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  ‘Li-iv!’ She jogged towards her. ‘What are you—?’

  As she neared the monument, she clamped her mouth shut and screeched to a halt, realising Liv was not alone but in full, wild, ranting flow with Tinder Sam. Shite! Ali’d never dreamed Sam would be there. She reversed abruptly and hid behind the angel’s plinth, grateful that neither of them had noticed her – they were too engrossed in what sounded like an extremely tense exchange.

  ‘I can’t believe I let you convince me to come. You said she was sorry, you said she was suffering. That little spectacle in there didn’t look like remorse. It looked distinctly like she is still out there lying to everyone and refusing to face up to what she did.’

  ‘Sam,’ Liv sounded anguished. ‘Please, you have to talk to Ali about this. It’s not what you think. Please just wait and give her a chance to explain.’

  ‘I’m done with you both to be honest. You’re not much better than her, you know. The amount of times that we all hung out watching TV and I’d be chatting about baby names. And you just sat there, Liv. Making little notes for your precious thesis – mining my life for your career, never stopping to think that maybe I deserved to know the truth. You’re no different to Ali, ya know. You’re both completely unhinged. Did you never think about what you two were doing to me? I thought this would be my chance to have a family? I was so stupidly happy that Ali and I were going to have a baby. And then, I pick up your thesis and realise I’ve been going along living in some messed up Truman Show experiment she’d concocted and you were exploiting.’

  Ali cringed remembering his face when she came home to find him holding the thesis, open at a picture of them both taken at an Insta event.

  ‘This is sick, Ali,’ he’d said. ‘You’re sick.’ She swallowed hard. He wasn’t wrong.

  ‘Sam, I know what you’re saying,’ Liv sounded pleading. ‘And believe me, we never meant for you to find out like that. And, I know I should have told you but I just felt protective of Ali. You don’t know what she’s been through the last two years. Miles and Ali were so so close before he got sick and I’ve just watched her crumble under the grief of losing him over such a long time—’

  ‘It’s not an excuse, Liv. Everyone has hard stuff in their lives. I’m not listening to anymore of this—’ Sam suddenly marched out from behind the monument and nearly collided with Ali. His face instantly clouded over with abject disgust at the sight of her. It did not feel good.

  ‘SAM—’ Liv was following after him but stopped dead upon seeing Ali.

  For a moment no one spoke. Then all three tried for an opener at once.

  ‘Liv made me come but I was just leaving,’ Sam began, looking completely furious.

  ‘He was trying to run off,’ was Liv’s contribution.

  ‘I’m … having a baby, a real one,’ said Ali stupidly.

  An awkward silence reigned and then Liv started to creep away, pausing by Ali’s side to whisper, ‘I let him know the funeral arrangements. I did NOT think he’d come. I also did NOT think you’d be filling everyone in on your little situation from the pulpit.’ She clumsily rubbed Ali’s upper arm. ‘I’ll be by the hearse. Good luck.’

  Ali stared at the ground, listening to Liv’s footsteps fade. Sam remained silent and eventually Ali chanced a look in his direction. His face was twisted with rage and Ali crumpled into tears.

  ‘Please, Sam—’

  ‘Yes? Please what?’ His words were clipped and sharp.

  ‘Please …’ Ali didn’t know where to go frankly. Please don’t be mad? Please can it be the way it was? ‘Please don’t hate me,’ she tried.

  ‘Ali. What the hell just happened in there? Are you the girl who cried “pregnant!”? This is the second time you’ve told a roomful of people you’re pregnant before telling me you’re pregnant. Are you sick in the head? Or just desperate for attention?’

  The internet was already awash with this very debate but hearing Sam say these words was too much. A crushing hopelessness invaded Ali, and any will to try to convince him to forgive her ebbed away.

  ‘I am pregnant, Sam. It looks like I’m maybe eleven weeks, but I need to go to the doctor to confirm it.’ At this, Sam crossed his arms, a sneering eyebrow cocked sceptically, and Ali continued, ‘I’ll piss on the wee stick in front of you, if you want. I honestly don’t know what happened in there.’ She gestured to the chapel. ‘It was weird. I felt really overwhelmed.’ She swallowed with difficulty, the same feeling rising up again. ‘I just wanted to tell my dad, I guess. I didn’t know you were there.’

  ‘Right.’ Sam looked deeply exasperated. ‘Look, I’m not the person to play the dead dad card with, Ali.’ Sam had lost his mum when he was little. Ali bit her lip as he continued. ‘To be honest, I was fairly certain I’d never have to see you again and that’s how I needed it to be. I was in love with you. You knew that, right? Of course you did. And still every single day you lied to me. Every minute of every hour. You sat through every conversation about names and where we would live and what our life would be like.’

  ‘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.

  Several blurred images appeared below and despite the dread swelling in her chest, Shelly clicked to bring them into focus. They were taken in the park. A series of about twelve shots that initially showed just Georgie and her nanny, Marni, playing on the swings. Then a couple showed Shelly arriving and taking over the playtime duties, pretending to push Georgie on the swing while Amy took shots – it had been for a #MummyAndMeMondays post, Shelly remembered. The last pic showed Amy and Shelly returning to the car, leaving the little girl alone with her minder once more.

