by Sophie White
‘I thought it was good,’ offered Joanna. ‘It sounded like the old you and it was kinda funny too. Maybe it’ll take the wind outta their sails?’
‘Thanks, Joanna. Look, it is what it is. No matter what I say, people will be all over it. Let’s just post this fucker.’ Ali cocked an eyebrow at Amy, who shrugged in a slightly defeated fashion and solemnly tapped out a caption tagging SweetLittleLies.ie and rounding off with some relevant hashtags: #apologyvideo #socialmediaapology #Iamsorry #struggling.
‘OK, you sure you’re ready?’ Amy stood with her finger poised over the phone screen.
‘Oh my God, gimme.’ Ali snatched the phone, made her account public again and hit Share. ‘Now, let all the various judgements and hot takes roll in.’
Joanna started tidying her bits back into her mammoth wheelie make-up bag and Amy gave her details for invoicing. Liv poked her head around the door just as Joanna said goodbye and hurried on to her next job.
‘All done? I’m ordering Thai. What do you want, Ali? Amy, are you gonna stay? We could all eat together.’
Liv looked blasé. It was probably taking everything she had to try to look so casual, Ali thought, grinning.
Amy seemed to consider the offer but then her tablet buzzed again and a strained look crept across her face.
‘I’d really like to but Shelly’s got a fashion event on tomorrow morning and I need to get ahead of the Insta admin on that.’
‘How much does she make on one of those things?’ Ali couldn’t resist probing.
‘Ali! You’re one of us now. Instahuns don’t spill the tea in front of Muggles.’ She jerked her head at Liv. ‘No offence. I mean, it’s basically a compliment.’
Liv laughed and held her hands up. ‘Hey, I’m an Insta Muggle and proud. So, I’ll text you?’
‘Yep, see you for dim sum.’
‘And then some,’ Ali threw in, then added a little drum effect. ‘Ba-dum tsssshhhhh!’
‘Uh-huh.’ Amy looked scornful. She stepped past Liv, brushing her cheek with her lips. ‘Can’t wait,’ she whispered. To Ali, she waved and said, ‘I’m on the WhatsApp for the night if you need help fielding comments.’
And she was gone, leaving a dazed-looking Liv in her wake.
‘Oh my God,’ Ali squealed. ‘You’re so in there.’
Liv just nodded mutely, cradling her cheek where Amy had kissed her.
‘This is so exciting.’ Ali bounded over for a hug but was interrupted by the angry buzz of her phone which was lying on the bed. The Insta notification sound brought her right back.
‘Oh, here we go.’ She winced and hopped over to turn down the volume. Liv followed and peered over her shoulder at the notifications that were dropping in at a furious rate.
‘When will we know how they’re taking it? Massaman?’ Liv asked, sitting down on the bed to order the food.
‘Yes, Massaman please. In a way, there’s no point in me even looking at these.’ Ali waved the phone. ‘I’m best just watching some soothing murder and eating my weight in prawn crackers. Then, in the morning, I’ll get a pretty solid sense of the state of play from whatever Notions.ie puts up about the apology.’
‘Ha, that’s amazing.’ Liv exhaled. ‘You deffo think they’ll cover it?’
‘Oh yes, short of some other influencer getting up to some mad shit during the night, I’m guaranteed to be their bread and butter all weekend. The tabloid fodder should get a cut of the ad revenue. We’re basically their raison d’être.’
‘Well, you’re not out of the woods yet, though, right? Careful, you’re sounding way too cocky.’
Ali knew Liv was right but since her meeting with Terry, it was like emerging from a fog. She’d been so caught up for so long in this app, she’d practically forgotten about the whole other world that existed offline.
‘I don’t mean to be cocky. I’m just trying to care a bit less. I can’t control what thousands of strangers think of me. Also, I kind of have an idea of what to do next.’
‘Really?’ Liv was still tapping the phone. ‘I can’t remember – do we get the sticky wings or the spicy ones?’
‘Sticky.’ Ali felt that it was still very soon to be talking about the show that might not happen, but since starting work on the outline the very same day as talking to Terry, she couldn’t stop thinking about it. It had been so long since she’d written anything longer than an Insta caption, she’d completely forgotten how much she loved doing it.
‘Well? You’re smirking.’ Liv cocked a brow in her direction.
‘I’m working on a piece of writing, a script, like, for a one-woman show. All about the baby debacle. Terry from Durty Aul’ Town is helping me.’
