‘Alessandra.’ Mini looked pained. ‘I knew there was something eating at you. Beyond Miles and the week it’s been, I mean. You look …’ At this Mini seemed to struggle for words.
‘Like shite?’ Ali suggested. She’d barely looked in the mirror since getting ready for the funeral. She heaved herself up from the floor and walked to the dressing table. She started just a little at the sight of her own reflection. Ugh. Seven days of internet hounding had really taken its toll. Her eyes seemed to sag in their sockets; her skin was dull with vast continents of angry-looking dry skin crowding her chin and jaw. Her blonde hair was gathered in dirty, dark clumps and when she ran a hand through it, it held the new shape like a greasy hair-sculpture. She knew she hadn’t been looking after herself. It was hard to bother when she felt so hopeless, but she knew she had to get it together for the baby’s sake if not her own.
‘So? What is going on? You’re scaring me, Alessandra. Are you telling me whatever it is is worse than the pregnancy?’
Mini, at least, is getting back to her usual self, Ali thought ruefully.
‘Yeah, Mini. It’s worse. Can you believe it? There are things worse than your dumb bitch daughter getting preggers.’
‘Oh God, I didn’t mean that.’ Mini looked stricken. ‘Don’t be coming after me now. I’ve just lost my husband.’
‘Well, I’ve just lost my dad.’ Ali crumpled. Christ, they were having some kind of grief-off. Thank God she was going home today.
Mini came and pulled Ali into a hug.
‘Alessandra, please tell me. You know I love you. Whatever it is, we’ll work it out.’ Her voice was slightly muffled in their embrace, but the words were soothing. ‘Also, you have to wash your hair, darling, it’s vile.’
Yep, definitely getting back to her usual self. Ali smiled through her tears. She pulled away and wiped her face.
‘OK, you better sit down,’ she advised. Mini marched back to the bed and arranged herself with legs crossed and her listening face ready.
‘When did you last wash your hair?’
‘OK, are you going to be able to focus or do you need me to wash it before we start?’ Just then a buzzing rang out from Mini’s pocket.
‘It’s Erasmus. I’m sorry, I have to take this. He knows I’m still in mourning, so he wouldn’t be calling if it wasn’t urgent.’
Shite, Erasmus had to be calling about her. Before Ali could scream or lunge for the phone, Mini was holding it to her ear.
‘Mm-hmmm, yes, I’m actually here with her now.’ Mini’s eyes flickered towards Ali and then she turned away slightly to continue the call. Ali resumed tossing things in her suitcase. Maybe it was easier for Erasmus to just fill her in. After all, she still hadn’t come up with any ‘good’ way to say: ‘I faked a pregnancy on Instagram and hundreds of thousands of people think I’m either an evil bitch or mentally disturbed.’
She’d cleared the floor and even made a start on the clothes-pile chair by the time Mini, who had barely spoken in her side of the conversation, finally got off the phone. She continued to sit in silence and Ali thought she was perhaps gripped by shock until she realised with a jolt of panic that she was reading something on her phone. Oh God. Ali cleared the chair and plonked herself down on it.
‘Well?’ She tentatively broke the silence.
‘Well …’ Mini looked at a complete loss, which was a brand-new look for her. ‘Ehh—’ She scrolled on her phone. ‘I don’t know what to say. This one is very creative.’ She indicated an Instagram post where Ali’d put a speech bubble coming from her tummy with the words ‘I. Want. A. Chicken. Fillet. Roll. NOW!’ It was a screenshot embedded in a piece from Deborah Winters on Notions.ie.
Ali reached for the phone and scrolled through the piece. She tried to blur her eyes so none of the actual words could land, though the odd phrase like ‘devious and conniving plot was not without its victims’ still managed to penetrate. Lower down she saw mention of Sam, ‘the twenty-nine-year-old has declined to comment but there was palpable pain in his solicitor’s letter’. There was even a shot of this letter included below. Ali zoomed in on it. Deborah Winters was editorialising somewhat here – it was a very professional missive, devoid of emotion simply stating: ‘My client will not be commenting on anything pertaining to Alessandra Jones.’
Well, thank God for that. Maybe it’s a sign that he’s going to warm up again. Not get back with her or anything but maybe answer her texts?
‘So what exactly is this, Ali? Some kind of stunt? Are you pregnant right now?’ Mini was clearly stumped. ‘This woman is saying you were paid money to say you were pregnant? What’s sponsored content?’
Ali tapped the chair leg nervously with her foot. Oh God, Mini was going to need an Insta primer just to get her head around BumpGate, as the incident was apparently being referred to in the media.
‘So sponcon – sponsored content – is pictures and videos that influencers get paid to put on their feed—’
‘And the feed is?’
‘OK, one sec.’ Ali dug out her phone, sat down beside Mini and embarked on a detailed rundown of the Insta world from #TBTs and #af. Mini was engrossed.
‘My God, what’s happened to this girl’s other leg? Where is it?’ Ali was showing Mini some of the other Influencer accounts to illustrate her little impromptu Insta 101.
‘Oh, happens all the time,’ Ali reassured her. ‘She’d just gone bananas with the FaceFix and probably didn’t notice the right leg had disappeared altogether.’
‘And FaceFix is … ?’
A few minutes later, Mini was admiring a picture of herself that had just received the Insta treatment.
‘Wow, it’s like a dystopian nightmare but rendered in pastel shades.’ Mini was fascinated scrolling through Ali’s old feed. Ali resumed packing. She needed an activity, a crutch to help her through this awkward discussion.
‘You know I’m really sorry, right?’ Ali glanced at her mother. ‘I never meant it to happen and then when it did, so many good things were coming my way. It wasn’t the money. They’re all acting like it was a money-grab.’ She indicated the phone in Mini’s hand. ‘But it wasn’t about that. Things were just so crap with Miles and this was something that took me away from all that. And then Sam showed up and I never expected in a million years that I’d fall for him. Or that he’d fall for me. At the time, it was just really convenient that he thought he was the dad. And then he was so sweet but fun too. Not like other guys.’
Ali glanced over at Mini, who had stopped on a video from a couple of months before. Ali leaned over her shoulder. Sam was flopped on her bed, lip synching ‘Bigger’ while poking Ali’s tummy as she filmed.
‘OK.’ Mini sounded sceptical. ‘So, you’re telling me that you didn’t think you’d fall for a gorgeous straight man who knows all the words to the Neil Patrick Harris opener from the 2013 Tonys?’
On the video, Sam was making up his own words to the song. ‘Bigger. That’s right it’s bigger … Dunno how it’s gonna get out of your vadge – be-cause it’s bigger … every day it’s bigger.’ He was grinning up at her as she swiped at him laughing. The video ended abruptly with her telling him to ‘Shut the fuck up!’