can’t say I’ll be quick to reply ;-)… Germany’s great and am really loving life and feel like everyone’s much more positive than back in rainy old England. Camilla, have a brill day—shame the wedding’s so small as I’d have loved to join you all. E-mail some photos of it and all the news soon.

( ) Alice

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: Fw: hello from Germany

Hello sweetheart, please find attached message from weirdie Alice. She doesn’t give up, does she? And do you think she realizes that her e-mail address looks like “lice smith”? Oh well, why should we care? Apart from the fact that, I suppose, I wouldn’t be e-mailing you now and seeing you tonight if it weren’t for her.

Any supper requests? Big kiss, I x

About the Author
   

Like my heroine, I was bored one day at work when I decided to Google myself. Unlike Izobel, I found absolutely nothing; well, lots about a realtor, poet and lawyer called Christina Hopkinson, but I had to delve pretty deep before I got to me. But I did think to myself, “Wouldn’t it have been weird if there had been a site devoted to me and my life?” and from there I developed the plot of
Cyber Cinderella.

I was often bored at work. After being educated in Cambridge (school), Oxford (university) and Madrid (nightclubs), I wasn’t qualified for much other than the usual media job that sounds a lot more glamorous than it is. I decided to stop waiting for a big fat redundancy payoff and chuck in my job to give writing a go. I got reemployed as a receptionist and typed fast and furiously in between answering the phone in a singsong voice.

Over the following twelve months, I got married, got pregnant, got published and moved house. I now live in London and divide my time between the differing demands of toddler and typewriter. I’m working on my second novel, as well as contributing features on health and parenting to British newspapers such as the
Telegraph
and the
Guardian.

Get in touch with me through
www.christinahopkinson.com
.

5 SPOT • • • • • SEND OFF

5 Reasons Why Googling Yourself Is a Very Bad Idea

1
. It’s like reading somebody else’s diary.
You wade through lots of boring stuff that’s not about you and, if there is anything actually relevant, it’s always negative. I found the gem “Christina Hopkinson clearly needs help” on a message board in response to an article I wrote in a newspaper. To which the other contributors all agreed!

2
. The shame of looking yourself up and finding you’re not on it at all.
Or you are—but it’s only as an eBay buyer or seller.

3
. Your discovery that an ex has put pictures of you up on the Web.
And you’re at a hugely unflattering angle, with your bits hanging out. Or your ex has posted your photo on a don’t-ever-date-this-person site.

4
. You find other people with your same name that are much more exciting than you are.
Like the friend who got obsessed with the person of the same name who’d won the Social Entrepreneur of the the Year award. She wondered, could it have been me? Should it be me? Then she wanted to change her life. Then she realized she never would. Then she wanted to watch daytime TV in a slump of depression for the next ten years.

I Googled what would be my married name, Christina Carruthers, to find that somebody else had already bagged that domain name and created the site
www.christinacarruthers.com
. What’s more, I’m completely outflanked in the glamour and makeup stakes by the rival Christina—reigning Miss Gay Dupont Circle of America and competitor in five—count ’em—five Miss Gay America pagents.

5
. Googling leaves a trail of technological slime easily followed.
Oh, the shame of being caught looking yourself up. Worse, the shame of getting an emergency visit from the men from your work’s IT department for having accidently logged onto a porn site when curiously looking at your namesake’s Swedish Web link.

If the site fits, wear it.

M
y world turned upside down the day I Googled myself and found IzobelBrannigan.com, a Web site dedicated to me. I’m not a celebrity, I’m not a royal, and I’m not an heiress. What I am is an average girl with a good job and a bad boyfriend. Nothing unusual there…

And yet, someone out there does think I’m unusual. They think I’m a fashion icon, a mover and a shaker about to take the world by storm. It’s amazing how the virtual Izobel Brannigan is so much more interesting than me. She’s a glamorous party girl; I’m a public relations hack. She’s a rebel; I’m a conformist. She has all the answers, and all I have are questions, the biggest being: Who is this Izobel Brannigan, and how do I get her life?

“A fast, feisty, and topical page-turner that will make you think twice (or maybe even three times) before Googling yourself.”
—C
AROLE
C
ADWALLADR, AUTHOR OF
T
HE
F
AMILY
T
REE

“Thought-provoking and very difficult to put down.
The product of an exciting new talent.
When’s her next one out?”
—C
LARE DE
V
RIES, AUTHOR OF
I & C
LAUDIUS

“An insightful debut—witty, wise, and worth reading.”
—
T
HE
M
IRROR
(UK)