by Sophie White
‘Mam.’ Shelly held her mother’s gaze. ‘I have to go with you. I have to hold her. She must’ve been so frightened.’
Shelly began to ease herself off the bed. Sandra looked uncertain but surely her mam knew there would be no arguing with her on this.
An hour later and after jumping through several logistical hoops to sign Baby Devine out of the hospital early, Shelly and her mum were sitting tensely in a taxi back to the house.
It was nearly 11 p.m. and the streets were deserted. Shelly had given the baby a feed before they left the hospital, but it seemed as if he had still not woken up to life quite yet. He had gone straight back to sleep once they’d bundled him up in the car seat.
As they came through the door into the warm house, Jim dashed out to the hall and crushed Shelly in a hug.
‘My darling girl! I heard you were wonderful.’
Over his shoulder, Shelly could see Amy, Ali and Ali’s roommate Liv hovering awkwardly. She didn’t even bother asking what they were doing there.
‘Where’s Georgie?’
‘I just this second carried her up to bed. Wired.’ Jim grinned. ‘You’d swear being almost kidnapped was the best day of her life.’
‘Dad, Jesus.’ Shelly could feel tears overcoming her again as she gingerly hurried up the stairs – she was tender from the birth. She tried to calm her breathing outside Georgie’s room, then she tiptoed in and carefully crouched by her sleeping daughter, burying her face in her warm, familiar smell. The relief of holding her after reading the accounts of her hideous ordeal. Shelly stayed like that for a while until she realised her own tears were making a damp patch on the little girl’s pillow.
Chapter 30
The fallout from Polly’s M50 meltdown was more far reaching than any Insta-scandal ever before. The media was addicted to the bizarre story and all week the internet had been awash with updates and hot takes that Ali felt certain would surely herald an implosion of the Irish Insta-sphere, yet @HolisticHazel was intent on going ahead with W Y N D festival.
‘I don’t think you should go, Ali. It’s too close to your due date. Where is it on anyway?’ Liv had asked that morning as Ali packed a final few bits and downed some coffee in the kitchen.
‘It’s on some uninhabited island off the west coast.’ Ali had sighed. ‘Look, I know it’s close, but I feel totally fine. Vadge-mageddon is four weeks away and this thing is showing no sign of budging plus the appearance fee is whopper. Anyway, we need this, it’s the last time I’ll be making any bank for potentially months and we still haven’t bought the bloody travel-system yoke.’
‘Oh yeah.’ Liv scrambled for her phone. ‘I’ve added some new ones to the spreadsheet for you to look at.’
‘It’s so bizarre that you’ve become the gear nerd for this baby.’ Ali grinned.
‘Well, someone had to.’ Liv sniffed.
‘Well, I’m bringing in the money and cooking the bloody thing. Now I will be gone for less than forty-eight hours, you don’t have to worry. The influencers don’t have to stay for the whole thing, we just show up to add a bit of prestige, Hazel says.’
‘I’m worried about the world when a bunch of women talking to themselves in their phones constitutes prestige.’ Liv slumped bleakly at the kitchen table. She pulled up the W Y N D hashtag.
@HolisticHazel had posted a video of herself perched, hair streaming behind her, on the prow of a boat speeding towards an outcrop of rocks at dawn. Beyond, on a sliver of white, sandy beach, dancers twirled fire poi and drums were beating.
Liv scrolled on. Selfie after selfie of festival attendees, young women in mirrored sunnies, tie-dyed bikinis and Docs making the peace sign in Athlone services. #FestivalBound #WYND #BestFest #Chillax #BestLife.
More pics showed fire pits surrounded by cabanas and hammocks, with pristine white villas grouped along dramatic cliff paths.
‘This is unreal,’ Liv breathed.
‘Yeah, they’ve done so much since the launch meeting. In only two, three months, like? Unbelievable.’
‘What was here? Before, I mean? How did Hazel get the permits and the planning? There’s a vintage carousel on the beach. Incredible! You sure, Hazel isn’t spoofing and these aren’t Coachella shots?’