‘Shut up! Are you serious?’
‘Yeah, why?’ Ali felt panicked at Liv’s disbelief.
‘That’s fucking brilliant.’ Liv leaped up and threw her arms around Ali. ‘Ali! This is incredible. Yes. Finally! Jesus, I thought we’d lost you to Freakstagram forever. Tell me everything. This is what you’re born to do, Ali. I hated that you lost confidence in yourself. Yes.’ Liv was punching the air with glee. ‘Good man Terry, he finally spotted your talent.’
‘Well …’ Ali was about to protest and get back to downplaying everything, but then she stopped herself. ‘Yeah. He did a bit, I suppose.’
‘Eeeek, what a day!’ Liv was bounding around the place. ‘I scored a date with Amy. You’re writing again.’
‘And I just earned practically a year’s salary in under an hour. Who cares if they still hate me?’ Ali danced around, rubbing her bump suggestively.
‘Oh God.’ Liv abruptly stopped dancing and shielded her eyes. ‘Stop rubbing it. It’s. Too. Much,’ she shrieked.
‘But me and the foetus have to express ourselves.’ Ali started gyrating the bump at Liv, who fended her off, laughing.
‘Right, what soothing murder will we have?’
‘I’m in the mood for something horrif!’ Ali said brightly.
‘Jesus. All right. Fred and Rose West doc?’
‘Eugh, no. I’m not that fucked up. Maybe Ed Gein?’
‘Right.’ Liv rolled her eyes, and then her gaze fell on Ali’s phone on the bed, silent but blinking rhythmically with endless new comments. ‘Are you leaving that here?’
Ali wavered for a moment. ‘Yeah, fuck it. It’ll just be a wreck-the-buzz. Let’s have it just us tonight. And Ed. And his Lady Lamps.’
‘I must admit, I am partial to his nipple belt.’ Liv led the way towards the living room.
Chapter 15
‘Shell-Belles, it is so exciting to be here in the Tullamore Swan Inn. I’m just with my glam squad getting prepped for my Shella-Bella Bumps Roadshow today! We’ll be talking self-care for mamas-to-be, fashion tips for hiding your new unsightly lumps and styling that bump! Can’t wait to see you all soon.’
Shelly put the phone down so Amanda could get back to the laborious task of getting her ready. In-persons were so stressful. The Shell-Belles could be hyper-critical, and she didn’t want to end up on Rants.ie for looking sloppy. God knows they’d be up there bitching about the price of the ticket (€125 including faux-secco on arrival and a goodie bag). They moaned but they coughed up, as Amy always said. The whole tour had sold out in two hours. She was committed to traipsing around regional Swan Inns across the country every Saturday for the next six weeks. All in the name of unhitching from Dan and getting her life back, she reminded herself.
The door to the hotel room swung open and Amy ploughed in, head buried in her phone, headphones blotting out all but the, judging by the volume, highly stressful conversation she was engaged in.
‘I realise that, but do you realise that your goofs are none of my responsibility? Now, I have two hundred bovine bitches coming in to be gussied up by Shelly in an hour and we have actual work to do.’ She took a deep, steadying breath, evidently attempting to summon patience. ‘We’ll see you at the #MamasMorning tomorrow and, for God’s sake, I presume you’re giving your staff the day off.’
&n
bsp; Amy hit End on the call and shook her head, looking profoundly irritated. Shelly was loath to say anything in front of Amanda, but equally was dying to know what Hazel was bitching about now.
‘Mandy,’ Amy snapped. ‘Can you get the clothes rail? We need to run through the outfits.’
‘No probs, hun. You’re done for now, Shelly. I’ll just top up the highlighter and do your lips once you’re dressed.’
Amanda bustled out and Amy shoved the door closed behind her. Oh God, what was coming? Shelly tried to compose herself, pulling her silk robe tighter over her special SHELLY bump shapewear and recrossing her legs, careful not to disturb Amanda’s leg contouring work.
‘Right, Hazel is up to high doh because she’s convinced one of her Jennys is a plant. Apparently, she was slow to sign the NDA and Hazel forgot to chase it until this podcast business started up. The Jenny in question’s been AWOL since last Wednesday and when Hazel took out the NDA to double-check, she realised that instead of a signature, the Jenny had actually scribbled “Haha Fuck you”.’
