Filter This

by Sophie White

  Ali was looking around the wood-panelled dining room for somewhere to stash her coat when she realised she’d left her bag of gifts and the cake for Liv in the taxi.

  Without a word she dashed back to the glass doors but there was no sign of it. Feck. Feck, feck, feck. It was 7.00 p.m. – she’d never get back into town to replace the lost face cream before the Kiehl’s shop closed.

  She went back over to Kate who’d latched, limpet-like, on to another heavy-hitter influencer in her brief absence.

  ‘What?’ said Kate sharply when Ali pulled her aside.

  ‘I left the bag for Liv in the taxi,’ she said, stricken.

  ‘Well, what am I supposed to do about that?’

  ‘I dunno, care!’ hissed Ali.

  ‘Well, soz.’ Kate shrugged. ‘I just hailed it, so no idea what company to call. OMG, there’s Holistic Hazel, oh my god – she just glows. I really wanna get her for my ’gram.’ Kate scurried across to the bar in the corner and Ali watched her hang on the edge of the cluster of PRs and influencers around Hazel, trying to inch her way in.

  Ali made her way to the table and glumly took her seat. Her cramps were relentless. The sharknado of periods seemed to be on the way. All she really wanted was to slip out and head home, but she couldn’t imagine wishing Liv a happy birthday empty-handed. At each beautiful place setting sat a small jewellery box. Ali cracked hers open. Oh, bingo. Inside was a delicate pendant in the shape of a horseshoe. It wasn’t very Liv but it would have to do. She’d snag some cake from the kitchen, maybe, and get home in time to make it up to her friend. It looked bad doing a swag ’n’ dash but Kate looked happier bet into these random influencers anyway, and after the day at Ailesend she just wanted to crash.

  Kate wasn’t thrilled at Ali pulling her aside again to explain. ‘It’s just I have to be up early to see my dad tomorrow. We had a meeting with his care team and he’s really not doing great.’

  ‘But if you go, I have to go,’ Kate whined as they stood by the table; the others, Ali could see, were preparing to come over.

  ‘You really don’t.’ Ali scowled. She could at least feign concern about Miles. ‘Have dinner – it’s sit-down so you can talk to the people beside you. Or come with me, and we can hang out at mine. I’m just wrecked and I feel bad about Liv’s birthday.’

  ‘It’s cool,’ Kate muttered, suddenly absorbed in the table. She grabbed up two of the name cards and swapped them so that hers was now beside Holistic Hazel’s. ‘That’s perfect – I’m set now, byeee! Have fun with your dad tomorrow.’

  And Liv thinks I’m bad, thought Ali, slipping away before she’d have to do any lengthy goodbyes.

  ‘Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear Li-iv! Happy birthday to you!’

  Liv was slumped on the couch reading when Ali came in holding a plate of teacakes with a candle stuck in each. She’d lost the nerve to try and score free cake at the restaurant, plus she didn’t want to make it too obvious that she’d just come from an event.

  ‘Hey,’ Liv said dully. ‘Nice of you to show up.’

  Ali handed her the jewellery box. ‘Happy Birthday, sorry I’m late, I was held up at Miles’s.’

  ‘Were you …?’ Liv said slowly, opening the lid. She seemed to be smiling as she drew the necklace out by its fine chain and Ali relaxed. She’d pulled it off. Though Liv’s smile was slowly turning into more of a sneer. ‘Held up with Miles, were you, Ali?’

  Ali pushed her hair behind her ear and sat down in the armchair opposite. ‘Yeah …’

  ‘So weird, cos this is the same pendant that Kate was just touting on her Instagram. The gift from the Insta-dinner she’s been at all night.’

  ‘I can explain!’

  ‘I really don’t want to hear it, Ali. Every word out of you since that stupid fucking wild card whatever-the-fuck has been bullshit. And I’m so tired of it.’

  Liv stood up and Ali couldn’t bring herself to meet her eyes. ‘Please, Liv—’

  But she was gone, the necklace abandoned on the floor.

  22

  ‘I just don’t know how to make him see that I didn’t do any of this on purpose.’ Shelly was trying to keep her voice level and non-confrontational. That’s what Plum, a veteran of couples therapy, had advised on the phone the night before.