Ali peered at Liv’s phone. ‘Well, the tagline is “Beyond the bounds of the impossible lies … W Y N D”!’ Ali grinned. ‘Sure, I’d say they’ve been generously touched up. I mean, it looks practically tropical. But even if it pisses rain, it’s gonna be class. You don’t know how badly I want to lie down and be pampered. I am so over being pregnant. I just wish you were coming.’
‘Well, it’s not often Amy gets unexpected time off, so with Shelly on early mat leave we figured, ya know, make hay and all that. We’re only going to Kildare. Besides, once the baby comes, we won’t be going anywhere for ages.’ Liv looked apologetic.
‘Don’t worry, I fully get it. She’s your laaa-day.’ Ali segued into a rendition of the Styx song. ‘I get it. It’s like your babymoon. Soak it up. In another few weeks, it’s gonna be baby ka-boom.’
‘So has she been arrested or what?’
‘I dunno, it’s not like she got very far with the kid—’
‘Yeah, but just because you’re crap at kidnapping doesn’t mean you should get let off.’
‘Still, it’d be obvious to any judge or jury that she wasn’t in her right mind. That Insta LIVE was demented.’
‘Did you hear that she was stalking Shelly?’
‘Shut up! NO! But they’re like “Insta-mum BFFs 4eva”.’
‘Yup. Appara that post Shell-Belle did a while ago about the troll was actually about PollysFewBits herself.’
‘Juice.’
Ali slid lower down in her seat to hide from the other gals on the small plane chartered for W Y N D. She’d kept her hoodie up and glasses on since they’d embarked in Galway so she didn’t have to chat and pose for selfies or, as it turned out, field questions about the latest Insta shitshow. Thankfully, at that moment the roar of the engines increased, preventing further gossip.
Ali turned her attention to the view from the tiny oval window to her right. The wing of the plane dipped and, through the low grey clouds, she got her first glimpse of Inis Brí. From this angle, it looked like an uninviting shard of rock rising from the Atlantic. Smoke billowed ominously from various parts of the island.
Must be the fire pits, thought Ali. At 4 p.m., their plane was one of the last to arrive on the island for the day. She searched the #WYND hashtag on Instagram to see how things were unfolding but the latest posts were hours old. Weird that nobody was updating. As the plane banked towards the island, Ali could see the strip of tarmac that constituted the runway. From up here, it looked to be the only road on the island, but that couldn’t be right, could it? How would they have built the festival stages and accommodation without roads? As they flew lower, aiming for the runway, Ali could see bonfires on the beach and crowds dancing below.
Or were they waving? Ali pressed her face against the window, but the beach was already out of sight and the runway was rising to meet them.
Ali rubbed her belly. She’d been feeling crampy low in her abdomen on and off for a week, but the last time she was at the hospital, they’d said it was just Braxton Hicks, practice contractions that were common at her stage of pregnancy. They also said that first timers almost always went over their due date. Thank God. Ali was looking forward to slowing down for the next four weeks. With the show over and nearly all the baby prep done, she’d been toying with really just bedding in, starting from the beginning of Law & Order: SVU and doing the entire twenty-one seasons before the baby came. The thought of all that epic lying down time buoyed Ali as the plane bumped in to land. While she was still flying high from the rave reviews My So-Called Best Life had gotten, she was exhausted from the performance and the debacle with Polly. It had been a hectic few weeks. Offers from talent agents looking to represent her, offers from production companies wanting to adapt the show fo
r TV and even a movie deal had all flooded in, but Ali was happy to wait.
She’d made a splash. She had a hit and had proved her worth to herself as much as anybody else. She had talent. She could make things happen. But all that could wait. The baby would be her main focus for at least the next six months to eighteen years. Things with Sam were still tenuous. The man could really hold a grudge. His continued standoffishness would be impressive if it wasn’t so devastating. Ali kept thinking back to before the show when they’d been so close to getting their shit together. Yeah, the sex had been feral but even so, it was a reminder, however slapstick, of what she’d had with Sam. Of how close she’d come to getting it back. They were texting, of course, but each interaction was crushingly polite and it didn’t feel like them anymore.
‘Why are we just driving around?’ brayed one of the girls who had been dishing on Polly at the back of the plane.
Ali sat up a little straighter. The girl was right. They seemed to be taxiing up and down the same barren stretch of tarmac. Weird.
