by Sophie White
Curled up in bed and scrolling, Shelly came across Hazel’s sponsored post from earlier. It was ridiculous. There they were, all shiny, bouncy hair and mouths gaping, supposedly laughing while the incongruous box of haemorrhoid cream sat front and centre.
#AboutLastNight … Don’t allow #MamasNightOut be ruined by discomfort. Pick up a tube of #SoulHole haemorrhoid cream by @HeavenlyHealth and get out there with your #besties – thanks for the lols @ShellyDevine and @PollysFewBits.
Whatever anyone might think, Shelly mused, it was more or less an honest day’s work and it was money she needed if she was going to make a home and a future without Dan Devine.
She dashed off a text to Amy.
I’m all in. No more pussyfooting around, I promise. We need to make some serious dosh before the new baby comes. Hazel’s batshit Holistic hell-fest will be good bank. I’ll explain all when I see you …
Chapter 7
Ali came in to breakfast the next morning giggling at a bit of sponcon from Hazel … #SoulHole. Ick. Hazel touting haemorrhoid cream was enough to put her off the breakfast she’d already been only half-sold on having.
Pregnancy genuinely feels like being hungover 24/7, she marvelled, stalking the fridge and cupboards for something that appealed. She’d noticed over the last week, she’d get a taste for something, salmon on a bagel or lasagne, and then as soon as she’d finally hunted it down and was about to tuck in, suddenly it became the most foul thing she could ever conceive of. So odd. Coffee at least still tastes good, she thought, as she got the pot together.
She felt so much better after last night, she realised. Telling Liv the truth about how far she’d sunk in the months before it all kicked off with the baby-faking was freeing. She felt that maybe Liv understood better how she’d gotten so deep into the Insta-sham. Loading the car with the bottles and purging her room had been cathartic and now, as she pottered about the sunny kitchen, a glowing atomic orange thanks to the lino covering the floor, walls and ceiling (Liv’s granny’s décor tastes were heavily 70s influenced), she finally felt a bit calmer and a bit more on top of things. Her first doctor’s appointment was today, and she was getting together with Amy after to ‘strategise’, as her response had said.
It was so comforting to have another person in her corner. Even if it was someone she barely knew. Amy had wanted Ali’s inbox password so that she could read all the hate mail and death threats. She said it was to ‘collate data and get a read on public perceptions, in order to decide how best to proceed’. It sounded professional. Ali handed over the info without a second’s pause. Public annihilation could do that to a person. What did it matter if anyone knew any more humiliating things about her? There was nothing left to hide.
She consulted her WhatsApp. Sam had finally responded to her message about the hospital appointment at 1 a.m. last night.
I will attend the appointment, but I will be keeping my dealings with you to an absolute minimum.
It didn’t scream ‘warmth’ or ‘reconciliation’ but at least he’d be there, she figured.
Coffee made, she finally selected a packet of Skips from the press and settled herself to watch a bit of Insta. It was weird taking a break like this and then coming back to find everyone was still on there shiteing on about their ‘secret projects’ and their #goals diaries and fey veganism with a touch of leather when the #OOTD called for it. Why had she wanted this so much? She watched @PollysFewBits laying out a family breakfast for the beefy Mr Few Bits and the two little Few Bits, who seemed to communicate only through the medium of rage-screaming.
‘Ah, Skips and coffee, the classic combo.’ Liv rocked in wearing grey drainpipe jeans, boots and a flannel shirt.
‘It’s the breakfast of preggers champions.’ Ali munched on, flicking past the rest of Polly’s stories, amazed at how boring one woman could be. ‘You look very good.’ She took in Liv’s ensemble, which was much sharper than her usual grungy vibe.
Liv waved her hand as if to say this old thing and poured a coffee. ‘So where are we at on the hospital appointment? I can move college things around and come with you, no probs.’
‘Well, Tinder Sam actually deigned to reply, just the fifteen hours after blue-ticking me.’ She read the message to Liv.
‘Keeping yer dealings minimum?!’ Liv exhaled loudly. ‘He’s aware, right, that he left some of his DNA in you and that that DNA is now growing hands, feet and a head?’
