by Sophie White
‘Should you go after him?’
‘I honestly don’t think there’s any point. He wouldn’t speak to me before we were called and then when the midwife did call us, he stood up and announced to the room that I’d been gaslighting him during our relationship and he would be seeing her separately. There were at least ten people in here then. It was pretty intense.’
‘Give me your number, Ali, and I’ll see what I can do with Durty Aul’ Town. Or if anything else comes up.’
Ali thanked her and got herself together while Shelly saved her details.
‘So how far along are you anyway?’ she asked as Ali pulled on her baby-pink faux-fur coat.
‘I’m not even that far behind you.’ Ali looked slightly bemused at this. ‘I think I got pregnant, like, the night I told him I was, ya know, “pregnant”.’ She made awkward air quotes around the word. ‘I’m nearly fifteen weeks. I’m due, like, about three weeks after you – second of October. The midwife says first pregnancies don’t show until a bit later sometimes. Plus, I guess my appetite hasn’t been its usual self with everything that’s been going on. I’d been really tired for ages but, other than that, there weren’t many signs. Maybe a little queasy, but I thought that was anxiety about lying to everyone. I had a lot on,’ she finished, looking sheepish.
‘Hmmm.’ Shelly said non-commitally. ‘You’d want to have a lot on to not notice you’re pregnant while actually pretending to be pregnant.’ Their eyes met and they both burst out laughing.
Through her peals of laughter, Ali gasped. ‘I was googling pregnancy symptoms on the daily, like!’
Shelly doubled over at this. ‘I’m sorry. It’s too funny.’
‘Oh God, I know. I’m a goddamn idiot.’ Ali wiped her eyes. ‘I kept thinking this monster period was about to start, never realising that all the cramping was this.’ She waved her hands helplessly down at her stomach. ‘It is so weird. It’s like I keep forgetting and remembering. I thought seeing it on the scan would kind of ram it home for me but then it goes out of my head and all I can think about is “Oh, everyone hates me” or “Oh, my dad’s dead” and then the pregnancy thing pops back in and I’m like “Wow, great. I’m gonna have a baby and everyone hates me and my dad is dead.” It is non-stop craic in here right now.’ She tapped her right temple.
Shelly was suddenly struck by how similar their situations were. She’d felt the exact same in the last few weeks as she and Dan became more distant, her pregnancy marched on and @__________ circled in the DMs.
‘I know how it feels, Ali. All these things dragging out of you and you just wanna lie down and take a nap. I know you probably don’t feel this right now. But with the whole Insta thing, you probably had a lucky escape. I know you were flying high on there, but it has a way of taking over your life and it’s not always a good thing.’ She paused, debating her next words. Maybe telling someone about @__________ would defuse some of their malignant power: keeping them a secret made it seem so much more frightening somehow.
‘I’ve got this person messaging me non-stop and I don’t know who they are, but they know everything about me. And a part of me is, like, that’s what you signed up for. If you put everything out there, this is what happens, but this is different. It’s really frightening. They have pictures of me and Georgie and Dan. Really private pictures, not things I’ve posted on Insta. Have you heard of anything like this?’
Ali shook her head and Shelly sighed, the disturbed expression on Ali’s face not making her feel any better about @__________.
‘Want to give me a look?’ Ali suggested. ‘Maybe I’ll notice something? I’ve been bet into Insta for two years and I’m addicted to Bloggers Uncovered and Rants.ie.’
‘Sure.’ Shelly dug out her phone. She didn’t even flinch spotting the new unread message from @__________. It was becoming such a grim routine at this point that she knew any time she didn’t check for a few minutes, a new message would invariably be there taunting her.
Ali studied the phone. ‘This username is creepy.’
‘Yep,’ Shelly replied. ‘The account’s private and there’re no followers. They send me messages complaining if I don’t post. Messages saying I’m the queen of bland if I do post. They seem to know everything about my every move.’
‘Yeah.’ Ali’s brow was furrowed with concern. ‘Have you said on your story that you’re here right now?’
‘No,’ said Shelly cautiously. Ali handed the phone back and Shelly twisted it to read the latest message.
The maternity hospital solo is a depressing look on you, Shelly. Guess that’s the end of the happy clappy Divine family. The Shell-Belles will be devo if you ever do come clean.