‘Excuse me, sir?’ One of the group at the back broke off to approach the pilot, who was only separated from the rest of the plane by a beaded curtain. ‘Excuse me, why are we just driving around?’
The pilot tried to ignore her, but she persisted.
‘Excuse me? Hell-ooo? Hello? You can’t just ignore me.’
Ali smirked to herself and leaned over to look out the window again. There was, she now saw, maybe two or three hundred revellers pressed against a chain-link fence running alongside the runway. So odd.
‘Excuse me?’ The girl was still pushing the pilot for an answer, despite his firm ignoring.
‘Why are all those people out there?’ Ali added.
‘What people?’
Everyone peered out the right side of the plane to take in the crowd.
‘Are they dancing?’
‘I don’t think so,’ Ali said slowly. ‘It looks like they’re … struggling? Or being … held back?’
At last, the pilot spoke. ‘Everyone get hold of your belongings. I’m coming to a stop and once I open the door, you’ll have two to three minutes to disembark.’
‘What the—?’ Before Ali could finish her question, the plane door lowered down, doubling up as steps to the runway, and everyone around her immediately began piling out of the tiny cabin. Ali hung back to avoid getting squashed, but the pilot turned around and urged her off.
‘I’m going, I’m going.’ Ali shimmied through the aisle and down the steps, and was outside on the tarmac fixing her skirt when she realised the chain-link fencing had given way and a mob of people in fishnet body stockings and Native American headdresses were coming right towards her waving and yelling. The pilot yanked a lever and the cabin door closed once more. Ali backed away from the plane to avoid the onslaught of people, all of whom looked wild and desperate. One guy, wearing just leather lederhosen, tried to grab at the pilot’s door but to no avail.
‘Take us with you, you prick,’ Lederhosen screamed. ‘You can’t leave us like this.’
The propellers began turning as more of the crowd started screaming and banging on the plane. Ali backed to the edge of the runway as the plane began to taxi and the crowd continued to try to thwart its takeoff.
‘What is happening?’ Ali asked, spotting a young guy crouched by the fence shaking.
‘No one can leave,’ he blurted, clawing at the ground between his feet. He peered up at her through bloodshot eyes. ‘They have forsaken us,’ he screamed, his pitch ascending just as the small plane took off at the other end of the island. Ali could see the mob watching, dejected.
‘Can you stop screaming, please?’ Ali sighed, pulling her phone out to WhatsApp any of the other influencers. Where was the transportation to the villas? Where were the villas? What was with these people? She recorded a voice note to the W Y N D influencers group chat:
‘Heyyyy, I’m finally here! Just encountered some early casualties of what I can only assume is a bad batch – so everyone be warned.’ She glanced back down at the boy who was silently rocking now, staring at his hands. Further along the runway the mob also seemed to have given up and was sitting down in a field by the tarmac. ‘It looks like pills laced with maybe ket? I dunno. Anyway, let me know what the story is. I cannot wait to get into the hot tub and relax.’
She sent the message but could see it wasn’t delivering.
‘Signal’s real bad on the island … it’s been that way s’long as I’ve been here,’ the boy whispered. ‘That’s how they’ll break us, isolation, psychological warfare.’
‘OK, well, best of luck with the K, don’t forget to hydrate.’ Ali, dragging her bag, made her way around the tattered chain-link fence.
Two men in high vis vests were heading down a dirt track about twenty feet away. ‘Hey! HEY!’ Ali called and hurried after them cradling her bump.
They glanced back at her and Ali slowed gratefully, but then the men, who seemed to be security, broke into a run, pegging it away from her.
‘Fuck’s sake,’ Ali shouted, starting after them. ‘Stop. Wait.’
The shorter guy glanced back again and Ali saw him catch his friend by the arm to slow him.
‘Shit, dude, she’s pregnant. We better stop,’ Ali heard him say and they came to a halt.
‘What’s the deal?’ Ali was winded by the time she caught up with them. ‘Are you the transport team?’
At this, the short guy snorted, ‘There’s no “transport” on Inis Brí; there’s barely food here.’
‘But there’s loads of good spots for selfies,’ the taller guy added and they both cracked up.
