‘I know and I’m so sorry, Sam. It started by accident. Some people took it up wrongly and then, before I knew it, it was everywhere. I never meant to get you involved.’
‘Uh huh.’ Sam was withering. ‘But ya did. And then you lied your balls off about it for two months. I can’t even watch Special Victims Unit anymore because of this.’
It was their show. This sounded like a joke but one look at Sam’s face told Ali they would not be laughing about this anytime soon.
‘Well, I have to go to the rest of my dad’s funeral. If you want to come to the doctor with me, you can.’ Ali began to move off.
‘I can? Can I? Has it occurred to you that maybe you’re unfit? That maybe I’d have a pretty good case to have sole custody of this child? If it definitely exists.’
Ali rolled her eyes.
‘It exists and good luck getting custody while it’s inside me. You can be a part of this baby’s life but I’m not going to beg you to be a father to your child. I can do this on my own. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a carbtastic hotel buffet to attend.’ With that, she marched back to the crowd milling at the front of the church.
Her womb felt like it was staging a mutiny. Google said it was stretching pains. It was mad how last Thursday she’d had no idea she was harbouring a tiny stowaway and now, even with her life in shambles and the internet and Sam hating her, the thought of anything happening to this little thing trumped everything. How could you care so much about something so small? It was a bloblet with miniscule fingers and toes, but Ali knew it was now the most important thing in the world.
Liv was being berated by several uncles when Ali rounded the front of the chapel and she quickly swooped to rescue her, not that Liv ever required such a thing.
‘No man yet, Liv? What’s going on with that?’
‘Too much peen for my tastes,’ Liv said casually, silencing them. In slow motion, understanding dawned on each of them in turn as they gave each other meaningful looks. Ali laughed, which felt good until one of the uncles turned to her to deliver the ultimate funeral small talk clanger, ‘And this one, of course, has had too much peen.’
‘Oh God,’ Liv muttered. ‘Right, we’d better be saddling up. I’ll see you at the hotel.’ She hugged Ali and headed to the car park.
As Ali neared the family funeral car back at the chapel, she could see Mini talking urgently to Marcus, but they pulled apart as she approached, and she could see tears in Mini’s eyes. Marcus turned and gave Ali a reassuring pat on the shoulder.
‘Well done, Ali. You put on a great show there. It’s been a long road for you both.’ His voice cracked a little and Ali wondered what had just been said. ‘I guess I won’t see you for a while, but you know I’m always around if you need anything.’
The drive to the Fitzsimon Hotel was quiet. The ‘family car’, as the funeral directors called it, was a bit of an overstatement seeing as it was just Mini and Ali.
‘So, did you just break up with your boyfriend at your husband’s funeral?’ Ali asked with a sardonic grin.
‘Did you just announce that you’re pregnant at your father’s funeral?’
‘You’ve got me there.’ Ali sighed.
‘Whose is it, Ali?’ Mini peered at her, her tired face was deeply concerned.
‘A guy I was seeing called Sam. He’s actually really cool but I don’t …’ Ali paused to breathe. This was the most surreal day of her life. ‘I don’t think we’re together anymore.’
‘Ali, how did this happen?’ Mini was shocked.
‘Just the usual way.’ Ali shrugged unhappily.
‘Ali! For God’s sake, how many times have we had the talk? Did you even think of the morning after pill? And what are you planning to do?’ Mini shook her head, clearly trying to calm herself. ‘Look, I’ll help in any way I can – you know that, don’t you? – whatever you decide. But for fuck’s sake. Who is this boy? Is he even clean? What’s his last name? Has he been tested?’
‘Mu-um.’ Ali squirmed, glancing towards the two undertakers in the front seats.
‘Don’t “Mu-um” me! You don’t show up to your father’s funeral with some stranger’s baby in your belly, tell everyone mid-eulogy and then act like I’m the one being over the top when I have some questions.’
‘All right, all right, I know. I know, Mum,’ Ali pleaded as the car made its way through quiet Georgian squares, the mist still heavy outside. ‘I didn’t set out to do this but it’s happening, and I feel like it’s happening for a reason. This baby is my chance to make amends for how …’ Ali grappled with her words ‘… for how I was with Dad. I’m going to take care of this baby. I’m going to be there for the baby the way I wasn’t for him.’
Chapter 2
Shelly turned off the main light, stretched out in her large double bed and tried to luxuriate in having it all to herself. It was weeks since her husband, Dan, had moved out and the house still felt strange without him, not that he’d gone far – he was sleeping in the Seomra in the garden and apparently had no plans as yet to put any more distance between them. For this, Shelly was grateful. She couldn’t shake the all-consuming dread that had seeped into her since the sunny morning the week before when Detective Bríd had rung to say that the person behind the sinister anonymous messages blackmailing her was not their suspect – a small-fry fashion blogger who went by @KellysKlobber – but was in fact something much more terrifying: a completely unknown entity.
As Ireland’s premier Instagram influencer, with 260,000 followers, Shelly had had needy fans before but nothing like this. The anonymous account, whose username was just @__________, had thus far been flexing by sending candid and very personal pictures from the SHELLY annals. Pictures no one should have access to, pics showing Shelly had FaceFixed her own daughter, Georgie, in the past. And even more damning, snaps documenting an elaborate cover-up she and her social media analyst, Amy, had perpetrated a few months before back in February when they’d hired a Dan look-a-like to ‘play’ her husband at a PR event. Shelly squeezed her eyes tight and tried to ignore the memory of Dan ranting about this incident in their brief stint in couples counselling before the separation was finalised. The unpleasant memory was interrupted by another sound that had taken on unpleasant connotations of late: her Insta DM notification.
Shelly scooted up to sitting in her Insta-ready, high thread count bedsheets piled with satin and faux-fur throw pillows. Raking a manicured hand nervously through her shiny dark hair, she grabbed the phone from the marble and onyx side table. Aside from a single outfit of the day, she hadn’t posted in days. She’d been feeling too exposed ever since her call with Bríd and she’d even started to wonder if she wanted to stay on Instagram. She wearily opened the message and felt a surge of sickly adrenaline on spotting the handle.
@__________: Nice #OOTD earlier but I hope you don’t think I’m willing to let you off that easily. There are people on here who have supported you. We made you. You owe us consistency in your content. Remember … I have receipts.