by Sophie White
God, he’s so nervy, Ali thought, where the hell is this going?
‘After “Officer Martin’s” email, the guy stopped parking on the path, which was great and my wife was delighted, though I didn’t tell her the ins and outs of it. And I should’ve just deleted the account …’
Fuck’s sake, Ali wanted to shout, this anecdote is giving us all blue-ball – spit it out – what did you do???
‘I started noticing that I could see the woman next door in her bedroom. We live in semi-ds, nineteen thirties – they’re grand houses altogether. I’d know this woman to say hello to, very nice. She wears the yoga pants thingys.’
Oh, Ali perked up. Officer Martin, are you a little perv?
‘I don’t really know what possessed me but one day when I was in the older fella’s bedroom – that’s the room that looks onto their bedroom window – I got the idea to email her. I told her I was on an undercover covert op and that we were trying to snare a Peeping Tom in the neighbourhood.’ He made another nervy raking of his hair and took a swig on the water bottle. ‘I asked her to undress at the bedroom window so that we could flush out the Peeping Tom. I said it was her civic duty. She was concerned and I said it was for the safety of the whole road. So she did it. And I didn’t expect to … ya know … eh, climax. But I did.’ He was holding his face in his hands. ‘I climaxed into the wee lad’s Dublin jersey,’ he finished in a whisper.
Jesus, that went real dark, real fast. Ali tugged her dress down in case @OfficerMartin was about to start ‘climaxing’ again. God, just say ‘jizzed in the jersey’ or something. She grimaced. Why make it so much more gross with climaxing?
The room roused itself from the shock of that graphic image and began muttering ‘thanks’ for his share.
‘I also filmed it,’ he blurted out and the chorus of ‘thanks’ trailed off awkwardly.
Now it was the turn of the girl to Ali’s right. She straightened up and looked around nervously.
‘Hiya, I’m @KellysKlobber and I’m a catfisher. I dunno how to follow that.’ She laughed. ‘That had everything! I didn’t really think I had a problem at all. I had a fashion blog and used to do lots of fun ASOS and Penneys hauls on my Insta and that was all cool, used to get the odd free bits and bobs, but I didn’t really have that many followers. Until my nanny got cancer and I don’t know why but I decided it’d be better for my brand if I was the one who got cancer.’
‘What???’ Oh shit. Ali clamped a hand over her mouth to prevent anything else from escaping.
@KellysKlobber glanced her way momentarily and then carried on. ‘I just thought #KellysKancer had a ring to it and I hadn’t been feeling that well and a gal I knew had got loads of new followers when she was hospitalised with a UTI.’ Kelly, obviously sensing judgement in the silence, was looking around the room with a beseeching expression. ‘Look, I didn’t wank at my neighbour! I just made a hashtag and did a cancer-reveal post.’
Oh my gawd! Wild! Ali was high at the revelation that at least two people here were definitely worse than her.
‘No cross-sharing please,’ @BigDickY2K piped up from the front. This, Ali realised, must be some rule to keep people from talking about what others had said.
‘Sorry. Sorry. Anyway, the whole #KellysKancer thing didn’t really get off the ground because my family staged an intervention and I ended up in treatment. Which is a good thing. Because I suppose after seeing what happened with’ – she snuck a look at Ali – ‘other people making things up on Insta, it’s good that my family stopped me before anyone found out. In the hospital, I really started to understand that I didn’t have cancer and just because I didn’t have cancer didn’t mean my Instagram couldn’t be brave in other ways. So yeah, no more lying or catfishing. I even deleted all my burner accounts that I used to use to boost engagement! I’m in remission from my lying and from my fake cancer,’ she concluded proudly.
‘Thanks, @KellysKlobber,’ the room somewhat grudgingly replied. The cancer thing had clearly not gone down well at all, Ali thought.
Shite. I’m up. Ali looked around at the expectant faces, many of whom were smiling and nodding encouragingly.
‘Hi, so I’m Ali. I mean, @AlisBaba. And I’m a catfisher. I guess.’
‘Welcome @AlisBaba.’ The whole group seemed very interested once more. I’m fresh meat, Ali realised. They’re all probably listening to each other shite on about GAA jersey jizz endlessly. I’m new and exciting.
