by Sophie White
‘Shoot for the moon,’ he’d said grinning when she’d brought him the concept for projecting additional ‘Ali’ characters. In just a few weeks there’d be a lot more people than Liv and Amy sitting out there and Ali’s nerves were mounting.
‘OK, from the top,’ Terry called.
Ali counted the beats in her head, then looked up into the audience, mercifully impossible to see with the lights on her.
‘Have you ever tried to scatter someone’s ashes before? If you have, you’ll probably know they’re not very ashes-like.’ She glared at the tub. ‘They should put a warning on this thing, something like “FYI your loved one now resembles cat litter”.’
Ali sighed.
‘This is my dad.’ She indicated the mound by her feet. ‘Dad, this is everyone.’ She swept her hand towards the audience. ‘They’re here to find out how I went from being an average nobody to faking a pregnancy online – not this one, obvi, this one is legit – to being the most hated woman on the internet and all in just three months. I’m nothing if not efficient with my downfalls. And now they’re probably wondering a) what you have to do with it and b) what you’re doing down there.’ She looked back up at the audience. ‘And by “there” I mean the stage of the National Theatre. Yep, Dad, somehow, I found time in my busy, being-shamed-on-social-media schedule to tip you out onto the stage of the Abbey. But I can explain. Before all this, I was just your average thirsty Instahun with a mild addiction to lying my balls off for the ’gram …’
Ali’s spot went down and the phone at the front of the stage emitted a notification buzz. Thirsty Ali appeared on screen, perfectly filtered and made up in bed purporting to be just awake.
‘Good morning and namaste, bitches! I’m just about to do my morning routine. I love to kick off my day by setting some positive intentions in my journal, then I’ll drink my green juice and kick this lil butt into gear. I have a full day of exciting meetings scheduled, so many amazing projects are in the pipeline, I can’t wait to tell you all.’
Rational Ali, now illuminated on the other side of the stage, took over.
‘Yeah, Thirsty, you’ve soooo much in the pipeline. Keep breadcrumbing those fictional exciting projects, hun.’
‘Well, to be fair,’ Real Ali interjected, ‘she doesn’t have a whole lot else to be peddling on there. Shit jobs and sick dads aren’t exactly the stuff of aspirational Insta-content.’
Forty-five minutes later the run-through wrapped up and Liv and Amy were applauding from their seats.
‘OK, everyone, good job today.’ Terry emerged from the wings. ‘We’ll reset for the morning and I’ll see everyone back here at 10 a.m. Ali, good job. I’ve marked a couple of passages that need to be tightened up but, overall, it’s really getting there. Any more thoughts on the ending, though? We have to get that locked in. With the technical elements being so demanding, there’s no time for a rush job.’
‘I know, I know …’ Ali sighed. ‘It’s so hard ’cos, well, it’s still unfolding.’
Terry smiled. ‘Keep thinking. It’ll come into focus. These things always do.’
‘Ali, it is brilliant.’ Liv and Ali had relocated to the café across from the theatre for a debrief. Amy was pacing out front on the phone to Shelly, trying to calm her down by the looks of things.
‘You’re not just saying that? Promise, like? ’Cos I’m relying on you to save me from any more public humiliation.’
‘Ali,’ Amy had just caught the end of Ali’s plea as she slipped into the seat opposite beside Liv. ‘Saving you from public humiliation would be a full-time job! This one doesn’t have the time.’
‘Yeah, yeah, hilarious.’ Ali rolled her eyes. ‘Look, easy with the “this one” stuff. You’ve both been tolerable these last couple of months. Just promise me you two won’t turn into the couple who only want to go out when the other one’s away or busy. Single people know what’s up, you know.’ Ali narrowed her eyes.
‘We would never,’ Liv was indignant.
‘So, Ali, that was excellent.’ Amy pulled out her phone, back to her comfort mode: business. ‘We need to market the shit out of this show. We need to make sure people know that the appeal is broader than just Insta-users. The themes you touch on, the darkness at its core. No offence, but I just was not expecting it to be that good.’
‘Really?’ Ali grinned. She’d been sick at the thought of performing the show for them. After working so intensely on it for months, she felt that she’d no idea what it was like anymore.