‘Yeah.’ Ali furrowed her brow. ‘Not really sure how he intends to pull it off. Maybe passing notes to the midwife? God knows. I’m just crossing everything that seeing the baby on the scan might get through to him somehow. He seems to be in denial.’
‘Well, maybe people in glass houses Ali …’
‘I know, I know. I don’t have a leg to stand on. In a way, that’s probably why there’s no coming back from this whole disaster for me and Sam. He has the ultimate comeback for absolutely every potential row ever. If we managed to get over this, it’d never be his turn to make the tea or put the bins out ever because “Oh, remember that time you faked a baby?”’
‘Yeah.’ Liv shook her head sadly. ‘There’s nothing he couldn’t get out of with that in the back pocket. Even if he banged someone. In your bed. On your birthday. I still think he’d have you on the fake foetus.’
‘I know.’ Ali was quiet as she rummaged in her backpack and threw in a just-in-case bag of Skips to bring with her. ‘I can’t stop thinking about how we’ll have this baby and one day the baby’s gonna grow up and be all “How did you and dada get together?’’’ She shuddered.
‘It’s going to be a race against time to get your version of events in first, ahead of Sam’s,’ Liv replied.
‘Yup.’ Ali shrugged bleakly. ‘I suppose at least you’ll be there. I can say “Ask Aunty Liv. She was there” and you’ll back me up.’
‘Yes, well, I won’t lie to the child. Everyone needs to learn at as young an age as possible just how insane their parents are. But don’t worry, I’ll give context and explain that you were necking wine by the bin-liner load at the time.’
‘So comforting to hear. Right, I’d better go. I’m meeting with Amy Donoghue here, by the way – she’s coming at around 5 p.m. – she doesn’t want to risk us being seen out together by any snap-happy Rants.ie users. She thinks it’s bad for optics if I’m seen to be trying to engineer any kind of comeback or apology. She says it has to feel really authentic.’
‘Jeez, my thesis is going to need a sequel.’ Liv grinned. ‘Insta’s getting more batshit by the day.’
Chapter 8
‘Oh my God, Shelly! You look amazing. I cannot believe we’re bump twins! Let’s do a bump shot!’
The woman in the hospital waiting room was verging on hysterical as she helped herself to Shelly’s bump, pressing her own bump against Shelly’s and snapping pics. Shelly tried hard to hide her irritation; she’d only just signed into the midwife clinic and hadn’t even sat down yet. Still, she put on a bright smile – you had to be careful with the Shell-Belles. They were all love and light and would defend her to the end, but if they ever caught a whiff of ambivalence in the DMs or out and about, they’d be on Rants.ie saying Shelly was too fond of herself and above posing for pics. It was a very delicate balance and one that Amy had always been very handy for managing.
‘Good luck with the next few months.’
Shelly gave her a hug. However, the woman’s grip was vice-like and she hung on much longer than the traditional hug time.
‘I have a YouTube channel. We could collab,’ she whispered, urgently holding fast to Shelly’s upper arms, their bumps pressed together. ‘I’m documenting my bump journey. Your followers would love it. I’d love a shout-out.’
‘OK.’ Shelly tried to disengage and glanced around for help. The waiting room was mostly empty, the weekday morning clinic being the quiet slot. ‘I’m happy to do that,’ she panted slightly as she finally managed to extract herself from the YouTuber. ‘What’s your channel?�
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‘From Stressed to Blessed. I nearly had IVF so that’s my hook.’
‘What does “nearly had IVF” mean?’ Shelly narrowed her eyes.
‘Well, we were TTC for ages and I thought I’d have to get treatment but then, miracle of miracles, I got a BFP a few months ago, but I’m still kind of going with the IVF angle because not enough women are speaking out about these things.’
Shelly was about to say ‘But you didn’t have IVF?’ but thought better of it. If this loon wanted to squeeze some content out of a difficult time that she’d nearly experienced, then so be it. Let them roast her in the comments.
‘OK, good luck. I’ll be sure to mention it, I promise.’ Shelly moved off to find a seat and wait to be called.