Shelly frowned. That phrase, ‘happy clappy’, was reminding her of something someone had said recently. She scrolled back up the messages from @__________ to see if they had said it before but there was no mention of it. Think, Shelly. Where had she heard it?
‘So, how could they know you’re here?’ Ali was looking around the deserted waiting room nervously.
‘God knows. How do they know anything they know? I can’t figure it out. I’ve even gone to the police.’
‘What have they said?’
‘They ruled out someone whom I suspected. Which was awful. I’d been so certain it was her and then when it wasn’t, it was like having the rug pulled out from under me. Other than checking her out, they’re “looking into it”. They have a task force for this stuff. God, it’s so scary, though. I get really freaked out alone at night. A couple of nights ago, I was certain I’d put the alarm on but when I checked, it was off. Then they sent this creepy message saying how they’d really got to me. And I know it could’ve been a lucky guess. Just like this one could be a lucky guess. But still, it’s just horrible.’
After her appointment, which (thankfully) was routine, Shelly walked back to her car looking at the ultrasound pic. The baby currently looked like an amoeba with arms and legs but in the spirit of getting along she considered sending the pic on to Dan, then she flashed on the sexy teenager he’d stashed in the Seomra last night and him saying he was being ‘too sound’ about the house. Fuck him! A new voicenote from Amy provided a welcome distraction from her simmering rage.
Amy was talking ‘separation reveal’ and Shelly was oscillating wildly between being triumphant at the thought of how much that would piss Dan off and horror at the notion of such a thing.
‘Under the Influence is growing by the DAY.’ Amy was emphatic. ‘This Jenny one is in everyone’s inbox scouring for tea, and while there’s lots of us with integrity who care about this industry, the audience for scandal is HUGE. I’m on my way up to do a consultation with Ali Jones and I’ve been analysing the data and the numbers don’t lie. Her baby-faking has been a major boon for that account. Since being outed, she’s been inundated with follows. The account is currently private but if I accepted all these friend requests, she’d overtake the SHELLY account instantly. That would put her at the top of the Irish Insta-scene. Now we know a hate-follow isn’t exactly the ideal but hate-follow or not, it is still a follow.’
Shelly paused the message to get into the car parked at the back of the hospital. She’d been careful to park in an out-of-the-way spot – there was a Penneys one street over and there was always a high concentration of Shell-Belles within a two-mile radius of any Penneys. Once settled in the driver’s seat, she resumed the voicenote.
‘What I’m saying is Jenny What’s-Her-Name is a major threat. I am positive that her first episode is about @VeganVanessa – apparently there’s some video of her up to her tits in Korean barbecue. I’m certain Ali Jones won’t escape the Under the Influence analysis and there’s no way she’s not going to start digging around for skeletons in the SHELLY closet. You’re a big fish and it’s clear with the recent video rant and your slapdash posting of late that things are afoot in camp SHELLY. So, I am strenuously advising that we get ahead on the separation front. I’ve been collating a lot of data re: the sep
aration angle. We’re still a bit of a provincial backwater here but, in the States and the UK, there’s loads of influencers doing the struggling single mum thing. Now they’d be much more edgy than SHELLY tends to be, and UK audiences are considerably more open-minded. As we know a lot of the Shell-Belles are very “middle Ireland”, but I think they’ll come around. I’m going to pencil in some focus groups to float the concept of a single SHELLY and get a read on audience mood. It could potentially make you that bit more relatable. Plus, it may have the added bonus of taking the wind out of that At Underscore lunatic when they see that they can’t blackmail you about Dan sleeping in the Seomra. Right. Off to deal with Ali Jones’s little mess. Talk later. Over and out.’
Shelly started the car and carefully backed out of the spot. Where did Amy get her energy? She was a powerhouse. Even if a focus group to assess what follower response would be to the news of her separation did sound bonkers. What Shelly wouldn’t give to be a fly on the wall later when Ali revealed her latest plot twist.
Chapter 9
‘The important thing to remember is you’re the one with the platform. You’re the one with the voice. They can rant all they like in the comments and share their “receipts” on Rants.ie, but at the end of the day no one hears that noise. No one who matters, anyway.’
