Amy immediately launched into action, hustling Amanda upstairs and embarking on a series of frenetic calls to get the house secured. Shelly drifted back into the mercifully quiet living room and sank onto the sofa.
She felt raw and exposed. While she’d known that @__________ had been around the house, peering in windows and capturing private moments, the thought that they had walked right in last night while she and her daughter were asleep upstairs made her feel sick to her stomach. How had she not sensed the intruder? Had @__________ padded gently up the stairs to watch them sleep? Then Shelly remembered the clothes in Georgie’s room and helpless tears pushed through her feeble attempt at remaining calm. This person had stood within feet, maybe inches, of her sleeping child. And it was all Shelly’s fault. All because she’d wanted the likes and the attention. The free stuff. To be admired and envied.
Her stomach roiled with fear and disgust at herself and what she’d brought on them. This psychopath had trained her gaze on Shelly’s life and Shelly had practically ushered them in. And now they weren’t safe in their own home because Shelly hadn’t taken it seriously enough. She’d only been thinking about her reputation and the embarrassment of people seeing her dumb photos. She’d never considered that she’d been offering her daughter up on a platter.
A heavy weight settled over her, a weight that went far beyond the gargantuan bump that felt as if it literally couldn’t get any bigger. It was exhaustion and fear, but she knew she needed to get back in control of the situation. Shelly shivered despite the mid-morning sun streaming through the taupe velvet curtains. Her mind was reeling. @__________ could be anyone and it was looking more and more likely that they were a complete stranger. And a dangerous one at that. A dreadful thought veered into her head:
I could meet them at an event, in the street, anywhere and have no idea, Shelly thought bleakly.
Shelly passed the day in a haze. She couldn’t focus on any of the upcoming events Amy was pressing her for answers on. By 7 p.m., the locksmith had redone every ground floor door and the alarm company had reprogrammed the codes. Her mum and dad were installed in the spare room and Shelly was counting the minutes until she could just hit the pillow and put this horrible day behind her. She’d been unable to get a hold of Detective Bríd. Contact had been patchy since their last communication just over two months before. Some backlog in the department had pushed Shelly’s complaint way down the list and they still hadn’t examined her phone. Shelly felt stupid for not having followed it up. The truth was she’d had a lot on between the W Y N D rollout, Durty Aul’ Town and researching her rights regarding the house. It was weird what you could get used to over time. She hadn’t taken @__________ seriously enough and now they’d been inside her daughter’s bedroom.
The young guards who’d come to take her statement had looked positively bored at her anguished retelling of the morning’s events.
‘So, someone set up a birthday party? And you’re … upset?’ said the dark-haired one with the patchy, ginger beard.
Amy had nearly gone for him and Shelly’d lost a nail trying to hold her back. It definitely felt as if they were all barely keeping it together. Shelly’d even had a complete meltdown during Georgie’s bedtime. Georgie was kicking off about what pyjamas she wanted to wear and at that point Shelly’s sanity was holding on by a thread.
Shelly’d actually given the little girl the finger when she’d turned around and flounced over to her frilly princess bed. It was unbelievably childish, Shelly knew, but also unbelievably satisfying in that maddening and frustrating moment.
She walked through the house performing her nightly check for the camera on her phone. It was a shitty end to a shitty day, but she was relieved Sandra and Jim were up in the spare room watching Bake Off. As well as the doors and windows, she carefully checked the utility room and the cupboard in the hall under the stairs.
This is what it’s come to, she thought bitterly. I’m frightened in my own home. @__________ was getting exactly what they wanted. Shelly climbed to the third floor and tried to immerse herself in her evening routine. She massaged her bump and then her face and even took a few drops of the CBD oil her mother had brought over. She got into bed and tried to relax but the weight had settled once more on her chest and she found she was having trouble getting a full breath. The panic was circling, and she knew if she allowed her mind to wander back once more to thoughts of a stranger prowling through her house, it would easily grip her.
‘Calm, calm, calm,’ she whispered just as Berna had advised. ‘I’m calm, I’m safe.’
They can’t get you now, Shelly thought while trying not to think too hard about how close they’d come. All this time, she’d felt she was overreacting or imagining things, but the balloons were real. As was the message: I’m Always Watching and listening. @________ had heard her leave the voicenote for Amy. She was sure of it. How else could they know?
Shelly’s phone vibrated beside her and she grabbed it before she thought to question whether it was a good idea to check the notification.
A message from @__________.
Don’t read it, Shelly, some sensible part of her warned but her fingers moved as though of their own accord. @__________ had sent a story from another account. Shelly tapped it and came face to face with herself. It was footage from just hours before of her shouting and then giving Georgie the finger. How did they have this? It was posted to the @TheRealShellyDevine account. There were still no followers on the account but now the threat of exposure hung like an axe above Shelly’s head.
Chapter 21
‘OK, can I get a bit of hush?’ Terry shot a look at Liv and Amy, who were front row centre, heads together, whispering and quietly laughing.
They’d arrived just minutes before to catch the last run-through of the day and Terry was desperately trying to keep focus among the crew. With My So-Called Best Life now a multimedia piece of theatre, the pressure to nail cues and monitor the pace of Ali’s delivery was considerably more intense. With two characters being pre-recorded projections, Ali couldn’t so much as draw an unrehearsed breath in her own delivery or it could throw the timings for the rest of the play.
‘Scene one, cue Ali, cue Thirsty Ali.’ Johnny, one of the techs, pushed the life-sized smartphone onto which the pre-recorded character of Thirsty Ali was projected for all her dialogue to centre stage. Ali stepped up to her mark, a tiny ‘x’ at stage left, as Terry continued directing. ‘Cue Rational Ali and lights.’ An actor called Martina ‘played’ Rational Ali. She stepped up to stage right in her all-white bodysuit and white balaclava. Ali’s performance of all Rational Ali’s dialogue was projected onto Martina and she moved perfectly in sync with Ali’s original movements.
Ali stood in the lights, holding a plastic tub in the shape of an urn, regarding a mound of cat litter scattered on the stage beside her. In more than five weeks of development and rehearsals, the show had certainly become a lot more ambitious, but Terry was ecstatic with their progress.
‘Shoot for the moon,’ he’d said grinning when she’d brought him the concept for projecting additional ‘Ali’ characters. In just a few weeks there’d be a lot more people than Liv and Amy sitting out there and Ali’s nerves were mounting.