Filter This

by Sophie White

  Shelly turned the phone over in her hands. It had been forever since she’d really used this phone. She had another that they called the bat phone, for personal calls and texts. The SHELLY phone had pretty much been in Amy’s possession since her first day in the job, bar that overnight in Ballinahagh House – and look how that had turned out.

  Shelly opened the camera and snapped a selfie of her tear-streaked face. It had practically been years since she’d taken her own selfie! Maybe this was going to be fun. She pretended to upload the crying selfie to Instagram – turning the phone around, she consulted Amy. ‘What filter should I put on this, d’ya reckon?’

  Amy gasped and made a lunge for the phone. ‘Don’t even joke. A slip of the finger and that’d be up there for all to see. And there’s no deleting posts nowadays, Shelly. Everyone’s very fucking fast with the screenshots. You’d delete it and it’d be straight up on Rants.ie within minutes with a dozen wans all bitching about “why did she delete that?” “oh, she must have something to hide”. Seriously.’

  Shelly laughed but then saw Amy looked perturbed. ‘I won’t do anything, Amy. It’s fine – I can be trusted with my own Instagram account.’

  ‘Look, there’s something else you need to know.’ Amy glanced back at the door, ensuring it was closed. ‘It’s—’ She stopped abruptly and walked to the door, yanked it open and checked the corridor outside. Deserted. She stepped back in and closed the door.

  ‘OK, you’re freaking me out.’

  ‘The night of Dan’s meltdown in Ballinahagh House,’ Amy began, ‘we tracked down every single person who was in the dining room but,’ Amy paused and sucked in a panicked breath – Shelly had never seen her so tense, ‘we couldn’t find one witness, a girl.’

  ‘Kelly’s Klobber,’ Shelly breathed. She felt her stomach drop. She just knew – she’d had a niggly feeling ever since that night. Even though Amy had insisted all was fine, she just couldn’t imagine a hungry blogger like that would let it go so easily without trying to capitalise on it for all it was worth.

  Amy nodded, eyes down. ‘I’m so sorry, Shelly. I know I lied to you and that was unprofessional. I was just trying to keep it all contained. And I didn’t want to stress you out.’ Amy looked beseechingly at her. ‘I thought I could fob her off, get her onside with a few political likes. You gave her account a shout-out the week after the meltdown and I know she did well out of it – she gained about three thousand followers overnight, I checked.’

  Amy looked despairing and Shelly couldn’t summon the will to be annoyed that she hadn’t told her. Amy had lived and breathed SHELLY for two years. Shelly knew she would’ve done everything in her power to neutralise Kelly’s Klobber. She checked the time – her scene was about to shoot. The timing of this couldn’t be worse.

  ‘What has she said so far?’ Shelly started pulling on a pair of flesh-coloured control pants to better suck in her first-trimester bloat and was suddenly flooded with pity for this poor unwitting baby soon to be lobbed into this mess – a dad living in a Seomra in the garden and a mother trying to appeal to a potentially psychopathic fashion blogger’s better nature. Not to mention the prosthetic nipples. She finished stuffing herself into the Spanx – it’s worse than bloody cardio – and put her ivory silk teddy and knicker set on.

  ‘So far nothing at all,’ Amy bit her lower lip, ‘which makes me more nervous than if she was coming at us with all-out threats. I feel like she’s biding her time. I’ve sent DMs saying how much we’d appreciate her discretion and how much you love her account and that we were giving her shout-outs and stuff, but nothing. I think she’s toying with us.’

  ‘What does she want?’ Shelly was fussing with the fake nipples and starting to stress about her lines – all thoughts of Imelda and Durty Aul’ Town had been shoved to one side as she’d tried to absorb the idea that she had a potential blackmailer on her trail, and now she couldn’t even remember the opening words of the scene.

  ‘I dunno,’ said Amy helplessly. ‘It’s not Insta-likes anyway, I tried that. I think it’s one of two things – a) money, pure and simple. Which is obviously gonna be a major problem given Dan’s latest power move.’

  ‘What’s b) then?’ Shelly was pretty sure she didn’t want to hear the answer.

  Amy shrugged. ‘Destruction? Mayhem? Wreck your life? Humiliate you?’