The other two women sitting nearby were called into separate offices and thank God From Stressed to Blessed had been on her way out when she accosted Shelly to molest her bump. A young man sat looking nervous two seats over. Where was this guy’s wife? Shelly wondered. Or his girlfriend? Or maybe it was a surrogate situation …? It was just the two of them sitting there now and he was looking everywhere but at her. He seemed oddly familiar.
‘I’m not pregnant, in case you’re wondering,’ he blurted into the silent waiting room and something about the voice and the awkward grin made her realise where they’d met before.
‘Sam? Ali’s boyfr…’ She trailed off awkwardly.
He visibly winced and Shelly wished she’d pretended to not know him.
‘I’m not Ali’s anything,’ he muttered testily, then waved a hand apologetically. ‘Sorry, I shouldn’t be snapping at you. It’s been a shitty week. You’re one of the Insta-mums, right?’
‘Shelly.’ She leaned forward to shake his hand. ‘I worked with Ali on Durty Aul’ Town.’ Sam nodded grimly and Shelly searched for something to say. ‘Are you here with a friend?’
‘Here? Oh right, a maternity hospital. No, I’m not here with a friend.’ He was scathing. ‘I’m here with a girl I met on Tinder, who turned out to be a complete psycho.’ He delivered this in a monotone, but his clenched jaw betrayed his fury.
‘Another one? Since Ali?’ Shelly was lost. Didn’t he meet Ali on Tinder? Though, in fairness, she wasn’t sure how much of Ali’s story about anything had been true.
‘No, no, still the same psycho. Ali Foetus Faker Jones. Only now she’s pregnant for real. Lucky me.’
‘What? She … she …’ Shelly was stunned.
‘Well, she says she is anyway. Which obviously means fucking nothing.’ He was venomous. ‘I’m not believing a goddamn word until yer one in there’ – he jerked his head towards the examining room – ‘tells me so. I might even request a paternity test. It’s a pity Jeremy Kyle’s finished. We’d be the perfect guests and ITV could foot the bill.’
Oh my God, what was Ali playing at? Shelly’s mind raced. Could she actually be trying to continue with this lie? Surely no one was that mad?
But no hospital would be taken in by a pregnancy faker, so it had to be true.
‘So Ali’s in with the midwife right now?’ Shelly asked carefully.
Before Sam could answer, Ali walked out the door to the left of them and instantly froze on seeing Shelly. The midwife appeared behind her consulting her file and called, ‘Eh, Mr Sam Healy? I’ll see you now.’
Ali shuffled mutely to one side as Sam stood and marched past the midwife without a single word to her. Ali gazed at the floor and flinched as the door to the examination room banged shut beyond her. Shelly sat still, waiting to let Ali speak first.
Shelly had thought a lot about Ali in the last few days. At first, when the news broke, she’d been shocked and disgusted like everyone else. Then, with the messages from @__________ piling up in her DMs detailing her own Insta-shams, she’d begun to feel more than a little hypocritical for judging the girl so harshly. Seeing her now looking pale and impossibly young with no make-up or Insta trickery to hide her ashen face and bloodshot eyes, Shelly felt oddly protective of her. She realised she didn’t know much about her. There’d been talk on the set coming from every direction. Some of the older cast members had said her dad had passed away but Shelly had assumed that was more lies. Now here she was in the midwife clinic.
‘Ali?’ Shelly spoke at last, as Ali seemed to be in some kind of trance.
‘I can’t believe you’re here right now,’ Ali whispered.
‘Are you … OK? Come sit down. You look pretty pale.’ When the girl didn’t budge, Shelly stood up and guided her gently to a seat. She still didn’t speak.
‘Are you expecting, Ali? Truly this time?’ Shelly tried not to sound judgmental as she said this.
‘I … am.’ Ali sounded as surprised by this as Shelly felt.
‘Wow, that’s a … plot twist.’
Ali snorted. ‘Yup,’ she said flatly. She took a deep breath and finally looked at Shelly straight on. Shelly just about stopped herself from gasping. Ali looked tormented.
‘I’m so sorry for lying to you. And everyone. It was not planned. I swear. It just kind of happened.’