  Shit, Shelly breathed. Who the hell could know the intricacies of her schedule to keep track of her like this? And who would bother sneaking around to capture this? It wasn’t even a big deal – she was a working mum, she’d a minder, so what? Deeper down, Shelly felt a tug of unease. She always felt uncomfortable showing up and parenting for a photo op, then leaving again and whoever @__________ was had obviously sussed that.

  Shelly suddenly felt acutely aware of how loud her breathing was. The room around her felt cavernous, the shadows beyond where the light from her bedside lamp fell looked deeper, threatening somehow. She slid out of bed and skirted the room, pushing aside the curtains and pulling the doors of her wardrobes open. She was alone.

  ‘Relax, Shelly!’ she muttered and drew her hand to her belly. Nearly seventeen weeks. Being pregnant and alone like this was making her feel vulnerable. There’s no one here, she thought and tried to make herself believe it. She got back into bed and lay still for a few tense minutes, listening for any unusual noises. I’ll just check Georgie to put my mind at ease, she thought before bolting upright again and charging out the door and down the stairs.

  On the next floor down, she quietly peered into Georgie’s room, where the small dark head of her nearly four-year-old was nestled on the pillows. All seemed well.

  Shelly tucked the duvet back around the warm little body and tiptoed from the room. She wasn’t done. She was too edgy. She made her way to the ground floor and peered around the door to the large open-plan kitchen-dining room. Empty.

  She looked across to the sliding glass doors that led outside. With all the lights off, she could see clearly beyond them into the garden, which, just after midnight, was deep navy with swathes of dark green. The windows of Dan’s Seomra were blank and the surrounding shadows impenetrable. Behind that the furthest recesses of the garden disappeared into nothing. There was so much scope for someone to sit and watch and wait.

  She checked the doors were locked and then quickly pulled herself away – all the glass was freaking her out. Back out in the hall, she started up the stairs but then stopped, her left hand hovering just above the banister. The alarm.

  I put it on though, she thought, didn’t I?

  I did, I did, her mind insisted as she turned and started towards the little keypad on the wall by the front door. System disarmed. The words glowed, taunting her. Had she ever put it on? She always did. She’d never forget, especially not now with Dan gone and @__________ at her every hour of the day.

  Her breathing was ragged.

  No, I must’ve forgotten. I must have not turned it on at all.

  She had to believe this. The alternative was too frightening. She hurriedly keyed in the commands to activate the alarm and dashed back up to her room. Settled once more in bed, she tried to slow her thrashing heart.

  You’re just freaking yourself out.

  She picked up the phone for a nice calming scroll. It was still open to the DMs from @__________ and a new message had appeared while she was gone.

  @__________: I really got to you there, didn’t I?

  Shelly shoved the phone away and pulled the blankets up around her. It was a lucky guess, that was all. She killed the bedside light and stared into the darkness, watchful and frantic until at last sleep came at some point near dawn.

  Chapter 3

  The day after the funeral, Ali still couldn’t sh
ake a near constant free-floating anxiety that seemed to swell up and down every hour – a terrible tide of regret and foreboding.

  She stood in the kitchen toiling over yet another greasy frying pan. The uncles didn’t seem to know when to leave, which was beyond irritating. For days, she seemed to be caught in a never-ending cycle of making tea and cooking elaborate full Irish breakfasts – the North American lot needed to stockpile the Clonakilty black pudding in their systems before heading back Stateside, it seemed.

  Thank God she was leaving today. Being back and trapped in her Harry Styles shrine in a room full of teenage promise was just compounding what a shambles her life was currently. The funeral had been a limbo period, Ali sensed – a temporary reprieve from having to face everything. She still hadn’t gone through her inbox beyond a cursory glance, nor had she ventured onto Instagram since making her account private. It was a feeble attempt at damage control. She knew all the websites would be trawling for posts to include in their ‘think pieces’ so she’d locked them out.

  I should just delete it, she’d thought at least ten times a day since her downfall.

  Still, despite everything that had happened, the thought of deleting hundreds of thousands of followers was anathema to Ali. It went against her every impulse. She’d also noticed with bleak interest that notoriety didn’t seem to hurt the numbers. In fact, quite the opposite – when she’d clicked in to set the account to private the day after the Glossie Influencer Awards, she thought there was a mistake at first because she’d gained about 8,000 new followers overnight.

  Ali flipped the rashers lazily and slipped her phone from her pocket. She flicked over the screen to wake the phone and pulled up Instagram. She could see thousands of new follow requests – the number was growing daily. People couldn’t resist a car crash.

  Ali sighed, put the phone away and transferred the rashers to the oven, where various iterations of pork were warming on a tray. She checked the toast wasn’t getting too crunchy in the lower oven, then walked to the head of the table and clapped her hands to shut the uncles up.