  ‘Oh c’mon.’ Shelly tried for a laugh. ‘Is that not a bit OTT?’

  ‘You never know with these internet people, Shelly. To quote The Dark Knight, some people just wanna watch the world burn.’

  On this unsettling note, a sudden pounding on the dressing room door startled them both.

  ‘Fifteen minutes, Shelly. Thanks!’ It was Ruairí the PA doing the rounds, rousing the various players required for the next scene.

  ‘I have to get down to make-up to fix my face.’ Shelly gathered the day’s sides and gave her perky rubber nipples a final tweak. So typical of my life that in the midst of things falling apart, I’m wearing prosthetic nipples, she thought ruefully. ‘Let’s try not to assume the worst about Kelly’s Klobber – maybe when she knows she’s got my attention she’ll be satisfied.’

  Amy looked doubtful and Shelly hated this new role reversal – usually she was the stressed one and Amy was in control. Nothing had ever got to Amy like this before, even that time they came under major fire for putting a tanning product on Baby Georgie for a #spon post to illustrate it could be used on even the most sensitive skin.

  They headed to the door and Shelly paused, hand on the handle, and turned back to Amy. ‘Look, stay on set today, please? Maybe we can get more of a plan together between takes?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Amy seemed to be returning to her usual efficient self. ‘We do have more handover stuff to discuss beyond the bloody Kelly’s Klobber debacle.’

  ‘Oh?’ Shelly was not in the mood for any more revelations.

  ‘It’s just, ya know, it’s nothing, but I don’t want you getting complacent. Following has dropped off a little since the beginning of the year and you need to keep an eye on that. There’s more and more competition, that’s all. And they’re young and thirsty. Influencer of the Year is not in the bag yet and @AlisBaba is seriously gaining ground.’

  ‘So,’ Shelly grinned, trying to lighten the mood, ‘you’re saying I’m a dried-up old has-been whose most engaged follower is a stalker?’

  ‘Basically, yes.’

  Well, fuck, thought Shelly, a rarity for her. Shelly never said the f-word and she certainly didn’t think it too often either. But, god, with the divine Dan putting her money on lockdown, a potential stalker out to ruin her in the wings and Amy going on hiatus, leaving her holding the baby, nothing in her life was looking too on-brand right now.

  So fuck it.

  19

  ‘Can you just put that thing down for one single episode of SVU? You’re missing some absolute quality depravity over here.’ Sam was looking irritated. ‘It’s like trying to watch TV with someone furiously wanking in the corner of the room.’

  Liv snorted approvingly and Ali sighed and set the phone face down on the couch beside her.

  ‘It’s so nice to see you two bonding by ganging up on me.’ Ali feigned a huff but actually she loved that they could all veg out together, bingeing Netflix and mocking whatever show happened to be on. It was yet another peskily perfect thing about Sam – Liv actually liked him. And this was no small feat. Ali had rarely had a boy to bring home in the last few years but, on the occasions she did, they hardly ever passed Liv’s Knob Test. It was an informal examination conducted by Liv on most people. You couldn’t really tell when the test was underway – you’d only hear about the result, a result influenced by myriad nebulous factors only Liv was privy to. Afterwards she’d draw her conclusions and make vague pronouncements in summary: ‘He’s the kind of guy that thinks he and Vince Vaughn would be best friends.’ Or ‘Seems to have very limited vocab – he definitely thinks “marmalade” and “helicopter” are “big” w
ords.’

  Sam had charmed Liv from the off – which was surprising, as he definitely reckoned he and Vince Vaughn would be besties. Much of their connection stemmed from a shared disdain for Ali’s Insta-obsession and, added to that, Sam did a good line in TV-show commentary, which was a pastime of both Ali’s and Liv’s.

  On screen, a highly improbable scenario was playing out in which Stabler’s wife had gone into labour while trapped in a car wreck and Benson, Stabler’s partner, was being talked through administering the IV drip.

  ‘Not a single paramedic could hop in the window there?’ Sam was shouting at the telly incredulously.

  ‘They’ve lost the run of themselves in this episode,’ Liv chimed in. ‘I was willing to believe the whole midwife-paedo-ring story arc but this is just a farce.’