Amy was storming up and down the brown-carpeted living room in full flow.
‘This new development is a stroke of genius,’ she barked, furiously tapping and swiping on her iPad.
Ali nodded emphatically. Amy was calling the very real baby now at the centre of BumpGate ‘this new development’ and had been positively ecstatic when Ali nervously blurted out the news.
‘In-fucking-genious,’ she’d roared, looking Ali over with clear admiration. ‘This’ll make it even harder for them to tear you to shreds. They love a preggers bitch, though we’re going to have to play this one very, very carefully. If you’re caught so much as smelling a bit of pâté, they’ll be down on you like a ton of bricks. We can’t give them an INCH. You’re going to have to be the most by-the-book pregnant woman to ever grace Insta.’
‘Not a problem.’ Ali tried to sound capable and collected. ‘Sam’s barely speaking to me but, since our hospital trip earlier, he’s averaging about five links to pregnancy articles an hour in the WhatsApp. He has got to get off Facebook.’
Amy finally settled on a brown pouf across from Ali and put the iPad down to focus fully on her.
‘Right. Obviously, this new development means my strategy needs rejigging but, to be honest, this couldn’t be better news. We’ve got a full house of “don’t come at me” cards.’ Amy listed them on her fingers. ‘Dead dad. Mental illness. Up the pole. Dumped. Unemployed. Ah-mazing.’ Ali couldn’t help but grin. Amy Donoghue was even more hardcore than Ali could have predicted. ‘We’re going to kill it, Ali. Now you currently look like complete shit, which is perfect. We need to record your statement while you still have this unfed Girl, Interrupted vibe going.’
Ali swallowed nervously. As much as she wanted Amy to sort out her life, the thought of going back onto Insta to talk to thousands of disgusted people did not appeal.
‘Yes, that face is perfect for our purposes.’ Amy held up her phone and Ali instinctively flinched away. ‘Don’t worry, it’s not for posting, it’s just research for my mood board.’
Ali nodded and steadied herself for the camera. A mood board for social media rehabilitation? Ali checked the time. Liv’d be home any minute and was going to lap up this shit. Amy was now absorbed in Ali’s phone. She’d demanded the rest of her passwords the second the ink was dry on the confidentiality agreement they had both signed before Amy so much as said ‘hello’.
‘Right, I’m just setting up a shared Google calendar so that there are absolutely no goofs during the apology rollout.’ She returned Ali’s phone and Ali scanned the coming weeks.
‘There’re still sponcon slots in here?’
‘Eh, yeah! How’d you think you’re going to pay my fifteen per cent? Never mind pay for this baby and whatever rent you’re forking out for this armpit of a house?’
‘I guess … I just thought … Well, they’ve all fired me.’
‘Yep. However, I’ve hand-selected a few to target for reconciling. I’ve emailed Holly at GHM to discuss how potentially good for optics it would be for GHM to show compassion and understanding to a collaborator who’s suffered a mental breakdown. She was very interested. They’ve had some stick lately about paying lip service to the mental health issue without doing anything concrete to back it up. This could be their opportunity to look like, well, not a completely shallow PR operation. I think she’s going to go for it and, when they do, the rest will follow.’
‘Amy, that is really fucking clever.’ Ali was awed.
‘Now that I’m handling your dealings, it adds a layer of professionalism and trust. I’ve told them you are seeking treatment for your addiction issues and Holly reports that they’re getting some final sign-off from higher-ups, but it looks good.’
Ali was stuck on the phrase ‘addiction issues’. She quaked at the thought of people knowing about her secret drinking. She wasn’t sure it had been a problem as such but more of a comfort blankey – a comfort blankey that was then replaced by followers and likes on Instagram – and Ali could honestly say she didn’t miss drinking. She just missed having something to reach for and cling on to during the tough moments.
‘I don’t have addiction issues. And it wasn’t a mental breakdown or whatever …’ She trailed off, sounding feeble and unconvincing even to herself, but to her surprise, Amy just shrugged.
