‘Well, she’s looking a bit thin but at least she didn’t start social media world war three on my watch,’ Mini retorted.
‘Fair.’ Liv nodded briskly. ‘How are you holding up?’ She moved to pat Mini awkwardly, which Mini neatly side-stepped as Ali grinned. You didn’t pat Mini.
‘I’m fine, Liv. In fact, I told your mum I’d meet her for a coffee this week. I’ve a lot on, though. I really need to get back to the gallery. Erasmus has been holding the fort, but really, he can’t keep a handle on some of the artists. Edmund, particularly. Erasmus is frightened of him.’
‘Will you not take a bit more of a breather?’ Liv persisted. Having practically spent half her teens in the Joneses’ house, Liv would always feel like family to Mini and, annoyingly for Ali, they got on. They were alike in their determined ambition and frequent despairing of Ali’s ways. Also, Mini was worlds away from Liv’s own flaky, hippy sex therapist mother, Meera, whom Liv had always felt was slightly disappointed in her strait-laced, academic youngest child.
‘I’m going to head off.’ Mini took them by the shoulders in turn and robotically pressed her cheek to theirs. Ali was unsettled by just how lost she looked. It was so unMini. At the door, she called back, ‘Alessandra, let me know if you want me to come to the doctor’s appointment with you tomorrow. I’m free any time.’ And she was gone.
Chapter 4
Tuesday morning was a grey, quintessentially Irish day. Mist pressed against the windows and Shelly felt it matched her nihilistic mood. She checked her phone: 10 a.m. Amy would be arriving any minute, thank God. Shelly still felt nervy after @__________’s messages of the night before.
I really got to you there, didn’t I?
It could’ve been a lucky guess. She tried to believe this.
Georgie was munching on toast and narrating her LOL dolls’ every move on the table in front of her.
Shelly consulted the day’s schedule – not too rammed, thankfully. With everything that had happened in the last few weeks, Shelly was embarking on a whole-life overhaul.
She was reducing Marni’s hours so that she could spend more time with Georgie, the future of SHELLY was up in the air and she felt that maybe she needed this time to consider her options. Some brands had been cool towards her since footage of her truth-bombing a crowd of pregnant women at the Mothers of the Earth retreat had been leaked a few weeks ago. It was a ridiculous storm in a teacup that had been blown out of proportion. She’d merely been honest about how tough and lonely new motherhood could be sometimes, but whoever had edited the video had made her look like a ranting lunatic.
Shelly knew she needed to decide what she wanted to do: kill SHELLY, the Insta-maven, once and for all or try to salvage the brand and steer it in a new, hopefully better direction – one that wasn’t quite such a drain on her and her family. Amy, of course, was full of vigour about a total rebrand, apparently unfazed by the fact that Shelly was wavering on the whole thing.
The sound of the front door slamming followed by the chink of metal – Amy Donoghue was singled-handedly keeping New Rocks boots in business – heralded her assistant’s arrival. She stomped into the kitchen in a flurry of torn denim and neon fishnets.
‘Morning!’ She swung herself up onto one of the high stools at the kitchen peninsula. ‘Thought I should tell you that I’ve been headhunted by @HolisticHazel to come onboard that crazy train.’
‘Oh?’ Shelly wasn’t surprised. Hazel loved to pass snarky little comments on how Amy was the only reason SHELLY was such a success. At that very moment, a WhatsApp from @HolisticHazel dropped into the Insta-mums group.
Ladies, I think we need to get together this evening to discuss some developments of late. A lot of the brands I’m working with are getting shifty about future plans to collab. I’ve had words with Holly from GHM PR and she gave me a bit of the lowdown. I’m sharing the info because we need to stick together and show a united front. We can’t let the behaviour of that desperate, delusional psychopath Ali Jones tarnish the work we do. I’m proposing a #MamasNightOut to discuss and plan the coming months – plus, good for optics to be seen out together. Jenny has booked a table at The Landing so great for the ’gram. See you there and don’t even bother crying ‘childcare’ @Shelly, this is probably most vital for you.
‘So …’ Shelly was careful to keep her tone light as she turned back to Amy. ‘Are you considering it?’
‘Shelly, as if! Not a hope.’ Amy laughed. ‘I mean, she’s got some major stuff planned. She’s launching a wellness summit called W Y N D that’s going to be held on an uninhabited island out west called Inis Brí. She’s talking about flying in mega names from the international Insta scene. Dunno how she’ll be delivering on her promised “boutique luxe festival” vibes on what is essentially a remote rock in the Atlantic. And while that might be an entertaining disaster to watch – No. Thank. You.’
Shelly grinned. ‘Maybe it’d be good for you, Amy. Realistically, I don’t know what’s going to happen to SHELLY. How does an aspirational lifestyle brand work with’ – she dropped her voice to a whisper – ‘an estranged husband living in the back garden? And a stalker raking up damning old pictures?’
‘Any word from the guards since last week?’
‘No, but I sent on another message from last night.’ Shelly passed her phone to Amy to catch her up on the latest.
‘This is creepy.’ Amy scanned the exchange. ‘They’re just trying to rattle you, though, you know that. Let’s get a meeting with Bríd locked in anyway to be on the safe side.’ She pulled out her iPad to make a note of this. On Shelly’s phone she scrolled back further to look at the messages @__________ had sent over the weekend.
@__________: Me again! Where are you? You haven’t been on much at all? What’s my Insta feed without the Queen Bitch of Beige Shelly to brighten my day with your bullshit?
@__________: Bbz seriously I can’t get through my day without an #OOTD update from the Queen of Bland. What EXACT combo of boots, skinny jeans and blazer are you ‘rocking’ today?
@__________: Shel, I am one of your most loyal Shell-Belles and I need you to dress up some bullshit sponcon collab as female empowerment so that I can feel good about myself when I’m shoving your Shellypons up my gee.
‘They seem to both stan you and hate you! Can’t believe they remember the Shellypons! Morto.’ The Shellypons were an ill-judged collaboration with a tampon company from a few years before. ‘The messages are so weird,’ continued Amy. ‘But not in the way you’d expect from a stalker. Like, can you even call it blackmail when the only demands being made are for you to keep your Insta-content consistent? And on this front, I’m afraid I have to agree with them. Shelly, we need you back posting ASAP. What is this faux soul-searching about quitting Insta? We will ride out the separation just like we have everything else.’
Shelly remained unconvinced. Money-wise she needed to keep her brand on track but everything with @__________ made her worry just what she was inviting with this level of exposure.