by Sophie White
‘My options are do the post and get a rake of cash and potentially not have to read about how pathetic and crazy I am on the internet for the rest of my life. Or stay quiet and go beg Stephan for my actual job back and just never look at the internet again.’
‘If you stay quiet, maybe they will forget about you, Ali. It will blow over on its own eventually.’
‘Yeah, but then every time anyone does anything crazy, I’ll be this cultural touchstone for “bitches be crazy”,’ Ali argued. ‘They’ll mention me as the “disgraced blogger” and use whatever new scandal is going down to dredge up my humiliation. All those #BumpUpdates are out there forever.’
‘What makes you think it’ll be different if you speak up? It could just be giving them more ammo.’
‘Well, at least I’ll have had the chance to tell my side of the story. I’ll get to own the narrative.’ She was parroting Amy Donoghue nearly word for word as she handed over change for the toll bridge.
‘Why don’t you try Durty Aul’ Town and that way you have options?’ Liv suggested.
She had a point, Ali thought dolefully. Goddamn.
‘I really don’t want to have to see Stephan. I threw his Viagra at him in front of the whole set last time I was there. It was literally the day Sam nutted this baby into me so I can’t even blame pregnancy hormones.’
Liv laughed grimly, then stopped abruptly.
‘Stephan doesn’t know that, though. You could blame the hormones with him?’
‘I should probably downplay the pregnancy, though, if I really want that job back. I’m not sure if a pregnant production assistant is that attractive an option. Soon I’ll be even less agile.’
‘True,’ Liv agreed. ‘You look cute now but give it another few months and you’ll be crowning in the middle of his set.’
‘Thank you. I’ll be attempting to keep that to myself.’
‘Haha, not sure you’ll have much of a choice. Remember, Nella delivered in the living room and, let me tell you, it was visceral.’
Chapter 13
‘I’m back and hard at it on Durty Aul’ Town, Shell-Belles! Here’s my dressing room.’ Shelly switched to the front camera to take in the rails of Imelda’s clothes, her supply of sparkling water, the bouquet on her dressing table that was replenished every week and the bowl of fresh fruit on the coffee table.
‘In today’s scene,’ she continued, switching the camera around so her face filled the phone screen once more, ‘Imelda and her mam are having a row over the lingerie parties Imelda’s been throwing because half the women in Maura’s bridge club are scandalised and the other half are mad for it – another gritty storyline for me.’ She winked and made a funny face, then added a filter and hit Share.
She flicked through her script, doing a last-minute run-through of her cues, then checked the time. Where was Amy? They were supposed to meet well ahead of her call time. She opened the dressing room door and started at the sight of Amy standing right there with Ali Jones.
‘Ah, Shelly! Just on my way in to you.’ Amy was blasé as per usual.
‘You were not.’ Shelly sulked, noting Ali squirm a little.
‘Sorry, Shelly,’ Ali piped up. ‘It was me. We collided out here and she’s just trying to talk me out of asking for my old job back.’
‘Oh really?’ Shelly softened immediately. She still felt protective towards Ali. She’d gone to Stephan on Ali’s behalf after they had met in the hospital, but he had been characteristically dickish and she hadn’t had the heart to mention it to Ali. Perhaps with Ali standing right in front of him, he would come around. ‘How are you feeling?’
‘Way better physically, thank god.’
The poor thing. Shelly gave her a hug, their bumps momentarily pressed together.
‘Waah.’ Ali laughed. ‘That was intimate!’
‘Great shot, gals. Insta loves some bump-on-bump action.’ Amy turned her phone around to show Shelly and Ali the snap she’d just taken. God, trust Amy. Shelly grinned in spite of herself.
‘You might share it after Ali makes her public statement, Shelly?’
‘You’re like an Insta-momager, Amy.’ Ali giggled. ‘Never not ON!’
‘Get in here, Amy. Ali, come say hi before you go, yeah? Good luck with Stephan.’ She blew her a kiss and Ali ambled on.
Amy shut the door behind her, holding up her phone where Shelly’s stories were playing.
‘Great stories this morning but watch your angles: ninety degrees is fine for some twenty-something in absolute mint condition but in your mid-thirties it’s got to be a forty-five-degrees minimum. Now, I’ve been doing some major research and I think you’re actually way ahead of the curve with this single-mum angle.’
