‘Don’t forget the #MamasNightOut.’ Hazel seemed even more het up than usual as she clapped her hands together to call the night to order. ‘First things first: Shelly, well done on the first post in a week. I’m glad you’re back. Maybe now you’re active again the Shell-Belles will back the fuck off. My mentions are a goddamn mess. We need to pull back together. I don’t want anymore “think pieces” from Deborah Winters on why Instagram is a microcosm of everything that’s wrong with female friendships, thank you very much.’
Shelly and Polly exchanged a look, the tail end of which Hazel caught.
‘You two can pretend that I’m the hysterical maniac all you want but this stuff matters. This is our livelihood. We have taken a serious hit with this Ali Jones crap. Holly from GHM agreed to meet with me and Jenny for a tête à tête and she was kind enough to appraise me of some of the sentiment floating around the agencies and marketing departments. The vibe is that some of the recent public debacles have seriously damaged the credibility of the influencer in the eyes of some of the more prestigious brands. Shelly, I know you’re fannying about pretending that you “want out” or whatever, but you need to cop on, you can’t quit in a blaze of viral rants and some wayward girl who, whether you like it or not, has some connection to you – you won’t get acting gigs as a washed-up influencer.’
God, she’s really off on one, Shelly thought darkly.
‘I haven’t even ordered a drink yet, Hazel. Can we take it down a notch?’
Hazel picked up her phone, still glaring at Shelly, held her thumb over the voicenote key and spoke into it:
‘Alan, we need a non-alcoholic prosecco for Shelly.’
‘Alan’s a lovely guy,’ Polly offered quietly, but Hazel ploughed on, barely listening to her.
‘Gals, I’m afraid there’s worse to come.’ She paused as the waitress came to set Shelly’s raspberry-topped faux-secco down. They all smiled tightly – you always had to be aware of being watched when you were high profile. Shelly murmured her thanks and the girl slipped away – probably to tell her co-workers just who was sitting in the back booth. ‘Quick boomer for the ’gram,’ Hazel hissed.
They picked up their glasses, Hazel held her phone high above to capture the best angle and Polly counted them in.
‘Three, two, one …’ They mimed a cheers and, a moment later, the boomerang appeared in their communal WhatsApp thread and Polly and Shelly set to work filtering it, customising with different GIFs and writing their captions.
‘#chillaxing with my faves @HolisticHazel and @PollysFewBits #MamasNightOutOut #MamasOnTheLoose #partay #besties’ typed Shelly and hit Share.
‘OK, housekeeping done.’ Hazel leaned closer in and lowered her voice. ‘It’s one of the old Jennys.’ Hazel exclusively hired assistants called Jenny so the various brand managers and PRs wouldn’t wise up to how many assistants she went through.
‘She’s gone rogue and is starting a podcast and I’m pretty sure it’s a tell-all about the influencer scene.’
‘What?’ Polly’s voice spiked with anxiety.
‘Oh Christ.’ Shelly sighed. It was one goddamn thing after another. Still, it was nice to hear that everything wasn’t perfect in Hazel’s positive-vibes-only camp.
‘I’m totally safe, of course,’ Hazel went on, as Polly’s head snapped up in surprise. ‘My non-disclosure agreements with staff are watertight – they have to be; she cannot speak about me or any of my dealings. But I’m afraid you guys are potentially vulnerable.’ She sat back looking somewhat contrite but mostly relieved.
So typical of Hazel to cover her own ass, Shelly raged silently, now we’re the ones potentially going to suffer the fallout of her being a megalomaniacal nightmare who probably bullied this Jenny girl.
‘Well, thank God you’re safe, Hazel. That’s the bloody main thing,’ she spat bitterly. ‘I’ve enough going on without this.’
Hazel nodded. ‘I can imagine,’ she intoned calmly.
‘How are you so sure this is what she’s doing? The influencer thing, I mean.’ Polly looked disturbed too, which seemed odd to Shelly. Polly, while a committed mumfluencer, was kind of small fry. What did she have to hide? She shared snippets of a very wholesome family life with her two boys and an ex-rubgy-player husband, who occasionally did yoghurt ads and the like. She seemed to spend inordinate amounts of time crafting, if her Insta output was anything to go by, but she was so vanilla, so nice, Shelly couldn’t imagine her embroiled in anything more nefarious than the usual heavy hand with the FaceFix and maybe a bit of mild trickery – the macaroni Hogwarts she did at Christmas had to have come from Etsy: it was way too perfect.
Hazel, too, looked surprised at Polly’s concern but didn’t have the tact to hide it. ‘Really, Polly, I’m sure Jenny will be going after influencers with a bit more clout than you, hun, you’re grand.’
A flicker of annoyance clouded Polly’s otherwise polished features. It was probably the most Shelly had ever seen her react to one of Hazel’s frequent put-downs. She shook it off immediately and arranged her mouth into a slightly pinched smile.
Shelly felt sorry for Polly, the tan-stained hands and laboured make-up – the contrast between her highlighter and darker shading gave her face a ghoulish, mask-like appearance – seemed to underscore just how much she wanted this Insta-life. And she wasn’t a desperate nobody by any stretch. But she did have a considerably smaller following than Shelly and Hazel. At 80K, she got far less salubrious gigs – lots of supermarket swag, kids’ stuff for Ben and Louis, her little boys, who were five and six, and she was brand ambassador for a detergent – it was hardly glam. Shelly knew she’d love a shot at more stylish brands – she was forever trying to push more of a fashion angle – but Shelly sensed the PRs didn’t rate her.
‘Shelly. Shelly!’ Hazel barked impatiently and Shelly tuned back into what had rapidly become a crisis-management session.
‘I was saying you need to think about potentially getting ahead of this thing. This Jenny could have been privy to some of your Insta doings, Shelly.’
‘But, what do you know so far? Why are you so sure we’ve got anything to be concerned about? Did it end badly? Does she have something concrete on me and Polly?’
Hazel sighed testily as she flicked and tapped on the screen of her phone.
‘Here—’ She thrust it at Shelly.
Shelly peered at the phone open on a podcast in the iTunes app – the logo was like the painting nails emoji but reworked slightly. The red nails were cracked and an adjacent bottle of nail polish was tipped over, the words Under the Influence spilling out in red.
The blurb said it all:
Under the Influence is an investigative podcast revealing the malignant lies we’re sold on social media. Every week, join our host Jenny Delaney as she uncovers the sordid scams and bullshit pedalled by our so-called influencers; from white labelling to white lies and minor misdemeanours to mega misrepresentation. Former assistant to one of the most toxic and malignant influences in the Irish scene (who for legal reasons may not be named), Jenny has the tea and it’s about to be SPILLED. Episode 1 coming soon …