Then Came Fame (Leah Williamson)

Aria: Fucking It Up.

May 2022

It was another weekday of waking up with a hangover and a lot of regret. The sunlight was seeping through the edges of the curtains on my hotel room window, and the faint sound of the elevator door opening and closing was driving me insane.

Mornings were my least favourite time of the day, not because they were early or because I had plans of any sort, but because the first thirty minutes of any morning was spent recalling the night before. After more than a year of living this way, I developed my own list of safety checks each morning: is this my hotel room? Am I clothed? Is there anyone beside me? Where's my phone?

It took just three minutes that morning for me to realise the horrible mistake I'd made the night before. That's all I had, 3 minutes of hungover bliss before the agony of the version of myself I was last night came along to ruin it all.

I hadn't long adjusted to the light of my phone screen before it began to blare out a ringtone I reserved for the worst types of people: my mother, my best friend, and of course, my manager. I glanced away when for a second, praying it would be my best friend, the best of a bad bunch, only to be filled with dread when I had the realisation that my manager was calling me at 7am. What had I done now?

"Hi."

It was nothing more than a groan, a sudden reminder that I really need to stop shouting when I'm in nightclubs and remember that my voice is the money maker... or so they all tell me.

"You're everywhere."

Heather wasn't a bad person, but I hated her with every fibre of my being. She had her good points, I guess, like her ability to make any of my shitty songs reach number one just hours after they were released, or her incredible understanding of the media, but she was a pain in the arse. She judged every move I made, even the ones she made alongside me. She would talk to me in the same way my mother would, that disapproving tone of voice that said I'm not mad, I'm just disappointed. Truth be told, she was usually right, and that just made me hate her even more.

"Well, obviously. That was your intention."

Perhaps if I had known why she sounded so peeved at me this time, I would've know that it wasn't the time for jokes. Reality was about to hit me like a tonne of bricks, and as usual, the second it did, I would run to the arms of Heather like I did with everyone I claimed to hate.

"Your Instagram story last night was posted to a public audience, not a private one. Remember that? What was it? Can anyone deliver grams to London Soho? Fuck sake, Aria. Fuck sake!"

Just over a year ago, I went from being a nobody to being the somebody the media had needed. Growing up, my family had nothing. Not the kind of nothing that meant you were dressed well and had three hot meals a day, but the type of nothing that meant sometimes we showered at the local swimming pool and I could often find myself in the PE store before school started searching for a clean school skirt. My mother tried her best, of course, but my deadbeat dad left us with next to nothing, and her trying seemed to be in vain with every new final demand letter that fell through the letterbox daily. So, when I found myself on stage at the Brit Awards in 2021, the overnight success was something I relished in. I went from being the poor kid to being the next big thing.

I lapped that lifestyle up, made the best of it, because I knew that things like this didn't happen to people like me. Sure, the rags to riches story was one everyone loved, but it wasn't a story for me, it was reality. So, I went to every party, I drank every drink offered to me, I took the drugs they told me helped to forget, and I slept with the women that threw themselves at me.

I just didn't expect it all to be so... public.

"I... how have I done that? Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! What do I do, Heather?"

As always, Heather quickly came up with a plan to minimise the collateral damage of my drunken mistake. Deep down, I knew she was simply trying to make me feel better, I knew the media wouldn't believe any excuse we came up with for this, but anything was better than the feeling of last nights dinner swirling around in my chest.

We released a statement through my management team, telling the world that my social media had been hacked and I would be offline until my team were sure it was secure again. If you want to put that excuse on a level with other, more well known, excuses, you could put it in the pile with the dog ate my homework or I got a flat tyre so I'm going to be late.

I was moved from my hotel to a home that belonged to a big wig producer on the outskirts of the Welsh border. It was a quick transition, something that ensured I couldn't fuck up anymore than I already had... at least for a few days. My label did their usual welfare check of sending a medical examination team to see me, they didn't ask about my lifestyle or if I felt I needed any support, just if I was planning to end my own life before I completed the UK tour booked for next month. When I said no, they left with a smile and a goodbye.

Stuck in that country house with nothing to do, I found myself scrolling through the tv for something to watch. I noticed just how many documentaries had been made about me, some favourable and some unfavourable. Some spoke of my success, others spoke of my out of control lifestyle and tendency to cause mayhem wherever I went. Sighing, I continued to scroll until I saw the beaming of smile of Alex Scott. The documentary was entitled The Future of Women's Football, and in that moment, I needed some female empowerment in my life. I pressed play, stretching back into the sofa and humming tunes to myself until I was snapped back out of it by a presence on the screen.

"Shoulder barge girl!"

I didn't remember much from that night, but I remembered her. She had such a kind face in a room full of people who didn't know the meaning of the word. I wanted to tell her that, but when I saw how embarrassed she was about bumping into me, I simply apologised and kept walking.

"Oh! She's Captain shoulder barge girl! Got it."

It wasn't long before I made my way onto her socials. She was proud of who she was, constantly sharing more pictures of herself playing football despite the influx of comments from middle-aged men about how no one cares or how boring women's football was.

We'll show them. You think no one watches women's football? Well, Aria James does now.