  ‘Look, the shrinks all say they’re not taking sides but they are and, fact is, you want the therapist to be on your facking side, Shelly. So play the game. Don’t accuse Dan of anything. Every time you get the urge to blast him for whatever, don’t be all “you never give a shit about me” – the key to winning therapy is “I feel”. Put “I feel” in front of every damn thing you want to accuse him of. That way the therapist knows you’re not there to play the blame game but to heal,’ she’d finished triumphantly.

  ‘Right.’ Shelly had suppressed a smile. ‘And do you feel you’ve gotten much out of the therapy?’ To which Plum had only laughed throatily before hanging up because ‘the fit pool-cleaner boy’ had arrived.

  Shelly had been meticulously implementing the ‘I feel’ trick, though it backfired when Dan responded to her last one with ‘Well, I feel that a lot of what you’re “feeling” is BS, Shelly. In fact, bullshit has become something of a speciality of yours.’

  The therapy session had been Shelly’s idea. She wasn’t sure if it was simply that she couldn’t face the thought of being a pregnant single mother and the implication that potentially had for SHELLY the brand or if she really wanted Dan back. Maybe she wanted the old Dan back. But when she thought about the last few years of their marriage, it was she who had changed, not Dan, and perhaps that was the root of the problem.

  ‘Shelly doesn’t actually want to be with me,’ Dan explained to Dr Clarke in a matter-of-fact tone that didn’t quite disguise his anger. ‘She’s put that Instagram account before me – and, worse, before our daughter – every day for two years. And if we’re being honest, which I presume is the whole point of us even sitting here, I think this baby,’ he gestured at her stomach, which had begun in the last week to swell slightly, ‘is all for the ’gram.’

  ‘Dan … how could you say …?’

  ‘Oh, sorry, I forgot,’ he made a big exaggerated production out of his apologies, ‘I feel you deliberately got pregnant, knowing I didn’t want another baby. And d’you know why I feel this?’ God, thought Shelly, he’s really gotten on the ‘I feel’ train. ‘Because,’ Dan continued, ‘all you care about is your precious “content”. You should call her Content, in fact. Content Devine – it’s got a ring, I suppose.’ He sat back, his fists still clenched, though the rant had clearly taken something out of him and he looked exhausted.

  ‘Dan,’ Dr Clarke, an intimidating, together-looking woman of about forty leaned forward earnestly, ‘a lot of your language is quite oppositional and we need to remember that we’re here to resolve this conflict in order to move forward, not make accusations about the past. You feel sidelined by Shelly’s career and you feel a sense of betrayal around this baby’s conception, but contraception fails and I don’t believe it’s fair to say that Shelly would bring a child into the world to exploit for business.’

  Shelly breathed deeply, relieved that Dr Clarke was clearly on her side. She’d chosen her because she felt she was young enough to respect a woman managing the daily juggle of motherhood and career. There was even a good chance that she followed Shelly, so it was important she didn’t see her lose it with Dan now. She realised that maintaining her immaculate front with the therapist was probably defeating the very purpose of the therapy, but she didn’t know how else to behave anymore.

  ‘You don’t know what Shelly is capable of when it comes to her business,’ Dan countered. ‘She’s a slave to that thing. She hired a man to pretend to be me at some event. Does that strike you as normal behaviour, Doctor?’

  Dr Clarke’s eyes widened slightly and flickered to Shelly but she remained impassive. ‘We don’t like to use words like “normal” here,’ she sai
d, to which Dan laughed bitterly.

  ‘Excellent, you two will get on famously.’

  ‘I’m feeling really attacked right now …’ Shelly whispered, the line lifted straight from Plum’s how-to-win-therapy pep talk. ‘I had no choice with the, ehm, stand-in that we used for that event. I had an obligation to fulfil and we weren’t speaking at the time. We didn’t pretend he was you exactly.’ She couldn’t bear to look at Dr Clarke’s face, knowing she was losing ground rapidly in terms of seeming like the good one in this relationship. ‘People might’ve assumed … and we just didn’t correct them.’

  Dan held her gaze, his eyes narrowing, and Shelly swallowed. He pulled out his phone casually. ‘Oh, really? No pretending took place at all?’ He flicked his index finger over the screen and began to read:

  Fun times at the #DaddyBearsPicnic today. Thanks for the LOLs @GreenHilliardMasonPR and so great to keep up with all my international business deals with my awesome @SamsungOfficial handsfree package. Before you ask, the suit’s @HugoBoss from @BrownThomasOfficial gifted to me by love of my life @ShellyDevine #ad #spon

  ‘Hashtag blahblah fuckin’ blah.’