‘So, this is my first time here, obviously. Some of you might probably have heard about my little incident. I faked a pregnancy on Instagram and then everyone found out and now I’m a pariah. I’d just like to say, I didn’t set out to make up a baby. Some people just assumed and then I didn’t correct them.’
‘Sounds like denial, Ali,’ @KellysKlobber interrupted sagely.
‘Excuse me, I’m just explaining the situation,’ Ali snapped. ‘And, anyway, is she not cross-talking or whatever?’ she implored @BigDickY2K.
‘Continue, Ali,’ @BigDickY2K said in a placating voice.
‘So anyway.’ She glared at @KellysKlobber. ‘Well, things got really out of hand when this guy I had sorta been seeing or, well, saw once and had sex with, showed up thinking the baby was his and I didn’t quite correct him. So that was bad.’ Ali sighed.
It was really horrible going back over it like this. She felt compelled to explain herself to these strangers. ‘I just was going through a really tough time – my dad was really sick. He’s dead now. He died the same night it all came out that I was lying.’ Ali was now giving her hands twisting on her lap her full attention. She couldn’t look around and risk seeing all the sympathetic head-tilts. Better wrap it up before she got upset. Pregnancy was like being possessed – one minute she was snapping like a premenstrual velociraptor and the next she was crying because one of the celebs on Dancing with the Stars had nailed the cha-cha. ‘So, look, I’m here to get better and heal and all that shite. So, thanks.’
‘Thanks, Ali.’ The tone was considerably warm compared with Kelly’s fake cancer. Ali shook her head. Even she could see that was low. Between Kelly’s Kancer and Officer ‘Spooge on my kid’s stuff’ Martin, BumpGate seemed positively tame. She flashed on Sam’s stricken face when he found out she’d made up the pregnancy.
‘I thought I was going to have a family, Ali.’
She swallowed dryly and dragged her attention back to the room.
‘Hi, my name is @SweetBabyAngel16 and I am a catfisher.’
‘Hi @SweetBabyAngel16 …’
After the meeting everyone milled outside in the car park. The shares had been revelatory, mainly in the sense that there were people with much bigger problems than Ali. Kelly stood beside her sucking on a vaping device.
‘So? What did you think?’
‘I think @OfficerMartin is a criminal,’ Ali returned casually.
‘Shhhh, Ali! You can’t refer to anything from inside unless the person who said it, like, specifically brings it up. Were you not listening at the end there?’
‘Sorry, sorry! No, I was listening. Yep, first rule of Catfish Club, yadayadayada.’
Kelly chewed on the device.
‘Can’t believe you’re Ali “Baby-Hoaxer” Jones!’ Her look was halfway between disbelieving and admiring.
Ali shrugged at this dubious source of adulation. ‘You’re not supposed to talk to me about that unless I bring it up.’
‘Well. That’d be true if you hadn’t been the top story on every website for weeks there and trending on Twitter and all that.’ She exhaled a plume of fragrant peppermint smoke.
‘Fair.’ Ali grinned. She was warming to Kelly. ‘So, you’re still on Instagram, then? Are we allowed to do that?’ Ali dropped her voice and checked around. Polly was over by the entrance hugging @OfficerMartin. Ick. ‘Like, Polly is still on Insta? She’s on there loads, is that not against some rule?’
‘Well, Polly’s been in recovery a really long time, so I guess she has her shit together, ya kn
ow? She’s my sponsor – she’s been amazing. In treatment it was cold turkey, no devices or anything, but with CatAnon, nobody makes you do anything. You do the steps and learn how to manage your compulsion. Like, I think they’re realistic. These days no one could NOT have a phone or be on social media!’ Kelly straightened up, seeing Polly making her way over.
‘Ali!’ She leaned in to deliver a stiff hug. ‘Kelly, you’re showing her the ropes?’
‘Yep.’ Kelly beamed. ‘Take my number, Ali, we can have coffee before the next meeting!’
‘Cool.’ Ali tapped in the digits and gave Kelly a missed call, so she’d have hers.
‘I better go. My poor nanny’s in the final stages and we said we’d rewatch all of Daniel and Majella’s B&B Road Trip before she goes.’ Kelly gave a jaunty little wave and bounded off to her car.
