Signals of the Heart: A British Love Story Unravelled

“Turn it off, Mum. Please.” My voice cracked, but she didn’t even glance at me. Her eyes were glued to the screen, where Alexander Rivers – my brother – was grinning like a Cheshire cat, clasping a diamond necklace around Miranda Solis’s neck. The audience in the studio screamed, and the hashtag #AlexAndMiranda trended in the corner of the screen. My phone buzzed with notifications, but I ignored them.

Mum’s hand trembled as she reached for her tea. “He looks so happy, doesn’t he, Emily?” she said, her voice brittle. “He’s finally found someone.”

I wanted to scream. Instead, I stared at the carpet, tracing the faded pattern with my toe. “He’s acting, Mum. It’s all for the cameras.”

She shot me a look, sharp as broken glass. “You’re just jealous. You always have been.”

I bit my lip, tasting blood. Maybe I was jealous. But not of Alexander’s fame or his money. I was jealous of the way he could charm the world, while I was left to pick up the pieces he left behind.

The show cut to a montage: Alexander and Miranda laughing in Hyde Park, feeding ducks by the Serpentine, sipping flat whites in some trendy Shoreditch café. I remembered when Alex and I used to do those things together, before Dad left, before Mum started drinking, before Alexander became a household name and I became invisible.

My phone buzzed again. This time, I glanced at the screen. A message from my best mate, Priya: “OMG, your bro is trending again! Are you watching?!”

I didn’t reply. Instead, I stood up and walked to the window. Rain streaked the glass, blurring the lights of London outside. I pressed my forehead against the cold pane, wishing I could disappear into the night.

Behind me, Mum sniffed. “You could’ve been on telly too, you know. If you’d just tried harder.”

I spun around, anger flaring. “I didn’t want to be on telly, Mum! I wanted a normal life. I wanted my family back.”

She flinched, as if I’d slapped her. For a moment, I almost apologised. But then the studio audience on the telly erupted again, and I saw Alexander kiss Miranda’s hand, and I couldn’t hold it in any longer.

“He’s lying to everyone,” I said, voice shaking. “He doesn’t love her. He’s doing it for the ratings. For the company. For you.”

Mum’s eyes filled with tears. “You don’t know that.”

But I did. I knew Alexander better than anyone. I knew about the panic attacks, the sleepless nights, the way he’d call me at 2am, begging me to remind him who he really was. I knew he hated the cameras, the fake smiles, the endless pressure to be perfect. But he’d never admit it. Not to Mum. Not to the world. Maybe not even to himself.

The show ended with Alexander and Miranda slow-dancing under a shower of confetti. Mum clapped, tears streaming down her face. I slipped out of the room, grabbing my coat and keys. I needed air. I needed to escape.

The streets were slick with rain, the city humming with life. I walked aimlessly, past kebab shops and late-night buses, my mind spinning. I ended up at the Thames, staring at the black water, wondering how everything had gone so wrong.

My phone buzzed again. This time, it was Alexander. I hesitated, then answered.

“Em?” His voice was small, uncertain. “Are you watching?”

I swallowed. “Yeah. Mum’s over the moon.”

He sighed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to find out like this.”

“Find out what?” I asked, though I already knew.

He was silent for a moment. “It’s all fake, Em. The necklace, the romance, the whole bloody show. They’re paying me to pretend. Miranda’s nice, but she’s not… she’s not you-know-who.”

I closed my eyes. “Then why do it?”

He laughed, bitter. “Because Mum needs the money. Because the company’s in trouble. Because I don’t know how to say no anymore.”

I felt tears prick my eyes. “You could’ve told me.”

“I didn’t want you to worry. You’ve got enough on your plate.”

I thought of my job at the library, the bills piling up, the way Mum looked right through me. “We’re supposed to be a family, Alex. Families don’t lie to each other.”

He was quiet. “I know. I’m sorry.”

I heard voices in the background – producers, maybe, or Miranda herself. “I have to go,” he said. “Can we talk tomorrow?”

I nodded, though he couldn’t see me. “Yeah. Tomorrow.”

I hung up and stared at the river, the city lights shimmering on the water. I thought about all the things we’d lost – Dad, our childhood, our trust in each other. I wondered if we could ever get them back.

When I got home, Mum was asleep on the sofa, the telly still blaring. I turned it off and covered her with a blanket. For a moment, I watched her sleep, her face soft and vulnerable. I remembered the way she used to sing to us when we were little, the way she’d hold us close when the world felt too big.

I went to bed, but sleep wouldn’t come. I lay awake, listening to the rain, thinking about Alexander, about Mum, about the lies we told to survive. I wondered if things would ever change, if we could ever be honest with each other again.

The next morning, I found Mum in the kitchen, staring into her tea. She looked up as I entered, her eyes red-rimmed.

“I’m sorry, love,” she whispered. “I just wanted something good for once. Something to be proud of.”

I sat beside her, taking her hand. “We don’t need telly shows or diamond necklaces to be proud, Mum. We just need each other.”

She squeezed my hand, tears slipping down her cheeks. “I miss him. I miss all of us.”

“Me too,” I said, my voice breaking.

Later, Alexander came round. He looked tired, older than his twenty-eight years. He hugged Mum, then me. For the first time in ages, we sat together, just talking. No cameras, no scripts, no lies.

We talked about Dad, about the company, about the future. We argued, we cried, we laughed. It wasn’t perfect, but it was real.

That night, as I lay in bed, I wondered: Is it better to live a beautiful lie, or a messy truth? Can a family broken by secrets ever truly heal? What would you do, if you were in my shoes?