  Shelly cringed as Dan threw the phone onto the low table between them – she could see Dr Clarke twisting slightly to check out the pic.

  ‘If you’re going to create a fake version of me online, do I have to sound like such a prick? That’s a reasonable enough request, isn’t it, doctor? Although, if she gave a shit about what I wanted perhaps she’d listen when I say I don’t want to play your dumb little Instagram game anymore. Is it too much to ask for you to stop publishing photos of me and captions purporting to be written by me without my consent? There has to be a legal line being crossed here – it’s a form of identity theft, as far as I can see.’

  ‘You said it was OK at the start.’ Shelly knew how feeble this protest sounded and Dan didn’t even bother to address it.

  ‘Shelly,’ he turned around to face her, ‘do you actually want to save us? Or are we sitting here because you want to save face?’

  This question stopped Shelly cold and she could find no Plum-approved ‘I feel’ response.

  ‘I … I just … you knew that we were still honouring the @DivineDanDevine posts. You didn’t mind before when the money was coming in and you didn’t really have to do anything.’ She looked down at her hands. Her manicure was perfect; her engagement ring sparkled, almost in defiance of how grubby and mercenary their relationship had become.

  ‘I mind now, I think I’ve made that clear. And what I really mind is you not giving a crap about my feelings on all this. And,’ he was on a roll, his voice getting louder, ‘I mind Georgie being trotted out for freebies and to make you look good. You barely even spend time with her when there isn’t a camera around.’

  This really stung. Deep down, Shelly knew there was truth in it but she couldn’t bear the humiliation of Dr Clarke hearing it. They could never come here again. Then she caught herself – as if there would be an ‘ever again’ for her and Dan in therapy.

  ‘You don’t know how hard it was for me when Georgie was born. I was struggling and you just left me to it.’

  Dr Clarke was writing furiously in her notes and Shelly shuddered to think of the conclusions she was drawing. She looked up and clasped her hands earnestly in front of her. ‘I think we are making progress, even if it doesn’t quite feel that way right now,’ she intoned in her soothing therapist voice. ‘Next week, you’ll both have gained some distance from the issues here.’

  Dan barked a laugh and stood, grabbing his jacket. ‘I’m sorry, I can’t take any of this seriously. I’m not coming back after gaining distance or whatever. She can’t face reality and I’m done trying to break through her filter. Everything is just a front for her. Even this therapy exercise is probably just a photo op for some faux-revealing post about looking after your mental health – that’s very on-trend right now, right, Shelly?’ His mouth twisted into a grim smile.

  ‘How dare you. We’re here to resolve our marriage.’ Shelly didn’t feel nearly as indignant as she sounded. It was hard to summon indignation when you knew the other person had a point. Of course she wouldn’t be posting about their couple’s therapy but she did want them to get back on track. And maybe a part of that was about brand SHELLY.

  ‘I just don’t believe that, Shelly. You’re living a lie and I’m done with being some set dressing in your weird beige and blush pink life.’ He stormed out the door.

  Shelly sat in her car eating a bag of doughnuts and feeling uncharacteristically nihilistic.

  ‘First sessions can often be explosive,’ Dr Clarke had tried to reassure her as she’d left, head down and cheeks burning. She couldn’t believe that woman had witnessed the whole sorry mess of her marriage laid bare.

  ‘Sorry, I think I’m just really hormonal,’ Shelly’d offered by way of explanation, as if the woman hadn’t just witnessed her husband completely annihilating her.

  Now, licking the sugar from her fingers, she felt at a loss, a loss so complete and empty it was frightening. Her phone beeped – an Insta-message. The handle was strange, just @___________.

  I know about your lies.

  Shelly clicked on the profile, it was private with just two followers. Kelly’s Klobber? It had to be.

  23

  ‘Morning, ladies! How are you guys? I am so late! I have about a gazillion appointments today but I just had to come on and tell you all about this amazing supplement I’ve been gifted called Nailed iT – I’ve linked them here.’ Ali indicated the bottom of the screen, before turning serious. ‘You wouldn’t believe how a woman’s confidence can suffer when her nails are all flaky and bendy. Nailed iT are helping women all over the world to love themselves and feel more confident. It’s seriously the best thing I’ve ever used for my nails, like ever. So give them a follow and see if they can improve your nail life! Right, I’m off to get my coconut pancakes cos baby needs her protein.’