‘I loved the three Alis,’ Liv added. ‘It could’ve been convoluted but you completely pulled it off. And I even sort of forgot that it was you playing all three by the end, I was so invested in all the Alis! I can’t wait to see what you do for the ending.’
‘Ugh, me either.’ Ali shrugged. ‘The ending is turning into my personal Everest. Plus, I need to run everything else by Mini first.
‘So, when’s opening night again?’ Amy was making notes.
‘Three and a half weeks.’ Ali clutched her face in mock horror that didn’t even feel like a joke.
‘OK …’ Amy scrolled through her calendar. ‘It’s tight, but I can make you a little promo campaign for the ’gram if you like. Pro bono. Consider it my baby gift.’
‘Ah, thank you so much. That would be amazing.’ Ali beamed.
Amy hopped back up abruptly. Another call. Once she was pacing outside once more, Ali leaned over to Liv. ‘What is going on with that? Trouble in Camp SHELLY?’
‘Isn’t there always?’ Liv grimaced.
Chapter 22
‘So, Shell-Belles, thanks so much for tuning into my What I Put in My Hospital Bag video brought to you by the lovely gals at MamaAndMe.ie. I can’t believe in another couple of months, I’ll be meeting this one and my perfect little family will be complete. Feeling so hashtag blessed, as they say! Love and light, especially to all my fellow expecting mamas.’ Shelly blew a kiss and ended the video.
Amy took the phone and began adding the campaign hashtags, along with the required ‘ad’ and ‘spon’ hashtags, as Shelly got ready to leave.
‘When will you be back?’ Amy looked up anxiously. ‘We have several events this evening. We really need you back out there, Shelly. It’s been noted by several of the PRs that your profile is slipping. Plus, we need you out in some of the outfits the Princess Closet sent over. The feed is all #MamaUniform, and there’s only so much “simple marl tees, jeans and boots” I can tolerate. It’s too one-note.’
‘Right.’ Shelly was not in the mood for a lecture. ‘I’ll be back when I’m done but you realise meeting the Gardaí is something of a priority?’
‘Of course, of course.’ Amy waved her off. ‘Just be back for 5 p.m. Mandy is booked for make-up. Good luck with the guards.’
At the police station Sandra and Shelly were led by a young guard into a small windowless room at the back of a busy open-plan office. A desk and a few plastic chairs stood in the centre and the walls were covered in posters from ancient police initiatives. Slogans like ‘Drugs take lives’ and ‘You wouldn’t steal a car: video piracy is a crime!’ were splashed around them. Shelly slipped into the seat beside her mum. Crime had moved on since they’d taped up these warnings. Video piracy seemed antiquated compared with the thefts of funds and identities possible online now and, as much as drugs were still a problem, Shelly supposed there was a new, more socially acceptable addiction epidemic in the form of phones.
Detective Bríd joined them and Shelly stood to greet her.
‘I am sorry it’s been so long since we caught up properly about everything that’s been going on. Donal?’ Bríd beckoned the young guard forward. ‘Will you bring Ms Devine’s phone up to Mitchell on the third floor for examination and can you organise some tea and bickies on your way back? I wouldn’t punish you with what passes for coffee round here,’ she confided as Donal took Shelly’s phone and left, pulling the door shut behind him.
‘Now, firstly,’ Bríd continued, ‘I am
so, so sorry about the attitude you encountered when you spoke to law enforcement after the incident of the’ – she consulted her notes – ‘the twenty-fifth of the seventh in your home. At the time the call came in, I was in an interrogation – as you know we had a major case that took up a lot of resources – and when I saw the dispatch notes later I was so upset that two unbriefed beat cops were sent. I’m so sorry that they didn’t bring appropriate professionalism to their dealings with you all. It must have been incredibly upsetting.’
‘Thank you, Bríd. Look, it’s OK. I knew these guys just didn’t understand what they were looking at. I’m just really keen to get more of a sense that we are closer to finding out who @__________ is.’
‘Absolutely.’ The detective pushed her short blonde hair back behind her ears and pulled out a blank page. ‘Can you quickly give me a rundown of security measures you put in place since the twenty-fifth?’