‘Oh Jesus.’ Shelly stifled a laugh. ‘Sorry, it’s not funny.’
‘Oh, it is,’ Amy said grimly. ‘And so deserved. But she’s been up my arse about everything for days. Paranoid that this is the perfect loophole for OG Jenny to finally reveal the truth about Hazel’s one hundred per cent fake life for the ’gram on the podcast. I can’t cope with her. She’s so intense and she’s also not getting that she’s not my client, ergo she’s not my problem. Appara she has some new guy leading her team but is still on to me endlessly.’
Amy shrugged and Shelly noticed her mini dress, which was red gingham and uncharacteristically demure.
‘Love this,’ she enthused.
‘Oh. Thanks! Me too.’ Amy did a little spin, revealing a plunging back held together with three leather belts and showing off a large tattoo of a tiger pouncing on a busty naked woman.
Shelly winced.
‘Right, couple more things before Mandy comes back. We’ve the playdate tomorrow. Hazel is calling it the Insta-mums Emergency Summit. She’s doing the big W Y N D hard sell, shooting some of the promotional materials and appara we’ll be discussing how to counter all the negative press focus in the last few weeks.’ Amy rolled her eyes.
‘Ugh, I can’t bear to read any of it.’ Shelly sighed. She had enough depressing things crowding her mind without hearing the thoughts of Deborah Winters and the rabid commentators on Notions.ie saying that she and her ilk were a toxic influence and promoting an unrealistic lifestyle.
‘Speaking of.’ Amy was scrolling away on her phone. ‘The jury is in on Ali’s comeback post.’
‘I saw the post. It was very …’ Shelly searched for a diplomatic way to put it ‘… very her.’
‘Oh, I know. She basically pissed on my script. But,’ Amy continued grudgingly, ‘I kind of do have to hand it to her. She went with her instinct and I think it’s paid off.’
‘Oh?’ Shelly straightened up as Amanda returned with the rail of outfits. Six looks for a two-hour show was a lot but each retailer she wore paid a handsome fee and the shops were near guaranteed to sell out of any piece once Shelly wore it. Plus, if the Shell-Belles shopped via the swipe-up on Shelly’s Insta, as they would be aggressively encouraged to do, she made a tidy percentage on the affiliate links. Every cog in the SHELLY machine was monetised and now, with the goal of buying Dan out of the house and ultimately divorcing him – seriously, if people knew the going rate for a divorce, they would skip the whole bloody wedding – she felt more invested in SHELLY than she had been in a long time. She’d even been letting Amy put together a sponsorship package for the birth of baby number two until the leaked footage of @MamasLittleMissus had scuppered them. The optics weren’t great in the wake of that backlash, they had decided.
‘Oooooh, are you talking about AlisBaba?’ Amanda loved the goss.
‘Yeah, what’s your take?’ Amy asked.
‘I think she did a great job. No pretend crying, which you’d usually see. And no makey uppy excuses, just a straight up, sincere apology.’
‘Hmmmm.’ Amy was nodding and jotting a couple of notes into her phone. ‘And what are your WhatsApp groups saying? General vibes?’
‘Well, my school gals were all mad about her, so they just hope she keeps up the page now that she’s put it behind her. The book club group think the apology was fair enough. She can’t go around apologising for the rest of her life. And compared with that yoke @MammasLittleMissus and her antics, lying about a fake baby doesn’t seem so bad, better than endangering a real one for a discount card and a bit of attention. And now Ali’s really pregnant! You couldn’t make it up!’
‘You couldn’t,’ Amy agreed. ‘And she definitely isn’t. I’ve seen the bump with my own eyes.’
‘What are they saying on Notions?’ Shelly was pulling on the first look, a pair of white skinny maternity jeans with a flowing silk shirt and blazer in taupe.
‘“Shamed Blogger Makes an Unexpectedly Heartfelt and REAL Social Media Mea Culpa”,’ read Amy. Amanda kneeled down to help Shelly step into the towering rose-gold strappy stilettos. ‘Deborah Winters is commending her brave honesty,’ Amy continued. ‘Her.ie has “Did This Blogger Just Pull off the Most Perfect Social Media Apology of all Time?” The consensus seems to be yes,’ Amy added, shaking her head incredulously. ‘I knew it’d make waves but I did not think it’d go over this well. The lie detector lads are thrilled with the eyes on their website in the last twenty-four hours.’
