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  She is good, Ali allowed. Could it really work? she wondered.

  Mini, meanwhile had immediately begun feverishly typing. ‘Erasmus says there’s a big art scene on Insta. Cindy Sherman is on there now.’ Some more staccato tapping ensued, then she added, ‘He’s saying this could even have Biennale potential.’

  Ali laughed weakly and resumed sorting the jewellery pile as she tried to get her thoughts straight. The art stunt angle was a thought. However, there would be a tsunami of follow-up questions, none of which Ali felt she’d be equipped to answer even if Mini and Erasmus were steering the ship. Plus, it didn’t solve the Sam issue, it didn’t solve the money issue and it sure as hell wouldn’t solve the baby issue.

  She interrupted Mini’s machinations. ‘I’m not totally sure that I should be lying my way out of this thing. Can you pause on the whole “Ali as the millennial Andy Warhol” plan for a minute? I know you’re trying to help but layering lies on top of more lies feels a bit dodge. It’s like trying to cover a wine stain by, I dunno, vomiting on it.’

  Mini winced at the analogy but ploughed on with her indefatigable enthusiasm. ‘But, Ali, it’s inspired. This could be a great new direction for you. Erasmus and I would help you every step of the way.’

  Maybe it’s not my fault I wound up hoaxing everyone on Insta, Ali thought wryly. The woman who raised me is seeing this as a career opportunity and thinks adding one hoax to another hoax is a totally reasonable solution. She flashed on Sam at the funeral.

  ‘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?’

  His face had been thunderous and even though Ali’d been dismissive at the time, she couldn’t help but worry that he might have a point. In which case, compounding her unhinged behaviour of recent weeks was definitely not a goer.

  ‘I actually got an email earlier that might be worth reading before I make the leap into my new profession as full-time internet performance artist. At least, let me follow up on that first,’ she implored Mini.

  Ali’s inbox: 3654 unread

  From: [email protected]

  Subject: Please read, Ali. I think I can help.

  Hi Ali,

  Amy Donoghue here. I hope you don’t mind me contacting you out of the blue like this, but I presume you are at least intelligent enough to know that I am your goddamn knight in shining armour right now.

  While I’m certain I don’t need to give you my full sales pitch about my services – this email is probably the first one you’ve received in a week that’s NOT spewing trash your way – I’ll give you the topline.

  Social Solutions is a discreet side hustle of mine that I have been running successfully for years now in addition to my more prominent work as a social media analyst (most recently to Shelly Devine, as I’m sure you’re aware).

  With my insider knowledge of the Insta world, plus my experience and connections, I am perfectly positioned to clean up a mess of this kind. I have a track record for defusing situations of this sort.

  Remember the blogger who faked her own engagement? No? Of course you don’t. She hired me forty-eight hours before the story was due to break and I neutralised it. What about the politician who went on a tweet rampage after mixing meds and posted a series of racist slurs in the voice of his teddy bear?

  I take it that’s a no? And damn right it is, because I am good at my job.

  I await your response,

  Amy

  Director, Social Solutions

  Ali was rereading the email for the third time as Mini drove her home across the city.

  They made their way by increments over the toll bridge. Even mid-morning traffic was a shitshow, though cutting through the city centre and crossing the river at any time of day was a bollox. She couldn’t imagine leaving Liv, though, as they’d been living together for years now. And, anyway, she still didn’t have a job. Liv would at least cut her some slack on rent until she got sorted. Ali sighed, leaning her head against the car window; the sun was persisting over the bay to the east of the city though the sky above looked heavy.

  Opening the door of the tiny 1950s semi-d that used to belong to Liv’s granny was overwhelmingly comforting. Liv rushed out of the kitchen and wrapped her arms around her.

  ‘I’m so glad you’re home. I’ve got a chicken in the oven.’

  ‘So domesticated.’ Ali was admiring as she drew back and wiped her eyes – she was like a ticking bomb right now, liable to weep all over anyone who showed her a hint of kindness. It must be a reaction to being universally hated by strangers on the internet, she’d decided.