‘She’s sweet,’ Polly murmured as they watched her go. Ali didn’t know where to begin with this new Polly. She couldn’t believe she was here. Of all the people, Polly had to be the most unlikely to harbour a deep, dark secret. She’d always faded into the background of Hazel and Shelly’s infinitely more exciting worlds – just there to echo Hazel’s views and admire Shelly’s top – but now all that blankness seemed distinctly more sinister to Ali. Clearly, Polly wasn’t boring; she was a cipher.
‘It’s so great you’re seeking help, Ali.’ Polly here was different to the Polly of the Insta-world. She seemed on edge without the Insta-mask to protect her. ‘Now, I hope you’ve taken onboard the anonymity rule. It’s essential for everyone to feel secure in the room.’
‘I know. Kelly said it too. I promise I won’t breathe a word. I just want to get better.’
‘Good.’ Polly gave a decisive little nod. ‘Then you’re in the right place. Here, take my number too in case you’re ever tempted to go back to your old ways. This is my batphone, it’s different to my other number.’ She recited the digits, then looked Ali over, apparently considering a question before reneging at the last minute.
‘What?’ Ali sounded sharper than she’d meant to.
‘Oh, I was just thinking you look different.’ Polly tried a smile, but it looked stiff and forced.
She does not want me here, Ali realised. Why?
‘Well, I’m preggers for real now, so that might be it.’
‘What?’ Polly was floored.
‘Yep, it’s a nightmare. I went method on the whole bullshit baby thing.’ Ali grinned. ‘Anyway, I should go. See you at the next meeting.’
Ali hurried back to her car, giving a couple of the others a wave as she passed. She lashed the car into gear and pulled out of the car park happy to be free of the weird, for the moment at least. She’d be back next week, of course. Amy was super adamant that if anyone ever went digging, it wouldn’t just look like lip service or a publicity stunt.
Chapter 12
‘This week’s guest is just such an incredible gal – she is amazing. She is sharing her inspiring weight-loss journey with her fifteen thousand followers, who take comfort in her honesty and can also share their journey in the comments.’
‘What is this bullshit?’ Liv hissed. Ali had only just picked her up from the library and she was already in rant mode at the podcast playing through the car speakers.
‘It’s Crystal Doorley’s new podcast, Real Talk with Crystal.’ Ali kept her eyes on the road. They were expected in Liv’s parents’ house at six. ‘Kate’s the guest. That’s who she’s introducing there.’
‘The Shredder?!’
‘The very one. I’m listening ’cos I said we’d swing in to her later, maybe after family dinner? I’d feel bad if I hadn’t caught up with it. It’s been out for a week already. As it is, we haven’t really spoken properly since the funeral.’
‘Well, has she called you? Has she asked how you are? Or has she been too busy on her weight-loss journey?’
‘Well, she is busy.’
‘Pre-listening to her on a podcast is mad. It’s like we all have to do homework before we see each other these days. Listen to each other’s podcasts, watch each other’s stories and then suffer through the same boring anecdote live when we see them.’
God, Liv’s on a roll, Ali thought. She often got like this before Khan family get-togethers. It was the prospect of proximity to the extremely type A Nella, her older sister, not to mention her mother, Meera, who could rarely make it through a meal without referencing her ‘immensely satisfying’ sex life with Liv’s dad, James, who was at least seventy.
‘Without further ado,’ Crystal Doorley piped up on the speakers, ‘I am so thrilled to introduce my amazing guest, Kate from @ShreddingForTheWedding. Hi Kate!’
‘Hi Crystal, thank you so much for having me. I am the biggest fan of Real Talk with Crystal. This is a dream for me,’ Kate finished breathlessly.
‘A dream!’ Liv echoed scathingly.
‘OK, what is with you?’ Ali hit Pause on the podcast. ‘Did something happen today?’
‘No.’ She rubbed the shaved side of her head, something she did when nervous. ‘I just don’t feel like seeing Meera and Nella tonight. They’ll just be at me about if I am seeing anyone, “How’s the thesis going?”, that shite. I hate going there when I’m in flux like this. I prefer showing up with something to show for myself and then I hate myself for trying to impress them.’