‘Good for her,’ said Shelly, heaving the thick, stretchy waistband over her bump. ‘I wonder if she’ll keep going? Sam didn’t seem too happy about any of it, and she could end up with a real struggle on her hands with him. Not sure #custodybattle would go down that well on the ’gram.’
‘Oooh, I’d watch that,’ Amanda piped up, giving Shelly’s cheeks a final dust of highlighter. ‘The things I end up watching on there. Sure, I was watching yer man, the influencer fella Blake Jordan, giving his cat a bath the other day.’
‘My contract with her is up now so who knows.’ Amy shrugged. ‘It’s deffo been a nice little boost to my holiday fund, so I know she won’t be stuck for money for a while. Still, I feel like she’s coming out of the whole Insta bubble a bit.’
‘Lucky her.’ Shelly sighed as Amy stepped forward to mic her up.
‘Now, now,’ she admonished. ‘We want too-blessed-to-be-stressed Shelly, not some moany cow who is forgetting how good she has it. These Shell-Belles are your bread and butter and don’t you forget it.’
Coming off the stage after a gruelling three hours of Shell-Belles, Shelly was deflated. It was such tough work and, at twenty-six weeks pregnant, all the hopping in and out of outfits was like cardio. The SHELLY bump control pants made her feel like a zeppelin in a condom. And it wasn’t just the constant changing that left her feeling so sapped. It was the relentless pep she needed to maintain all through the day.
She slumped in the hotel bedroom for a few minutes’ peace while Amy wrapped up details with the hotel management downstairs. The Insta-mums WhatsApp group was hopping as Polly and Hazel shared links to the steady stream of articles about @MammasLittleMissus since her outing on Under the Influence.
Polly: Oh my God this has to be the worst one yet. www.notions.ie/Disgraceful-act-by-MammasLittleMissus-proves-there-is-nothing-attention-obsessed-Insta-mums-won’t-stoop-to.
Hazel: Oh God. She’s been on looking for an invite to the playdate tomorrow. I blocked her. If either of you have any shots on your grid with her in them delete delete delete. She is TOXIC.
Shelly rolled her eyes. Really, people in glass houses should not be throwing stones. She flicked out of the WhatsApp and back to Insta. Her DMs were being hammered with mentions from all the Shell-Belles who had attended the Bella Bumps Roadshow. She flicked over to her notifications. There everyone was loving her outfit from this morning as per usual. Amazing! Amazing! Amazing! in the comments. We need a new ‘amazing’, she thought
ruefully, and she scrolled down, barely taking in the likers and commenters. She was trying to keep more of an eye on new followers. Amy had been closing in on a few of the bigger UK Insta-mums, dropping strategic likes and comments, and Shelly knew she needed to cultivate these kinds of connections. She went to London a handful of times a year to fashion events, but it was very hard to break the English market. Angela Scanlon had been very supportive, but she needed to break in on her own not just by riding the coat-tails of someone else. Sadly none of the new followers were anything to get excited about. Then a strange Insta handle caught her eye: @TheRealShellyDevine.
She snapped to attention, her weariness immediately drowned in an onslaught of unpleasant, anxious adrenaline. She tapped the account icon, which was, of course, her own smiling face.
‘Oh God, oh God, oh God,’ she gasped under her breath as the page loaded. Don’t be public, please don’t be public.
The account was private. She felt dizzy with relief, however short-lived it might be. She analysed what was visible. Two followers. Following one person. The bio read:
I think it’s time to come clean. I can’t go on like this.
She shuddered. It sounded dark. If anyone stumbled across this page, they’d be immediately stuck in. No one could resist that cryptic bio. Jesus. It was probably only a matter of time before word got out about this account. The anonymous ones grew so fast. Amy had told her they could go from zero to a hundred thousand followers in a matter of weeks. After all, they dealt in the drug of the masses: gossip. BloggersUncovered had gotten so big lately it was apparently close to imploding because whoever was behind it was mired in threats of legal action and couldn’t keep up with the admin of the DMs.
Shelly snapped a screenshot and WhatsApped it to Amy. She tapped the two followers, but it was a futile effort. She knew that the followers wouldn’t appear unless she requested to follow the account and was accepted. She needed to know what was on there, but she didn’t know if requesting to follow would only make things worse. If the account got out and people noticed that she followed it, it would set off a tsunami of speculation and make it much harder for her to deny whatever it was they were saying about her on there.