  Ali settled back against the cushions and pulled the sofa blanky over her. Sam and Liv were now debating about what was the most ludicrous storyline they’d ever seen on SVU. Sam was trying to convince Liv that there was an episode centred around a choir that had killed and cannibalised their domineering conductor.

  ‘Jesus, I wouldn’t put it past old Dickie Wolf to pull something like that!’ Liv laughed.

  Satisfied that they were distracted, Ali picked up the phone and began surreptitiously scrolling once more. She’d seen a WhatsApp and several screenshots drop in from Kate and was eager to catch up with what she was saying.

  Ali, I’m so sorry to be the one sending you these, but I thought you’d like to know and, as your friend, I felt a responsibility to show what’s being said about you.

  Below the message were three blurry screenshots of what looked like a Rants.ie forum. The fucking toilet bowl of the internet. If she tapped them they’d come into focus and she could read whatever it was Kate apparently felt was her ‘duty’ to show her. Well, fuck that. I’m not going there tonight. No way.

  She was more disturbed by the thought that Kate wanted to upset her than anything some randoms were spouting on the internet. The pang of upset flared in her stomach and her immediate thought was: wine. Pity Sam was there. She X-ed out of WhatsApp and opened her Instagram. A few minutes scrolling her latest follows, likes and comments settled her, though of course now that the thought of wine had hit, she felt antsy to get rid of Sam. He wasn’t supposed to be spending the night anyway – part of her slow-things-down plan. SVU ended and Ali spotted her chance.

  ‘Don’t you have to be up early for work tomorrow, babes?’

  ‘Oooh, is that a hint, babes?’ Sam gave her a little tickle. ‘Reckon I’m not wanted here anymore, Liv?’

  ‘Were you ever, darling?’ Liv replied with mock pity. Ali made pleading eyes at her behind Sam’s back and Liv looked resigned, adding, ‘We have some essential girl talk on the evening’s agenda, I’m afraid.’

  ‘Well, now I know ye’re definitely bullshitting me.’ Sam laughed, getting up. ‘As if you, Liv, would ever use the phrase “girl talk”.’

  He leaned down and kissed Ali, apparently not too fazed by being turfed out. ‘Enjoy girl time – don’t get over-excited now. We wouldn’t want a repeat of SVU season 44, episode 19, when the pillow fight escalated and the cheerleaders were convicted of manslaughter in the first degree.’

  Ali laughed dutifully, hopped up and began shoving Sam towards the hall. Sam being Sam, he attempted to turn this into a reenactment of the pottery scene from Ghost, but a few minutes later Ali had successfully ejected him. She returned to the couch via the kitchen, having grabbed a bottle of wine.

  Liv cracked a beer and raised a toast to her. ‘Congratulations on one of the most impressive acts of self-sabotage I have ever witnessed,’ she said snidely. Ali rolled her eyes, but Liv wasn’t done. ‘No, no, really, I have never seen such an effective and total self-cock-block. Ever. I sincerely doubt it’s even been done before.’

  ‘Liv, can you please shut up.’

  ‘Don’t be modest, Ali. Seriously, I’m impressed. You’ve managed to find the hands-down perfect man for you – he loves SVU, looks like Louis Theroux’s nerdier little brother, seems to adore you – and you, meanwhile, have successfully rigged it so that, no matter what happens, it can never work.’

  Ali poured her wine and resisted the strong urge to down it in one. She could drink in front of Liv but she had to keep it in check. ‘Please don’t you come at me too. Kate already sent me some gloating WhatsApp about people bitching about me on Rants and how she felt morally compelled as my friend to let me know.’

  ‘Well,’ Liv sighed heavily, ‘they’ll be saying a lot worse when this house of cards comes down. Which it will.’

  ‘Please, not tonight, Liv.’ Ali was now horizontal on the couch, having been hit by what had become a nightly crushing tiredness – she put it down to the sheer mental exertion of bullshitting so much. Lying should come with a health warning. She was attempting to drink her wine by dribbling it sideways into her mouth. ‘Wine straws need to become socially acceptable,’ she remarked.

  ‘So what are you going to do about Sam, then?’