‘Don’t forget to hashtag “W Y N D”.’ The short guy adopted the unmistakable Irish Insta voice. ‘If there was any phone service.’
Ali took out her phone again to check on her voicenote – it still hadn’t sent.
‘Shit, do the phones not work?’ Ali asked.
‘Nothing works. Name a thing.’ The short one was now clearly enjoying himself.
Ali opened her mouth to name something, but he cut across her. ‘Doesn’t work,’ he blurted.
‘Hot tubs, even?’
The two guys started laughing away again.
‘Fuck you both.’ Ali began storming up the dirt track to where she guessed the festival must be.
‘Here, wait!’ the tall guy called. ‘Walk with us. I’ll try to get someone with a wheelbarrow down here. The accom, if you’d call it that, is a fair walk away.’ He pulled out a radio and spoke into it.
‘To be honest, I’ve not much faith in the radio yokes either,’ the other guy remarked. ‘They look like Fisher-Price. This whole thing is a nightmare. I’m Liam, by the way, that’s Paul.’
Ali was distracted by clouds of smoke rising ahead of them.
‘What is this?’
‘End of days,’ Liam muttered.
‘They’re burning tents,’ Paul supplied. ‘The second they found out there was no oat milk or any other dairy-free milk substitute on the island, they lost their shit.’
Ali groaned as another cramp rippled across her belly. ‘What do you mean “burning tents”?’
‘Ah here, this could be our wheelbarrow now,’ Paul interrupted as a cloud of dust rose up ahead. ‘We’d better get you off your feet. How far along are you anyway? And why’d you come to a festival on an island when you’re up the pole?’
‘I’m thirty-six weeks. And I’m fine, just a bit achy but that’s normal. I came to the festival because it’s a wellness summit and I’m gonna be pampered for the weekend. Also, I’m making a paid appearance.’
‘Shit.’ Liam squinted at the dust cloud. ‘That’s not one of our guys.’
As the wheelbarrow drew near, they could see two wild-eyed Instahuns at the helm, pushing it through the dust and over rocks. It was filled with protein bars.
‘Stop,’ called Paul, stepping into their path.
To Ali’s shock, the huns kept coming and mowed him right down.
> ‘What the hell,’ Ali shouted as Paul cried in agony from the ground. Liam managed to wrestle the women away from the wheelbarrow.
‘She’s preggers. We need this to transport her, ye demented loons,’ Liam screamed. One of the huns pulled out a travel-sized Elnett and sprayed him in the face.
‘Fuck you, these are the only gluten-free snacks on the whole pissing island!’ The two women grabbed all the protein bars and stormed on towards the airstrip.
‘I think my leg is broken,’ Paul whimpered.
‘My eyes! Oh my God, my eyes!’ Liam staggered blindly and tripped over the wheelbarrow. ‘Jesus!!!!’ he screamed. ‘My arm.’
Ali glared at the two of them. ‘Right, into the wheelbarrow. We’d better get you to the first aid tent.’
‘We are the first aid tent, luv,’ Paul muttered. ‘Although there was never a tent.’
‘Please say you’re joking.’ Ali sighed.
It was dark by the time Ali staggered into camp, pushing Paul in the wheelbarrow with Liam trudging alongside, holding his arm protectively.
She was wrecked. She must’ve walked two kilometres over uneven terrain pushing this deadweight in front of her. The trek had provided plenty of time for Paul and Liam to relate just how much W Y N D festival had descended into apocalyptic chaos in a mere six hours.
‘Yer one Hazel was airlifted off the island about an hour after the first attendees began arriving. When it became clear that nothing the W Y N D promos had advertised was available on the island, people started going nuts. Lighting the relief tents on fire in protest when they discovered there were no villas and no luxury accommodation. Pretty stupid now, given no one’ll have any shelter to sleep in tonight. No phone coverage meant everyone was trapped. Some people found Hazel’s caravan and tipped it, but she’d already made off. And still, planes were landing and dropping off more and more people. And the pilots know it’s a warzone down here but they’re contracted by the festival and just wanna cash their cheque. We’ve been trying to raise the alarm with the Coast Guard but the range on the radios is about ten feet if the wind is with you.’