Shelly didn’t even bother correcting her on her cynical wording – single-mum angle! – as if she’d taken a wrecking ball to her life for something fresh for the ’gram.
‘We’re gonna play this smart. I think honesty is about to have a major comeback on Insta – I mean the right kind of honesty, obviously – and you and Ali Jones can ride this wave.’ She spun her tablet around to show Shelly some infographics she’d put together.
‘So, will you be continuing on with Ali?’ Shelly couldn’t help but feel a little territorial, especially now that keeping the house after divorcing Dan was riding on her Insta income.
‘No, Ali’s pretty sure this post I’ve negotiated for her comeback is a one-off. I’m not a good fit there anyway. If she does stick with the Insta thing, she’s much more on the grittier side of things, which suits her. I think she’s got real potential to be a great no-bullshit voice on the scene. She’s good on camera.’
‘Yeah, she was all right. From what I tuned into, she was funny about her and Sam. Plus, it’d be crazy to waste that following. What’s she up to now?’
‘Three hundred and twenty.’
‘What!!! Three hundred and twenty thousand once she accepts all the follow requests?’
‘Yep, notoriety sells. I keep telling her to capitalise, but she’s all hung up on that Sam guy and I don’t think she really knows what she wants out of any of this, except for Notions.ie to stop publishing their think-pieces. Beyond that I think she just wants to take care of the baby. Right, more importantly … SHELLY. What is the plan?’
Shelly sat in front of the dressing table mirror and filled her in about the pressure to bring in some money.
‘I’m ready to work. But with @__________ still lurking in my DMs, I just don’t want to bring Georgie into too much Insta stuff. Plus, she’s not a baby anymore and she’s becoming more self-aware.’
‘OK, brill. Well, I know you’ve been looking at the gender-reveal party offer with the booze company but I’m positive if you let me put it out to tender, I can come back with a more attractive package.’
‘Yes. Fine.’ Shelly checked the time. Ruairí would be along any minute to bring her to set. She started to gather her script and water bottle. ‘But I think we should aim to do it quite close to the due date for maximum impact.’
‘Yep, not a prob, boss. There’s also the question of the birth.’ Amy stood with one brow cocked.
‘Is there?’ Shelly narrowed her eyes.
‘Well, it is a … unique marketing opportunity for the right brand,’ Amy said plainly.
A tentative knock on the door interrupted them. ‘Ms Devine?’ called Ruairí nervously.
‘Coming, one sec,’ Shelly replied, then turned to Amy, dropping her voice. ‘We’ll have to see how desperate I get, I guess.’
‘It’s not desperate, it’s savvy,’ Amy argued quietly but insistently. ‘I’ll put together some profit projections and you can just think about it.’
Ali still hadn’t found Stephan when she saw Ruairi shepherding Shelly down to set and decided to follow. She hadn’t wanted to plead her case on a set full of people, but when there was no sign of him in the production office or the canteen, she figured she’d just better get on with the humiliation.
As she
neared Studio 4, she spotted Terry pop out of the writers’ room just down the hall ahead of her and she had a mad urge to flee. It was one thing prostrating herself in front of Stephan after everything that had happened, but having to face someone she respected and admired was too much. She was just about to duck into one of the holding rooms they used for extras when Terry called out.
‘Ali? Jesus, is that you?’
‘Hi …’ she said nervously, trying to pretend that she hadn’t been about to dive into a random room to avoid him.
‘Ali, it’s so good to see you. I heard about your dad. I’m so sorry. I lost my aul’ fella when I was forty-five and I found that hard. You’re so young.’ He made to give her a clumsy one-armed hug when the bump announced its presence by impeding the affectionate gesture.
‘Woahhh.’ He looked with alarm, as though her belly was re-enacting the scene from Alien.
‘It’s just a baby.’ Ali laughed in spite of the awkwardness.
‘Wow.’ Terry rubbed his greying beard. ‘You’ve had a lot on.’