‘Changed the locks on all ground-floor doors and windows. Changed alarm codes. My mum and dad are staying with me. I’ve alerted my husband – he lives in the garden currently – he says he’ll try not to be away as much until we get sorted. I’ve also got that new doorbell app, the one with the camera. Not that @__________ has ever just rocked up and rung the doorbell.’
‘That we know of,’ Bríd muttered darkly as she continued to note down Shelly’s information.
Shelly glanced at her mother, who, if possible, looked even more terrified than Shelly felt. Maybe it had been a mistake to ask her to come. Though Jim, her dad, would have been even worse – he was prone to histrionics, hence tasking him with bringing Georgie to the cinema while they were at the station.
‘So, does that mean you think Shelly definitely knows @__________ in real life?’
‘Shelly, did you bring the lists I asked you to make?’ Bríd skilfully skirted Sandra’s question.
Shelly unfolded and smoothed out two sheets of A4 paper: on one, everyone she could think of who’d ever been given the alarm code, and on the other, the people who could’ve got a hold of and made copies of keys to the house.
‘The keys to the house one is, in our opinion, the more crucial,’ Bríd explained. ‘Mitchell strongly suspects that info about your whereabouts, alarm codes, your conversations with the likes of Amy and your husband could be gleaned through spyware installed on your phone, if we find any. However, the fact that @__________ gained entry and locked the door after themselves on the night of the seventeenth suggests someone trusted, potentially someone close to you, Shelly.’
‘I see.’ Shelly clasped and re-clasped her hands on the table in front of her until Sandra gently placed her hand on top to calm Shelly’s agitated movements.
Bríd took the lists and slid them into a brown file to her left. ‘I’ll be working on ruling out the people on these lists. And there is still a possibility it’s not someone you know.’
Shelly was rueful. This was not the comfort Bríd intended it as.
A knock at the door startled everyone.
‘Come in,’ called Bríd. ‘Ah, Detective Mitchell. Great. Please meet Shelly Devine and her mother, Sandra.’
Mitchell came over and shook hands before joining them at the table beside Bríd. Donal, who had slipped in behind Mitchell, placed a fully loaded tea tray down on the table and scuttled back out the door.
‘So, I have good news and bad news.’ Mitchell slid the phone back across the table to Shelly. ‘We have detected and removed a malicious spyware app called YourEveryMove. That’s the good news.’
‘Really?’ Shelly had to laugh. This constituted good news now?
‘The bad news is that it’s actually a very sophisticated piece of spyware,’ Mitchell continued in his oddly robotic manner. ‘Most of the spyware we’d see being used among civilians is crude and usually easily attributed to the person who installed it. YourEveryMove has layers of encryption, however. We do know that it would be impossible to install remotely and that it was installed sometime between January and March of this year. We may be able to narrow that installation window as we examine our findings in more detail, but we need you to create an exhaustive list of people who may have had access to this device. Bear in mind, they could have reconfigured your device’s settings and installed YourEveryMove in mere minutes. So, try to remember every instance that your phone was out of your sight for even five minutes. Hell, a slick operator could have done the installation while pretending to take a photo of you with the phone.’
Mitchell went on to explain some of the grubby ins and outs of spyware before filling his suit pockets with most of the biscuits from the plate on the table and ducking back out of the interview room.
‘He’s an odd one,’ Sandra remarked as the door clicked shut.
‘He’s odd but very thorough.’ Bríd was quick to come to Mitchell’s defence. ‘Everyone on the tech unit says he’s their best guy. Look, I know none of it feels that positive but in a way it is. The spyware is providing @__________ with so much of the access and information they’ve been taunting you with. The time they knew you were in the hospital, the old photographs, even the voicenote you sent to Amy about the birthday. Yes, they gained entry to the house and planted the decorations and the nanny cam concealed in the teddy bear that captured you getting, eh, frustrated with your daughter but at least now we know it was likely an isolated incident.’
