She dashed off a text to Amy.
I’m all in. No more pussyfooting around, I promise. We need to make some serious dosh before the new baby comes. Hazel’s batshit Holistic hell-fest will be good bank. I’ll explain all when I see you …
Chapter 7
Ali came in to breakfast the next morning giggling at a bit of sponcon from Hazel … #SoulHole. Ick. Hazel touting haemorrhoid cream was enough to put her off the breakfast she’d already been only half-sold on having.
Pregnancy genuinely feels like being hungover 24/7, she marvelled, stalking the fridge and cupboards for something that appealed. She’d noticed over the last week, she’d get a taste for something, salmon on a bagel or lasagne, and then as soon as she’d finally hunted it down and was about to tuck in, suddenly it became the most foul thing she could ever conceive of. So odd. Coffee at least still tastes good, she thought, as she got the pot together.
She felt so much better after last night, she realised. Telling Liv the truth about how far she’d sunk in the months before it all kicked off with the baby-faking was freeing. She felt that maybe Liv understood better how she’d gotten so deep into the Insta-sham. Loading the car with the bottles and purging her room had been cathartic and now, as she pottered about the sunny kitchen, a glowing atomic orange thanks to the lino covering the floor, walls and ceiling (Liv’s granny’s décor tastes were heavily 70s influenced), she finally felt a bit calmer and a bit more on top of things. Her first doctor’s appointment was today, and she was getting together with Amy after to ‘strategise’, as her response had said.
It was so comforting to have another person in her corner. Even if it was someone she barely knew. Amy had wanted Ali’s inbox password so that she could read all the hate mail and death threats. She said it was to ‘collate data and get a read on public perceptions, in order to decide how best to proceed’. It sounded professional. Ali handed over the info without a second’s pause. Public annihilation could do that to a person. What did it matter if anyone knew any more humiliating things about her? There was nothing left to hide.
She consulted her WhatsApp. Sam had finally responded to her message about the hospital appointment at 1 a.m. last night.
I will attend the appointment, but I will be keeping my dealings with you to an absolute minimum.
It didn’t scream ‘warmth’ or ‘reconciliation’ but at least he’d be there, she figured.
Coffee made, she finally selected a packet of Skips from the press and settled herself to watch a bit of Insta. It was weird taking a break like this and then coming back to find everyone was still on there shiteing on about their ‘secret projects’ and their #goals diaries and fey veganism with a touch of leather when the #OOTD called for it. Why had she wanted this so much? She watched @PollysFewBits laying out a family breakfast for the beefy Mr Few Bits and the two little Few Bits, who seemed to communicate only through the medium of rage-screaming.
‘Ah, Skips and coffee, the classic combo.’ Liv rocked in wearing grey drainpipe jeans, boots and a flannel shirt.
‘It’s the breakfast of preggers champions.’ Ali munched on, flicking past the rest of Polly’s stories, amazed at how boring one woman could be. ‘You look very good.’ She took in Liv’s ensemble, which was much sharper than her usual grungy vibe.
Liv waved her hand as if to say this old thing and poured a coffee. ‘So where are we at on the hospital appointment? I can move college things around and come with you, no probs.’
‘Well, Tinder Sam actually deigned to reply, just the fifteen hours after blue-ticking me.’ She read the message to Liv.
‘Keeping yer dealings minimum?!’ Liv exhaled loudly. ‘He’s aware, right, that he left some of his DNA in you and that that DNA is now growing hands, feet and a head?’
‘Yeah.’ Ali furrowed her brow. ‘Not really sure how he intends to pull it off. Maybe passing notes to the midwife? God knows. I’m just crossing everything that seeing the baby on the scan might get through to him somehow. He seems to be in denial.’
‘Well, maybe people in glass houses Ali …’
‘I know, I know. I don’t have a leg to stand on. In a way, that’s probably why there’s no coming back from this whole disaster for me and Sam. He has the ultimate comeback for absolutely every potential row ever. If we managed to get over this, it’d never be his turn to make the tea or put the bins out ever because “Oh, remember that time you faked a baby?”’
‘Yeah.’ Liv shook her head sadly. ‘There’s nothing he couldn’t get out of with that in the back pocket. Even if he banged someone. In your bed. On your birthday. I still think he’d have you on the fake foetus.’
‘I know.’ Ali was quiet as she rummaged in her backpack and threw in a just-in-case bag of Skips to bring with her. ‘I can’t stop thinking about how we’ll have this baby and one day the baby’s gonna grow up and be all “How did you and dada get together?’’’ She shuddered.
‘It’s going to be a race against time to get your version of events in first, ahead of Sam’s,’ Liv replied.
‘Yup.’ Ali shrugged bleakly. ‘I suppose at least you’ll be there. I can say “Ask Aunty Liv. She was there” and you’ll back me up.’
‘Yes, well, I won’t lie to the child. Everyone needs to learn at as young an age as possible just how insane their parents are. But don’t worry, I’ll give context and explain that you were necking wine by the bin-liner load at the time.’
‘So comforting to hear. Right, I’d better go. I’m meeting with Amy Donoghue here, by the way – she’s coming at around 5 p.m. – she doesn’t want to risk us being seen out together by any snap-happy Rants.ie users. She thinks it’s bad for optics if I’m seen to be trying to engineer any kind of comeback or apology. She says it has to feel really authentic.’
‘Jeez, my thesis is going to need a sequel.’ Liv grinned. ‘Insta’s getting more batshit by the day.’
Chapter 8
‘Oh my God, Shelly! You look amazing. I cannot believe we’re bump twins! Let’s do a bump shot!’
The woman in the hospital waiting room was verging on hysterical as she helped herself to Shelly’s bump, pressing her own bump against Shelly’s and snapping pics. Shelly tried hard to hide her irritation; she’d only just signed into the midwife clinic and hadn’t even sat down yet. Still, she put on a bright smile – you had to be careful with the Shell-Belles. They were all love and light and would defend her to the end, but if they ever caught a whiff of ambivalence in the DMs or out and about, they’d be on Rants.ie saying Shelly was too fond of herself and above posing for pics. It was a very delicate balance and one that Amy had always been very handy for managing.
‘Good luck with the next few months.’
Shelly gave her a hug. However, the woman’s grip was vice-like and she hung on much longer than the traditional hug time.
‘I have a YouTube channel. We could collab,’ she whispered, urgently holding fast to Shelly’s upper arms, their bumps pressed together. ‘I’m documenting my bump journey. Your followers would love it. I’d love a shout-out.’