Shelly couldn’t really see how something like that ‘just kind of happened’, but she didn’t feel that now was the time for an interrogation – the girl looked so fragile, plus it wasn’t any of her business. Though, God, she did feel sorry for her right now. She’d read all the bile online that was directed at this girl, but she hadn’t been prepared for the effects of it to be so obvious on her. It was writ large in her eyes and across her face and even her posture – she looked like a person who was being hunted.
‘You don’t have to believe me,’ Ali continued. ‘He doesn’t. I thought we’d come here today, and he’d see the little baby on the scan and come around a bit, but he wouldn’t even go in with me, insisted on separate conversations with the midwife. It hardly matters, though, really. Everything is such a mess, that this’ – she nodded at her tummy – ‘is practically the least of it.’ She laughed bitterly. ‘Can you believe that? This isn’t even the shittiest thing in my life right now!’
‘What else is going on?’ Shelly presumed she meant the online commenters. ‘People can be so cruel online.’
‘Ha! Oh God, that’s not even it.’ Ali took a long slow breath. ‘My dad died just over a week ago.’
‘Oh Ali!’ Shelly didn’t know what to say. She took Ali’s hands – she wasn’t much more than twenty-five, so young to lose a parent.
‘It sounds so wrong,’ Ali continued. ‘You’re the first person I’ve had to, ya know, explain it to. He was sick for a really long time. He didn’t remember me, hadn’t known who I was for a few years. Not since I was maybe twenty-two, twenty-three?’
Shelly put her arms around the girl, feeling Ali’s tears seep through her cotton Breton top. ‘I heard some talk on the set. But, to be honest, so many people were saying so many things, I just thought they’d gotten the wrong end of the stick somewhere.’
How, Shelly wondered, did the journalists writing damning stories about the influencer who faked a pregnancy not know this? Although, they probably didn’t want to know; it would kill their precious story. They didn’t want to humanise Ali; they just wanted to make her an object of hate. The fact that she was grieving would ruin their angle of ‘malicious Instagrammer is a dangerous, desperate liar’.
Ali pulled back from the hug and wiped her face.
‘Sorry. I am such a mess. Gawd, I don’t even want to think about what’s being said about me on set. I was sort of debating emailing them to see if I could have my job back but maybe it’d be a disaster. It’s just that I’m going to need money for when the baby comes and anyone new will google my name and immediately be, like, “No, thanks”. At least, Stephan and Terry know me. They’d have to consider me, right?’
Shelly was doubtful that the show would take Ali back but couldn’t bear to bring further despair on her.
‘I’m actually meeting with Amy, your social media analyst, later,’ Ali confided quietly. ‘She says she’s going to he
lp me get this whole fake pregnancy thing under control. I haven’t told her about the real pregnancy yet. Or my dad.’
‘Well, Amy is your woman.’ Shelly tried to sound positive. ‘I know about her little side hustle, though she’s always been really discreet so don’t worry, she never breathes a word of that stuff. Or anything. My husband and I are separating, and Amy’s been a great support.’
‘Oh no. I’m so sorry. That must be so hard.’ Ali looked genuinely concerned.
‘Well, it is what it is. In fact, you’re one of the first people I’ve told it to.’ Shelly shifted in her seat. Her name was probably about to be called any minute and she couldn’t imagine leaving Ali looking so crumpled and despairing out here. ‘Look, maybe I can help somehow, Ali? I can talk to Stephan and Terry for you, explain things a bit. I can be quite persuasive with Stephan. And between us, Ruairí’s annoying the crap out of him. Since you left, he’s been the only production assistant and he’s a bit of a liability. He mixed up Stephan’s meds on set last week. Apparently, he had sachets of Nourish Dust™ and sachets of laxative and, well, you can imagine.’
‘Ick.’ Ali shook her head to dispel the visual. ‘Well, it’d be really good, yeah, if you could. I don’t know what else to do really. I owe people money from the sponcon I was doing with, eh, Ali’s Baba,’ Ali said cautiously, checking to see that the door behind which Sam was presumably grilling the midwife was still closed.
‘And are things with Sam—?’
Before Shelly could finish, the door whipped open and Sam marched out clutching a sheaf of photocopied pages. He didn’t so much as glance their way. Ali shot up but he was already through reception and headed up the corridor. And after a moment, she sank back down, clearly deciding it wasn’t worth pursuing him.