‘He didn’t hang around.’ Sandra looked appalled.
‘I know! I keep thinking about how I was there walking on eggshells. Doing every little thing to anticipate his reaction to stuff. Hiding SHELLY work because I knew it’d cause a fight. That kind of thing. And then he’s straight off with the first Tinder twat he catches.’
‘Shelly!’ Sandra admonished. ‘I know you’re angry but try to keep it pleasant. You have to. And how is the little madam?’ Sandra cocked her head towards Georgie, who was pouting and preening into the phone screen. Shelly sighed as the little girl changed her poses and snapped a couple of pics from overhead. It was harmless play, though Dan would probably freak if he saw her at that. He’d blame Shelly for corrupting their daughter. Everything is always the mother’s fault, she thought, feeling mutinous. Mothers can’t win. If they’re too focused on their kids, they’ve become mumsy and irrelevant, but if a dad is focused on his kids, he’s a legend. Lauded for something as basic as supervising his own bloody child. Then if something goes wrong, all anyone wants to know is ‘Where was the mother?’ No one asks ‘Where was the father?’ because the bar for fathers is set so low that, short of just being absent entirely, they’re winning at parenting.
‘Berna says letting her just get used to the “new normal” is better than hitting her with a big talk that might scare her unduly,’ she said softly, turning back to the debate at hand. ‘She says we should just answer her questions honestly as they come up but not make a big deal out of things.’
‘Yes.’ Sandra poured the tea and nudged the milk towards Shelly. ‘With a new bab on the way, she’ll have plenty of upheaval without worrying about being a latchkey kid.’
‘Why on earth would she be a latchkey kid, Mam? What even is a latchkey kid? It sounds like something you got from EastEnders.’
‘Oh, I don’t know what I’m saying.’ Sandra waved her hands helplessly. ‘A child from a broken home is all I mean.’
‘That’s WORSE,’ Shelly erupted.
‘What’s worse, Muma?’ Georgie had momentarily paused in her selfies and was looking up inquisitively.
‘Nothing!’ Shelly and Sandra both yelped in unison.
‘What’s worse?’ she persisted. ‘What is? What is?’
Shelly scrambled for something to appease her. Sometime in the last few months as four approached, Georgie had begun talking with the intensity and relentlessness of a cold caller trying to switch your internet provider. Shelly actually googled ‘Four-year-old never …’ and the search bar had automatically filled in ‘stops talking’. It was cute but also could probably be used as torture against prisoners of war in combat situations.
‘We were saying there’s nothing worse than a melty Jaffa Cake,’ said Sandra, coming to the rescue.
‘Eww, yuck,’ Georgie retorted, turning back to the phone and her own face peering back at her.
‘Listen, Shelly. I’m sorry, pet. I’m saying the wrong things.’ Sandra bit into a Jaffa Cake dolefully.
‘I know, I know. It’s OK,’ Shelly reassured her and added milk to her cup. She watched the pale cloud bloom in the tea and tried not to get angry.
This was what it would be like for them now, she thought sadly. Dealing with people’s everyday blunders; People feeling sorry for her. People assuming that her family wasn’t perfect – that as a ‘broken home’, they were in some way in need of repair. She knew the last thing her mam wanted to do was make her feel bad but sometimes the intention didn’t matter a damn, not wanting to hurt someone didn’t make it any less painful when you did.
Thoughts of the mothers at the school gates next year and Georgie being the only kid in her class with separated parents converged on Shelly. She’d been going along trying her best not to think too far into the future.
‘Georgie’s doing great.’ Her mother’s voice brought her back to the present. ‘She’s a credit to you, pet. And you’re doing great yourself in spite of everything you have on.’ Sandra rubbed Shelly’s arm and tilted her head sympathetically. ‘Mairead said she’s there any time you need help or to even just grab a break for a few minutes.’
God, this was torture. Was everyone just going to assume that she was some sad case now who was soldiering on? Saddled with her two kids instead of blessed with them? Her brother’s wife, Mairead, was probably beside herself now that she and Dan were splitting up. Ever since they had become sisters-in-law, Shelly had detected a whiff of resentment from Mairead. She’d always suspected that Mairead and Johnny thought she and Dan were up themselves and she knew Mairead was always top of the watchers of Shelly’s Insta-Stories, but she NEVER referred to SHELLY or any of her successes. They came to the launch of her coffee table book but didn’t even ask her to sign a copy. Who did that?
Mairead did some blogging but Shelly wasn’t sure if she was still at it. She’d been so busy with SHELLY – it was hard to keep track of everyone’s lives. And here Mairead was now acting all concerned, offering help but most likely she just wanted a closer look at the slow demolition of Shelly and Dan’s ‘perfect life’.
‘Georgie! Dinner!’ Back at home, Shelly fussed about with the gold cutlery and linen napkins. She’d set an extra place so it looked as if three people were having dinner. She chewed her bottom lip. It certainly wasn’t the biggest lie she’d ever told on social media. She just wasn’t ready to come clean yet about her new relationship status. She knew any announcement of the split would trigger an outpouring of pseudo-sympathy and an inevitable wave of headlines from online sites using her family’s life for clicks.
She took a couple of flat-lay-style pics of the table. It looked gorgeous; along with their plates of quiche and salad, which Georgie would undoubtedly barely touch, she had a bowl of strawberries, a selection of crudités and breads, with wildflowers in a vase in the centre next to her marble tealight holder.
She called Georgie again. She was playing on the patio beyond the sliding kitchen doors. It was great to finally feel the days getting longer. It was nearly May, which always had such a hopeful vibe to it, though of course this year it would be hard. Shelly tried not to think about the anniversary coming up in a couple of weeks. She and Dan would have been seven years married this year. She snapped her mind shut to the thought and focused on editing the picture, bringing up the contrast and fiddling with the colour balance until the whole thing looked sharper and bathed in a rose-tinted haze. Georgie cantered in and clambered up to the table, stuffing a strawberry into her mouth.
‘So pretty, Muma! Will I do “cheeeese”?’ Georgie leaned her elbows on the table and perched her face on her small clenched fists, stretching her strawberry-stained lips into a perfect stage-child smile.
Shelly laughed at the pose and took a pic. ‘Nailed it, sweetie!’ Georgie happily tucked into the bread and ignored the crudités and quiche.
Shelly carried on editing the flat-lay and tried to enjoy the peace of the moment. She had found her guilt about her mothering had eased considerably since Georgie wasn’t appearing so much on the SHELLY account anymore. This flat-lay was a sponsored post for the interiors brand that was supplying the tableware, not to mention Shelly’s portion of the mortgage this month. Georgie wasn’t needed for this kind of post and this was what Shelly was set on pursuing. It was tough, though. The Shell-Belles wanted the mum content and she’d dangled a bump journey in front of them only a few months ago and was now failing to deliver. The engagement on posts like this one was never as strong. The followers wanted the good stuff: the cute daughter and the perfect life, not sterile flat-lays. She added the requisite hashtags to the caption, tagged the relevant accounts, hit Post and slipped the phone into her pocket.