Shelly had skipped the carvery in favour of the salad bar, which Ali was sure she’d never seen anyone go for. God, she seems so repressed, Ali thought as she watched Shelly take genteel bites of what had to be the most disgusting mélange of vegetables masquerading as a salad ever to grace a plate.
‘Look, I have a theory.’ All that SVU seemed to have paid off. Sam was seriously all over the stalker situation. ‘@__________ is obsessed with you, right? You’re her – look I think we can assume it’s a “her” – you’re her oxygen. She threatens you when you aren’t supplying her with what she craves. YOU. You said any time you’re slow to post to Insta, she’s in the DMs. She might hate you, but she also needs you. She’s addicted to you, see?’
‘Yes. I see, Sam, but that doesn’t exactly help when she’s coming into my house to hang up decorations and watch me sleep.’
‘But wait, he’s onto something.’ Ali picked up the thread. ‘You think she’s got stuff on you, that she holds all the power. But in reality you have way, way more power. If she loses you, she’s got nothing.’
‘Yeah, but how does she lose me? She has me on the hook with all these pictures and videos.’
‘But power is relative,’ Ali argued, swallowing a forkful of mash doused in gravy. ‘Can we just take a minute for this gravy, lads … fuckin’ gorge.’ She sighed contentedly before continuing. ‘This video to me is nothing. You should post it. You’re not being a bitch to your kid, you’re not hurting her, she doesn’t even know you’re flipping her off. You post this and write a caption about how some psycho troll is trying to mum-shame you and BAM, everyone will be on your side. The tide is turning on all this call-out culture. Mark my words, you’ll win this. You’ll be brave for “being real’’,’ Ali concluded.
‘Instagram.’ Sam shook his head ruefully. ‘You get praise on there for just not being completely full of shit.’
Shelly pushed her depressing wilted iceberg lettuce around her plate, evidently considering Ali’s words.
‘Ali deffo has a point, though,’ Sam continued. ‘You need to get ahead of this. That’s what we’d be advising in work.’
‘What do you do, Sam?’ Shelly asked. Ali straightened up. This was her chance to finally nail this info down. Back when they were together, Ali had zoned out a few too many times on the early dates, planning Insta captions for her feed, and had never gotten to the bottom of Sam’s job beyond that he went to an office. It had then gone on too long and it seemed too late to ask.
‘Well, I’m in communications ostensibly, in a big software company, but with the way things are these days, we spend a lot of our time managing micro shitstorms on Twitter. It’s sensitive stuff. I can’t really talk in depth about it because it’d defeat the purpose of my job – put it this way, if you’ve heard about it, it means I didn’t do my job right.’ He gave a little exasperated wink.
Aha, Ali thought, finally, I can confidently tell people what my boyfriend’s job is. Kind of.
He’s not your boyfriend, luv, the bitchy inner monologue was quick to point out. Was he ever?
All right, all right. Ali was refusing to end this day on a downer. My sort-of near-boyfriend – we were definitely relationship-adjacent at some point and he’ll be my baby’s dad for ever so piss off.
‘He’s so right.’ Ali turned to Shelly. ‘Post it and you are basically castrating this horrible person. It’s the perfect solution.’
Shelly looked as if she was coming around to the idea and for the rest of their lunch they composed the caption. Sam, Ali couldn’t help but notice, was particularly good at the Insta-spin. He dictated a pitch-perfect caption:
‘It is not OK to terrorise another person. Instagram is a wonderful, positive space and I am so, so grateful for the career and connections I have forged here. This person has hidden behind their anonymity while threatening to expose intimate moments from my life. I am not perfect but every day I am trying my best. I am showing up and trying to be a good mum and role model for my little girl. I don’t always succeed one hundred per cent, but I try, just like all us mums are constantly trying. The holder of this anonymous account illegally gained entry to my home, set up a camera and captured footage of me at the end of my mum-tether, then threatened to expose me. But I say NO MORE. No one has the right to publish the private moments of others …’
Sam briefly trailed off, switching back to his normal voice.
‘You want to subtly hint that you’re throwing yourself under a bus for the good of others …’ He pondered for a minute while Shelly waited, finger poised to tap.
‘OK, I’ve got it.
‘No one has the right to publish the private moments of others and if I am criticised for my actions with my daughter, which came at the end of a long day and which I am not proud of, well, then so be it. I am taking this stand because I don’t want others to be shamed or harassed or bullied in the manner in which I have for the past six months.’
‘Mention your pregnancy,’ Ali cut in. ‘You’re at a particularly vulnerable time in your life or whatever.’
‘Good idea.’ Shelly amended the caption.
‘Now, we need a hashtag that can get everyone talking,’ Ali said.
‘What about #CallOutCallingOut?’ Sam suggested.
‘That’s good.’ Shelly typed feverishly.
‘Is #TakeBackPowerFromTrolls too long?’ Ali wondered.
‘Tighten it up.’ Sam drummed his fingers on the table. ‘#TakeTrollPrisoners works.’
They read the caption through a couple more times before pronouncing it perfect.
‘You’re good at this, Sam,’ Shelly said admiringly.
‘Yeah, you could’ve helped with my Insta comeback.’ Ali grinned, risking a reference to the dreaded baby lie.
‘Nah, yours was good.’ His face was infuriatingly hard to read. ‘It needed that rawness. Anything too polished and people would’ve hated it.’
He suddenly looked solemn and Ali sensed it was probably still too soon to be making cracks about her Insta downfall. But it would always be too soon unless they just talked about it. To get past it, they had to get it out there. It was just like what they’d been saying to Shelly, hiding from something only feeds its power.
Shelly, clearly sensing the change in mood, signalled a lounge boy to bring the bill.
‘I’d better be getting home. My mum’s got Georgie but I don’t want to miss bath and bedtime. I’m getting this.’ She handed her card to the waiter. ‘You guys really cheered me up and, seriously, I’m starting to feel so much better about this. I’m going to give it to Amy for a final edit but then, screw it, you’re absolutely right. Taking back the power is the only way.’
They piled into the car and, as Sam headed towards the health centre, Ali mulled over how to swing it so that she and Sam were alone together. He hadn’t mentioned giving her a lift home and it made no sense for him to cross the entire city and then go back to his place in Rathmines. But maybe he—
‘I can drop you to the bus, Ali?’ His abrupt stop by the side of the road shut down any hopeful thoughts in her head. ‘It goes from here back into town, yeah?’