  Ali had put the glass down and was now rummaging behind her, unhooking her bra and dragging it off through the sleeve of her hoodie – the day wasn’t officially over until that bloody contraption was off. ‘I’ve told him we need to slow things down on the whole “relationship”.’ Ali mimed air quotes. ‘Plus I’m heading to that mega preggo retreat next week, which will keep him at arm’s length for a bit. So I’ve definitely bought some time. It could get complicated when the sister arrives back from Oz, though.’

  Liv sat with one eyebrow raised sceptically throughout this little speech. ‘Sounds totally solid – oh wait, no. You sound insane. Also, this little charade has become excruciating to watch. You realise he is a real person with real feelings, Ali? I like him. It’s actually torture watching him fall for you and talk about his “baby”.’ Liv looked disgusted.

  ‘Liv!’ Ali sat up the better to complete the bra removal and yanked it so hard it snapped back and hit her in the face. ‘He’s not falling for me. He’s just being nice because he thinks I’m carrying his child.’

  Liv shot to her feet abruptly and loomed over Ali. ‘Jesus, will you just listen to what you said there?’ She leaned down. Ali could smell her beer. ‘What are you doing, Ali? You quit your job, you’re ignoring your mum, you’re leading this poor guy on—’

  ‘Why do you care so much?’ Ali shot back.

  ‘Because I’m a normal person. Because I care that you’re lying and hurting people. Because you’re going to hurt yourself.’

  ‘I don’t have to listen to this.’ Ali grabbed her phone and stomped off to bed.

  The following day, Ali sat on the edge of Miles’s bed mulling over the day’s plan. Obviously, the screenshots had gotten the better of her in the dead of night. After Liv went to bed, Ali snuck her bottle of wine out of the living room and had finished it lying on her bed with one foot on the floor to stop the room spinning and one eye closed to focus on the pics.

  @peacock44: I do not buy that Sam guy. He seems like such a nerd and she’s so desperate to have a baby daddy she just has to fake it and pretend that they’re some loved-up couple.

  @Mayo_gal: She’s just desperate full stop. Did you see that ‘bump update’ post? Like, calm down, you’re about ten minutes preggers, but she’s obvi gagging to get in with the whole Insta-mammy gang.

  @peacock44: And she announced it before the piss was even dry on that wee stick. Who tells everyone they’re preggers when they’re six weeks gone? #thirsty

  @cassieD: Is she even up the pole at all? She said last week that she was eight weeks along but then I went back and checked the date on her announcement post and that puts her at about ten and a half? I’ve had two babs and believe me no one gets that wrong.

  @Mayo_gal: Oooh juice. Do you have receipts?

  @cassieD: See below

  @cassieD had posted a screenshot of Ali’s pregnancy-test post with the date circled in red at the bottom of the pic. Below that
she’d uploaded a video she’d evidently captured from Ali’s IGTV Real Talk series.

  Anxiety had pierced the comforting buffer of booze. Feck, she had been a bit sketchy regarding exact dates. It was careless. Honestly, she couldn’t believe anyone was actually paying that much attention, but then again, tens of thousands of total strangers were watching her every move – odds were at least some of those were freaks who took screen recordings and bitched on internet forums.

  She suddenly noticed the album she’d been playing for Miles had ended. Without the music, the air pump that kept Miles’s mattress inflated – a necessity for bed-ridden people – was louder. This made her think about what the air mattress was for, which was not good for her mood.

  ‘What’ll we have, Dad? I actually brought you the new Elbow album!’ She jumped up to retrieve her bag and swap out the CDs. Then she grabbed the hand cream from her little make-up bag and gently picked up Miles’s left hand, watching his face carefully for any sign he was registering her touch. Not even a flicker. The knowledge seemed to thud in her stomach. She forced herself to smile – that was Mini’s most irritating advice when confronted with hardship of any degree. Don’t like school? Smile! Fake it till you feel it. Dad in a depressing nursing-home room? Smile. It could be worse!

  Ali squeezed hand cream onto Miles’s cool, dry hand and began to massage his fingers, wrists and forearms. Guy Garvey’s sweet voice crept over them and Ali felt soothed by this simple contact with her dad. No over-thinking about being a bad daughter and not loving him enough. No fear of where this was all going, just stroking his pale, parched skin and praying he could feel her love somewhere inside his shattered mind.