‘Yep.’ Ali pressed her lips together and nodded. ‘It’s been pretty shite.’ She surprised herself by being so honest. She’d always tried to put on a good front for Terry. She’d wanted to impress him since the day she joined Durty Aul’ Town, sending him her spec scripts in the hopes of getting a shot in the writers’ room.
‘Look, I’ve an hour before my next meeting – want to grab a coffee?’ Terry asked kindly.
Ali studied him carefully.
‘I came to talk to Stephan, Terry. About getting my old job back.’
‘Ali.’ He sighed and started shaking his head. ‘Do you actually want your old job back?’
The question stopped Ali in her tracks.
‘Come and have a chat,’ Terry persisted. ‘You are better than being Stephan Delaney’s on-set punching bag. Are you still writing?’
Ali paused, torn. He was right. If she went back to Stephan, nothing would change – she’d just be a slightly slower production assistant encumbered with a growing belly.
‘I haven’t really been writing,’ she said, falling into step with Terry as he headed towards the coffee dock. ‘Things have been way too hectic for that.’
‘Obviously.’ He grinned, gesturing at her bump.
‘This isn’t even the half of it.’ She laughed grimly, tapping the bump. ‘You don’t want to know the shitshow my life has been – all my fault but, still, it’s hitting Jerry Springer levels.’
‘Ah well, I had heard a few mutterings around the production office.’ Terry smiled kindly as they joined the end of the coffee dock queue. ‘Instagram-something-something-something.’ He waved his hand vaguely. ‘Social media is like a foreign language. So, what happened?’
Once they had ordered and settled at a small table among the dusty fake plants and the other jaded-looking TV execs, Ali launched into the sorry saga. To her surprise, Terry was laughing with tears running down his cheeks by the end.
‘I’m so sorry.’ He was holding his head, his shoulders shaking with suppressed giggles. ‘I know it’s not funny, or it shouldn’t be. It’s fucking tragic, Ali. It’s just the way you tell it.’
‘Well, I’m glad my social media exile and Dad’s death is bringing some joy to your day,’ Ali deadpanned before cracking up herself. ‘It is hilarious in a completely fucking bleak way, I guess.’
‘Genuinely, Ali, I don’t know if you’re already thinking this or what, but you need to turn this into a one-woman show. It’s perfect for the stage.’
‘Oh God, WHAT?’ Ali yelped.
‘Seriously, what better way to turn all of this around? You could silence your detractors by taking back the narrative power, make the jokes before they get to make them.’
‘I think they probably already have …’
‘Whatever. Doesn’t matter if they have, you’re the star of this thing. You said, what, three hundred thousand people are on your Instagram thingy – you have the audience, you get to tell the story.’
Ali grinned slowly. He didn’t quite have the lingo, but he knew what he was talking about. The show idea was kind of interesting. What did she have to lose?
‘I’m not really a performer, though, is the only thing.’ Ali rubbed absent-mindedly at her bump, where the foetus appeared to also be chiming in with a few little kicks of encouragement.
‘Says who?’ Terry stared at her. ‘Even if your fake – what did you call it? – “bump journey” got people interested in you online, it was you they stuck around to watch. Yes?’
‘I guess.’ Ali felt an unfamiliar rush of excitement; she hadn’t felt not-shite in so long, she was momentarily confused. Oh yes, this is what feeling optimistic and hopeful is, she thought wryly.
‘I’ll help you with it.’ Terry was still in convincing mode. ‘I’ll happily read drafts. I have contacts in this town. I know I didn’t develop your spec script from last year, but this seems like much more your thing. I haven’t laughed that hard in ages – you’re a real storyteller, Jones. This is a great opportunity.’
‘OK, OK.’ Ali was now blushing furiously. ‘I swear I will … try to put something down on paper.’
‘Yes, thank God I intercepted you en route to grovel to Stephan.’ Terry slapped the table, startling a group of downtrodden-looking extras at the next table. ‘I saved you! Now, when is that baby due? You need to get this out there soon, by the looks of things? The bump really adds to the whole piece.’
‘Yes, I suppose it does,’ Ali agreed. ‘I’m due in early October.’
‘Ohhh, are you thinking what I’m thinking?’ Terry had a definite glint in his eye.
‘I seriously doubt it.’
‘Three words, Ali: Dublin. Stage. Festival.’ He underscored each word with a sweep of his right hand.
