Ali swallowed nervously. As much as she wanted Amy to sort out her life, the thought of going back onto Insta to talk to thousands of disgusted people did not appeal.
‘Yes, that face is perfect for our purposes.’ Amy held up her phone and Ali instinctively flinched away. ‘Don’t worry, it’s not for posting, it’s just research for my mood board.’
Ali nodded and steadied herself for the camera. A mood board for social media rehabilitation? Ali checked the time. Liv’d be home any minute and was going to lap up this shit. Amy was now absorbed in Ali’s phone. She’d demanded the rest of her passwords the second the ink was dry on the confidentiality agreement they had both signed before Amy so much as said ‘hello’.
‘Right, I’m just setting up a shared Google calendar so that there are absolutely no goofs during the apology rollout.’ She returned Ali’s phone and Ali scanned the coming weeks.
‘There’re still sponcon slots in here?’
‘Eh, yeah! How’d you think you’re going to pay my fifteen per cent? Never mind pay for this baby and whatever rent you’re forking out for this armpit of a house?’
‘I guess … I just thought … Well, they’ve all fired me.’
‘Yep. However, I’ve hand-selected a few to target for reconciling. I’ve emailed Holly at GHM to discuss how potentially good for optics it would be for GHM to show compassion and understanding to a collaborator who’s suffered a mental breakdown. She was very interested. They’ve had some stick lately about paying lip service to the mental health issue without doing anything concrete to back it up. This could be their opportunity to look like, well, not a completely shallow PR operation. I think she’s going to go for it and, when they do, the rest will follow.’
‘Amy, that is really fucking clever.’ Ali was awed.
‘Now that I’m handling your dealings, it adds a layer of professionalism and trust. I’ve told them you are seeking treatment for your addiction issues and Holly reports that they’re getting some final sign-off from higher-ups, but it looks good.’
Ali was stuck on the phrase ‘addiction issues’. She quaked at the thought of people knowing about her secret drinking. She wasn’t sure it had been a problem as such but more of a comfort blankey – a comfort blankey that was then replaced by followers and likes on Instagram – and Ali could honestly say she didn’t miss drinking. She just missed having something to reach for and cling on to during the tough moments.
‘I don’t have addiction issues. And it wasn’t a mental breakdown or whatever …’ She trailed off, sounding feeble and unconvincing even to herself, but to her surprise, Amy just shrugged.
‘TBH, it doesn’t even matter, Ali. We just need you to be seen to be seeking help. But it has to be credible. The programme of recovery I want you to enroll in is anonymous so it’s not something we’ll be discussing on your Insta in explicit terms. However, that doesn’t mean that we can just pretend you are attending either. There can be no phoning it in or lying this time, Ali. It’s too risky. Especially as one of Holistic Hazel’s disgruntled ex-assistants has launched Under the Influence – a podcast exposing influencers’ shenanigans. All eyes will be on you just dying to trip you up, so you will be going to Catfishers Anonymous meetings even though, technically speaking, no one could prove it one way or another.’ Amy continued checking things off the list on her tablet as though she’d said nothing of note whatsoever.
‘What’s Catfishers Anonymous? Like Alcoholics Anonymous?’ Ali yelped.
‘Best place for her,’ called Liv from the hall, having evidently entered the house stealthily to listen in.
Ali could hear Liv dumping her backpack on the hall table, disturbing the ceramic cat display in the process. She appeared at the door holding a tiny kitten, which was now without a tail.
‘This is Liv. She’s the one who’s writing the thesis.’ Ali gestured.
‘Oh right, the famous thesis.’ Amy jumped up to shake Liv’s hand. ‘It’s a very interesting area you’re working in. If I can ever be of any use at all for research purposes, let me know.’
‘Oh thanks. That could be really brilliant actually.’ Liv ran a hand over the shaved side of her head. The longer dark hair on the other side was arranged in an intricate plait. ‘Anonymous, of course.’ Liv gestured and the ceramic kitten flew from her hand and smashed against the wall.
Liv was nervous. Ali sat back to enjoy the awkwardness. They’re gonna bone. She grinned to herself.
‘Oops, sorry, sorry,’ Liv muttered, bending to gather the pieces at the exact same moment Amy, too, stooped to help. They bumped heads and Amy’s hair momentarily got caught on one of Liv’s ear piercings. They stood close together apologising profusely and trying to extract Amy’s hair.
‘So, this is how Goths mate?’ Ali chirped cheerily from the couch.
Liv, now freed from Amy’s tangle of dyed red hair, straightened up, immediately regained her usual composure and shot Ali a warning look that seemed to say, If you want any more roast chicken dinners from me, you’ll shut it.
‘Ali,’ she said sternly, ‘maybe don’t call the woman who’s kindly taken on your shitshow of a cause a Goth.’ Amy handed her a piece of the kitten and Liv flashed her a grin before turning and heading for the kitchen.
Amy returned to her seat on the pouf, a tentative smile playing on her lips.
‘Right, so, where were we? Oh, CatAnon, yes. Catfishers Anonymous. So, it’s an anonymous programme, very discreet. I just want you to attend meetings. Show face, etc. As I said, it’s just to cover our backs should anyone probe any deeper into just what kind of treatment you’re seeking.’
‘Oh-kay.’ Ali shrugged. ‘But I guess, like, I’m not a catfisher.’
‘Oh, no?’ Amy raised an eyebrow behind her horn-rimmed glasses.
Shite. Ali sensed she’d just taken some kind of conversational bait.
‘Well, the internet certainly seems to think you’re a catfish, Ali. The definition on Urban Dictionary states: “A catfisher is an individual who uses the internet, and in particular, online dating websites, to lure people into a scam romance. The general goal of a catfisher is financial gain by developing an online relationship with another person and ultimately asking for money.”’
‘Urban dictionary has a definition for Bass Turd,’ Ali replied flatly. ‘It’s hardly a trusted source. And I didn’t set out to lure anybody and I didn’t ask for money. Brands just started offering me money.’ She leaned forward pleading her case.
‘Well, Ali, if you want to go on a crusade, arguing your innocence based on semantics, that’s your decision, but I’m advising you against it. There’s no room for subtleties online. Everything is binary on the internet. Black or white. Guaranteed, those people won’t even grasp the difference between “a premeditated scam” and, I dunno, what we’d call your stunt? A catfish crime of opportunity? All they hear at the end of the day is Girl Lied About Pregnancy. If we start overcomplicating the message and trying to say ‘Girl Didn’t Mean to Lie About Pregnancy, A Few People Picked It up Wrong and Girl Just Didn’t Correct Them and Then It Snowballed’, well, we’ve lost them. They’re already mindlessly scrolling Insta. They’ve no attention span.’