Ali nodded sympathetically. The Khans were intense people. It was probably like having four Minis in your family, she figured. James was a renowned professor of philosophy whereas Meera, a psychologist, seemed to have a host of additional qualifications as, among other things, a reiki practitioner and Pilates instructor – and she’d authored eleven bestselling books on sex, family and relationships. She’d mined her own life and the lives of her children extensively for her books, including an exposing and mortifying ‘study’ of the teenage Liv.
How to Talk to Your Sexually Naïve Teen about Love, Life and Mating Games came out when they had been in secondary school, which was pretty harsh timing. The Khans – James Devitt hadn’t taken his wife’s name but the family had always been known collectively by hers – had met in London in the mid-1970s and spent some years travelling (and expanding their minds, as they often liked to boast) before returning to Ireland and (to hear them tell it) starting something of a sexual revolution on the island in the early 1980s.
Liv was the afterthought baby. As Meera had written on page eighty-eight of The Untold Orgasmic Joys of Middle Age, ‘the peri-menopause ignited something of a sensual fervour in me’. Liv was nearly ten years younger than Nella, who was thirty-six.
As an only child, Ali struggled to understand why Liv felt inadequate around her siblings. They were high achieving, but so was she. Lex, the eldest at thirty-nine, spent much of his time working remotely from Bali on a tech start-up he’d founded. In West Clare, Nella enjoyed frequent donations from her parents to add new groundbreaking healing services for a tiny roster of loyal clients at the boutique retreat she ran with her ‘husband’. (The legalities of their marriage were apparently shady, as Meera had performed the ceremony during a family ayahuasca trip that Liv did not take part in.)
They all acted as if Liv was the uptight one in the family, which baffled Ali.
‘Sure, you’re a bisexual!’ Ali would often remark. ‘You’re as loose as they come!’
‘That is a damaging stereotype,’ Liv would sniff. ‘But yeah, what the fuck, like!’
Ali drummed on the wheel and took the coast road south of the city.
‘Why not tell them about Amy?’ she asked coyly.
Liv’s head shot up. ‘Shut up. What do you mean?’
Ali snorted. ‘Well, you like her. You’re going to ask her out, right?’
Liv glared out the window, but then her expression softened. ‘Would you mind?’
‘No, of course not. I mean, I’m sorta surprised because she’s deep into the Insta-sphere, which represents everything that you think is wrong with society, but I guess, maybe I get that too. It’s l
ike my Louis CK crush. You know it’s wrong and that’s half the reason.’
Liv grinned. ‘I think it’s a little different to that. Amy’s working the system from within. She’s smart. But anyway, I’m not going to announce we’re dating to my parents when she has agreed to no such thing! Are you learning nothing at CatAnon?’
‘I’m learning that people are way crazier than we even realise and that my little shitshow is practically small potatoes compared with what other people get up to.’
‘Ohhh, juice?’
Ali caught herself just as she was about to squeal ‘Try man-juice!!!’
‘I can’t say anything. The anonymity thing is super strict.’ She flashed on Polly’s stern, heavily made-up face. The make-up worked in a heavily filtered selfie but IRL made her look borderline demented.
Ali’s phone buzzed and she handed it to Liv to check the message.
‘It’s Mini,’ Liv reported. ‘She says to pick her up on the way?’
‘Whaaa?’ Ali felt her shoulders rise up with tension reflexively. ‘Goddammit. Why?’
‘Meera must’ve invited her, she was muttering about “connecting” with Mini at Miles’s funeral,’ Liv explained. ‘I’d assumed they’d keep us out of it, but I guess not. At least, now we’re both dreading this,’ she said brightly.
Shortly after collecting Mini, they arrived at the ’70s apartment block facing the sea at Sandycove, where Meera and James had relocated once their children had moved out of the family home in Bray. It was a generous two-bedroom apartment with wooden floors and French windows to a balcony looking onto the car park with a sliver of sea visible if you leaned forward and craned to your left.
‘I just love my sea view,’ Meera announced proudly while giving Mini the official tour. ‘It’s just the right amount of sea.’ This was the party line and Meera stuck rigidly to it. While Ali was a frequent addition to the Khan family dinner table, Mini had never been invited before. In her red lipstick and various structural, black, asymmetrical garments, she looked completely at odds with Meera, who floated around in bare feet, her ankle bracelets tinkling and pendulous breasts swaying beneath a sheer maxi dress as she moved.