  Ali played back the video and added the link to the nail-supplement people, hit Post and settled back to finish her coffee.

  ‘It’s an amazing supplement, is it? Improving the lives of cutically challenged women the world over?’ It was early but Liv was still firing on all cynical cylinders.

  ‘Yes, it’s life-changing,’ Ali replied happily. ‘As is making a grand over breakfast.’

  ‘Fuck off. Not really?’

  ‘Yep,’ said Ali, trying to dial back the gloating.

  ‘Shit, the bullshit biz is lucrative.’ Liv shook her head. ‘Can’t put a price on integrity though,’ she concluded, making a couple of notes in the journal where she frequently jotted down ideas for her thesis.

  ‘I have used it.’ Ali was feeling testy. ‘I’m not lying – my nails have improved.’

  ‘Oh, right, you’re not a liar. Not at all! If you can’t take a little negging, that suggests to me that your conscience is bothering you, darl.’ Liv tilted her head and cocked an eyebrow.

  God, things had become unbearable between them. Liv had virtually given up all pretence at still being friends. Ali hated fighting with her. She was too good at it for a start.

  ‘Nope, conscience is on board with this.’ Ali got up and began prepping the breakfast post flat lay. ‘I’m making really good money, I’m not hurting anyone and, if I’m not mistaken, your thesis would be screwed without me, no?’

  ‘Oh, so you’re aware of my thesis? Because you never fucking ask me about it!’ Liv said pissily.

  ‘Well, you never asked me about the meeting with Miles’s doctors.’ Ali was relieved to have something to throw back in her face.

  Liv ducked her head and looked stricken. ‘Shit, Ali. I’m sorry,’ she said quietly. She sighed. ‘How did it go?’

  ‘It’s not good. They seem to think he doesn’t have much time left. The last infection …’ Ali massaged her forehead. ‘I dunno. I don’t want to get into it. How’s the thesis going?’ She wanted to keep Liv talking while she was feeling a touch more a
menable; Ali missed her more than she wanted to acknowledge.

  Liv sighed. ‘My last Google search was “how many people abandon their thesis”.’

  ‘Yikes, mine was,’ Ali consulted her phone, ‘“second-trimester pregnancy symptoms”.’

  ‘Oh? So how’re you going to be feeling in the coming months?’

  ‘Oh, it’s a hellscape: leg pains, loose teeth, bleeding gums, pelvic pain, leg cramps, puffiness. You could write a thesis on preggo symptoms. It’s a bloody shitshow. Never heard any of the Insta-mums talking about their urinary tract infections before! Lots of material for the ’gram, though. I’m gonna do a whole series on “stuff no one tells you about pregnancy”.’

  ‘Oh yeah, you’re definitely the right person to be explaining the process of gestation.’ Liv’s tone was still mocking but definitely warming up. ‘How’s lover boy? Haven’t seen him.’

  ‘Em, he’s cool,’ Ali said airily, rearranging the flat lay.

  ‘Ah, he’s still pissed about the fake visit to the imaginary doctor that he missed out on?’

  ‘Well, he was hurt,’ Ali conceded, nudging a bottle of mouthwash closer to a smoothie bowl she’d made by adding food dye to PVA glue and topping with berries and some potpourri – it looked infinitely better than any smoothie bowl she could’ve made for real and she could use it over and over, just changing up the toppings. ‘He’s a real “feelings guy”.’ Ali frowned. It was hard to get the mouthwash bottle to talk to the rest of the breakfast-tray aesthetic. ‘It looks a bit off,’ she muttered.

  ‘Well, most people use mouthwash in the bathroom,’ Liv offered. ‘Maybe that’s why it looks weird. What’s he said?’

  ‘Oh,’ Ali sighed, ‘just stuff like how it’s his baby too and he wanted to be there with me.’

  ‘What a total prick.’

  ‘I wasn’t saying that,’ Ali protested. ‘But he is being weirdly proprietary about the whole thing. Keeps wanting to tell his sisters and, ugh, I just wish he’d get off Instagram. He’s always on my Story. I wish he’d be supportive but not so invested, ya know? Thank fuck I’m getting away to the duffed-up-bitches retreat later. I need to get a plan together and I can’t think straight when he’s around with his lovely arms and nice smell.’