‘TBH, it doesn’t even matter, Ali. We just need you to be seen to be seeking help. But it has to be credible. The programme of recovery I want you to enroll in is anonymous so it’s not something we’ll be discussing on your Insta in explicit terms. However, that doesn’t mean that we can just pretend you are attending either. There can be no phoning it in or lying this time, Ali. It’s too risky. Especially as one of Holistic Hazel’s disgruntled ex-assistants has launched Under the Influence – a podcast exposing influencers’ shenanigans. All eyes will be on you just dying to trip you up, so you will be going to Catfishers Anonymous meetings even though, technically speaking, no one could prove it one way or another.’ Amy continued checking things off the list on her tablet as though she’d said nothing of note whatsoever.
‘What’s Catfishers Anonymous? Like Alcoholics Anonymous?’ Ali yelped.
‘Best place for her,’ called Liv from the hall, having evidently entered the house stealthily to listen in.
Ali could hear Liv dumping her backpack on the hall table, disturbing the ceramic cat display in the process. She appeared at the door holding a tiny kitten, which was now without a tail.
‘This is Liv. She’s the one who’s writing the thesis.’ Ali gestured.
‘Oh right, the famous thesis.’ Amy jumped up to shake Liv’s hand. ‘It’s a very interesting area you’re working in. If I can ever be of any use at all for research purposes, let me know.’
‘Oh thanks. That could be really brilliant actually.’ Liv ran a hand over the shaved side of her head. The longer dark hair on the other side was arranged in an intricate plait. ‘Anonymous, of course.’ Liv gestured and the ceramic kitten flew from her hand and smashed against the wall.
Liv was nervous. Ali sat back to enjoy the awkwardness. They’re gonna bone. She grinned to herself.
‘Oops, sorry, sorry,’ Liv muttered, bending to gather the pieces at the exact same moment Amy, too, stooped to help. They bumped heads and Amy’s hair momentarily got caught on one of Liv’s ear piercings. They stood close together apologising profusely and trying to extract Amy’s hair.
‘So, this is how Goths mate?’ Ali chirped cheerily from the couch.
Liv, now freed from Amy’s tangle of dyed red hair, straightened up, immediately regained her usual composure and shot Ali a warning look that seemed to say, If you want any more roast chick
en dinners from me, you’ll shut it.
‘Ali,’ she said sternly, ‘maybe don’t call the woman who’s kindly taken on your shitshow of a cause a Goth.’ Amy handed her a piece of the kitten and Liv flashed her a grin before turning and heading for the kitchen.
Amy returned to her seat on the pouf, a tentative smile playing on her lips.
‘Right, so, where were we? Oh, CatAnon, yes. Catfishers Anonymous. So, it’s an anonymous programme, very discreet. I just want you to attend meetings. Show face, etc. As I said, it’s just to cover our backs should anyone probe any deeper into just what kind of treatment you’re seeking.’
‘Oh-kay.’ Ali shrugged. ‘But I guess, like, I’m not a catfisher.’
‘Oh, no?’ Amy raised an eyebrow behind her horn-rimmed glasses.
Shite. Ali sensed she’d just taken some kind of conversational bait.
‘Well, the internet certainly seems to think you’re a catfish, Ali. The definition on Urban Dictionary states: “A catfisher is an individual who uses the internet, and in particular, online dating websites, to lure people into a scam romance. The general goal of a catfisher is financial gain by developing an online relationship with another person and ultimately asking for money.”’
‘Urban dictionary has a definition for Bass Turd,’ Ali replied flatly. ‘It’s hardly a trusted source. And I didn’t set out to lure anybody and I didn’t ask for money. Brands just started offering me money.’ She leaned forward pleading her case.
‘Well, Ali, if you want to go on a crusade, arguing your innocence based on semantics, that’s your decision, but I’m advising you against it. There’s no room for subtleties online. Everything is binary on the internet. Black or white. Guaranteed, those people won’t even grasp the difference between “a premeditated scam” and, I dunno, what we’d call your stunt? A catfish crime of opportunity? All they hear at the end of the day is Girl Lied About Pregnancy. If we start overcomplicating the message and trying to say ‘Girl Didn’t Mean to Lie About Pregnancy, A Few People Picked It up Wrong and Girl Just Didn’t Correct Them and Then It Snowballed’, well, we’ve lost them. They’re already mindlessly scrolling Insta. They’ve no attention span.’