Shelly was exhausted from the meeting with the guards but knew skipping any more press events could jeopardise her standing with the various PRs and brand managers who were an essential part of the ecosystem of her precarious career. She walked the red carpet leading into The Landing for the beauty launch she’d promised Amy she wouldn’t bail on. She posed for the social pics, swishing the long Rixo dress on loan from the Princess Closet and placing her hand on her bump lest anyone confuse it for – horror of horrors – weight gain. She’d swung home for make-up and wardrobe and to get Georgie bathed and dressed for bed. Then she headed out, leaving her parents messing with the TV settings. It was amazing to have them there, built-in babysitters for Georgie and nice company in the evenings, but still, she resented how @__________ had made her afraid in her own home. The guards, Bríd assured her, were devoting all their resources to identifying who installed the spyware, though she’d looked a little daunted when Shelly handed her the tally of every person who’d had access to her phone during a two-month period. There were close to thirty names. Still, at least the phone was clean now. And Mitchell’s team had installed an anti-spyware app.
Shelly stepped off the red carpet and into the party, waving to several key influencers already inside.
‘Shelly!!!’ Alan, the maître d’, hustled over, elbowing small fry bloggers out of his way. ‘Shelly!’ He pulled her in for an air-kiss. ‘I did not know you were coming tonight. You look stun, hun. STUN!’
‘Thanks, Alan. Any sign of Hazel or Polly yet?’ She flashed guiltily on their names at the top of the list she’d made for Bríd.
‘No, hun, not yet.’ He took her elbow and began to steer her towards a secluded table that said ‘Reserved’ off to the left of the main entrance, away from the bar area. Why is he being so pushy? Shelly wondered as she scanned the ornate bar-cum-restaurant. Then she spotted Hazel and Polly at the far end of the central bar area.
‘Alan, they’re right over there.’ She pointed.
‘Ah … oh … yeah.’ Alan was being very shifty, and Shelly got a pang of fear. What was wrong? Had @__________ released something incriminating? Did Alan know something? She spotted that Hazel and Polly were both staring in complete silence at something in the restaurant area.
Shelly shook off Alan’s hand and rushed forward to get a look at whatever they were so engrossed in.
‘Shelly, I’m sorry.’ She was just about aware of Alan’s pleading voice behind her but one look at the source of Hazel and Polly’s fascination – a couple at the booth by the window – had the effect of turning everything down but the pounding of her own heart.
Da
n and a young brunette were chatting over what looked to be dessert and a bottle of champagne. A date. In the middle of one of the most Insta venues in the city. For fuck sake. With a great effort, Shelly stretched a bland smile across her face and tried to look unruffled. Giving a cheery little wave to Polly and Hazel, she beelined for Dan’s table.
‘Hi!’ she announced brightly, sliding into their booth beside the girl and giving her a huge hug.
‘Shelly, what the—’ Dan was clearly shook at her sudden appearance.
‘Everyone play the fuck along,’ Shelly muttered sweetly through clenched teeth. She turned to the brunette. ‘I’m saying it’s nice to fucking see you and you’re gonna say it’s nice to see me and ask me how I’m getting on.’
‘Dan?’ The girl looked like a startled deer. ‘Who is she?’
Dan wearily poured another drink. ‘Do it, Lydia. I’ll explain after, I promise,’ he said quietly, making no eye contact.
‘Wow … it’s so nice to see you. How are you?’ Lydia gave a faltering delivery, but it’d do.
Shelly smiled icily. ‘I’m great,’ she returned peppily, then reached across the table to lay a manicured hand on Dan’s cheek. ‘And how are you, Dan?’
He stiffened but didn’t shake her off. ‘Shelly—’
‘Listen,’ Shelly cut him off. ‘I don’t give a fuck what you’re doing with Lil Lydia here, but I do give a fuck where you’re doing it. Do you realise that The Landing is the venue for Insta-events? At this very moment, a ton of PRs, journos, photographers and other influencers are about twenty feet away wondering why my husband is here on a date. That’s why it’s “so funny”,’ she put on a faux cheery voice, ‘ and “such a coincidence” that you’re here with’ – she glanced at Lydia, assessing her age – ‘your niece to chat about her career plans.’
‘Shelly, I am not lying about my life. That’s really more your buzz.’ His lip curled, betraying a level of disdain she’d become all too familiar with. God, was it just impossible to get through a separation without too much animosity?