‘But, like, it’s in August. Wouldn’t they have all the acts confirmed, plus don’t I need a script to get a slot?’
‘Yes, you do.’ Terry leapt up, suddenly looking more like fifteen than fifty. ‘You work on a script and leave the rest to me. Let me make a couple of calls. I’ll be your agent, OK? You trust me?’ He cocked his finger at her like a gun, closing one eye in a cheesy wink. ‘This is my business, Ali, the business of show, and I will pull some strings, for I am the puppet master,’ he finished triumphantly and a couple of the extras, clearly having recognised Terry as the head writer – and therefore someone to suck up to if they were ever to progress to the coveted role of ‘featured extra’ on Durty Aul’ Town – clapped appreciatively.
Ali just laughed as he took several elaborate bows. She’d genuinely never seen him look this excited about anything. Years in TV could do that to a person. His newfound enthusiasm, however, was infectious and she found herself drifting back towards the exit, after agreeing to email him an outline, feeling positively high when she nearly collided with Shelly coming back from set looking harried. Amy was frantically tapping on her phone behind her.
‘Hey, gals.’ Ali tried to tamp down her good mood on seeing Shelly’s anxious face. ‘Tough scene?’
‘No.’ Shelly shook her head looking pained. ‘Come into my dressing room. This probably affects you too, hun.’
Shite, what now? Ali glowered and obediently followed behind Shelly’s immaculate dark waves and impossibly tiny skinny jeans. How was the woman even pregnant? Her arse was still miniscule. And, Ali wondered, what fresh hell had now come to wreck her buzz?
Amy shut the door behind them and bustled in.
‘Ali, hi.’ She was brusque even for her. ‘Goddamn, I thought we’d have a bit more time.’
‘What’s going on?’ Ali implored Shelly.
‘The podcast that Jenny, Hazel’s wayward assistant, was teasing has launched its first episode and apparently she’s going straight for the jugular: Insta-mums. Amy saw it drop during that scene.’ Shelly gulped and looked over to where Amy was, Ali now realised, half tethered to her phone with one headphone. ‘She’s been listening for half an hour at least,’
Shelly whispered.
Ali didn’t even bother getting her phone out. She didn’t want to give it the click. Why help Jenny’s audience figures if her whole mission was to take them down? She sat tensely beside Shelly waiting for Amy’s verdict.
Finally, after another ten minutes, Amy pulled the earpiece out.
‘Well, @MammasLittleMissus is fucked,’ she announced starkly.
Ali drew a blank. She’d really only begun to pay attention to Mama Instagram after she had a fake bump to research. ‘Who’s that again?’
‘She was very small fry, about twenty thousand followers until she gave birth “unexpectedly’’’ – Amy added air-quotes – ‘in a Brown Thomas changing room.’
This did ring a bell all right. ‘Oh … yeah. Didn’t she call the baby—’
‘Brown-Motherfucking-Thomas, yes.’ Amy looked in pain at the vulgarity.
‘And she got a lifetime twenty-five per cent discount card,’ Shelly threw in.
‘And a shit-tonne of new followers,’ Amy added.
‘But Siobhan is lovely, though – that’s her real name.’ Shelly filled Ali in. ‘I can’t imagine they dug up much on her. She’s sweet. Always doing girly days out with the older one, the “little missus”.’
Amy looked witheringly at Shelly.
‘Please. You’ve been in this game long enough, Shelly. They went fucking deep on her. Jenny has a team of researchers. They had eyewitnesses talking about how she spent more time getting all the firemen’s Insta-handles correct than looking at poor baby Brown Thomas after her “dramatic” birth.’
‘But isn’t that a bit flimsy?’ Shelly wondered aloud. ‘That’s just people being mean and bitter, isn’t it?’
‘Yeah, but Jenny has receipts.’ Amy scrolled and briefly tapped on her phone before turning it around to show the other two. ‘CCTV footage.’
Shelly gasped. They both leaned in to see a heavily pregnant woman walk, apparently with some difficulty, into a changing room on the designer floor of BTs. The tape then sped forward, seemingly for a long time as countless people passed the camera and entered and exited other cubicles in the fitting room.