  ‘Mini, thanks for looking after this one.’ Liv and Mini shared a look of amused exasperation, as if Ali were an unruly child. ‘You haven’t been feeding her, though?’ Liv sounded jokey but Ali could hear concern fraying the edges of her words.

  ‘Well, she’s looking a bit thin but at least she didn’t start social media world war three on my watch,’ Mini retorted.

  ‘Fair.’ Liv nodded briskly. ‘How are you holding up?’ She moved to pat Mini awkwardly, which Mini neatly side-stepped as Ali grinned. You didn’t pat Mini.

  ‘I’m fine, Liv. In fact, I told your mum I’d meet her for a coffee this week. I’ve a lot on, though. I really need to get back to the gallery. Erasmus has been holding the fort, but really, he can’t keep a handle on some of the artists. Edmund, particularly. Erasmus is frightened of him.’

  ‘Will you not take a bit more of a breather?’ Liv persisted. Having practically spent half her teens in the Joneses’ house, Liv would always feel like family to Mini and, annoyingly for Ali, they got on. They were alike in their determined ambition and frequent despairing of Ali’s ways. Also, Mini was worlds away from Liv’s own flaky, hippy sex therapist mother, Meera, whom Liv had always felt was slightly disappointed in her strait-laced, academic youngest child.

  ‘I’m going to head off.’ Mini took them by the shoulders in turn and robotically pressed her cheek to theirs. Ali was unsettled by just how lost she looked. It was so unMini. At the door, she called back, ‘Alessandra, let me know if you want me to come to the doctor’s appointment with you tomorrow. I’m free any time.’ And she was gone.

  Chapter 4

  Tuesday morning was a grey, quintessentially Irish day. Mist pressed against the windows and Shelly felt it matched her nihilistic mood. She checked her phone: 10 a.m. Amy would be arriving any minute, thank God. Shelly still felt nervy after @__________’s messages of the night before.

  I really got to you there, didn’t I?

  It could’ve been a lucky guess. She tried to believe this.

  Georgie was munching on toast and narrating her LOL dolls’ every move on the table in front of her.

  Shelly consulted the day’s schedule – not too rammed, thankfully. With everything that had happened in the last few weeks, Shelly was embarking on a whole-life overhaul.

  She was reducing Marni’s hours so that she could spend more time with Georgie, the future of SHELLY was up in the air and she felt that maybe she needed this time to consider her options. Some brands had been cool towards her since footage of her truth-bombing a crowd of pregnant women at the Mothers of the Earth retreat had been leaked a few weeks ago. It was a ridiculous storm in a teacup that had been blown out of proportion. She’d merely been honest about how tough and lonely new motherhood could be sometimes, but whoever had edited the video had made her look like a ranting lunatic.

  Shelly knew she needed to decide what she wanted to do: kill SHELLY, the Insta-maven, once and for all or try to salvage the brand and steer it in a new, hopefully better direction – one that wasn’t quite such a drain on her and her family. Amy, of course, was full of vigour about a total rebrand, apparently unfazed by the fact that Shelly was wavering on the whole thing.

  The sound of the front door slamming followed by the chink of metal – Amy Donoghue was singled-handedly keeping New Rocks boots in business – heralded her a
ssistant’s arrival. She stomped into the kitchen in a flurry of torn denim and neon fishnets.

  ‘Morning!’ She swung herself up onto one of the high stools at the kitchen peninsula. ‘Thought I should tell you that I’ve been headhunted by @HolisticHazel to come onboard that crazy train.’

  ‘Oh?’ Shelly wasn’t surprised. Hazel loved to pass snarky little comments on how Amy was the only reason SHELLY was such a success. At that very moment, a WhatsApp from @HolisticHazel dropped into the Insta-mums group.

  Ladies, I think we need to get together this evening to discuss some developments of late. A lot of the brands I’m working with are getting shifty about future plans to collab. I’ve had words with Holly from GHM PR and she gave me a bit of the lowdown. I’m sharing the info because we need to stick together and show a united front. We can’t let the behaviour of that desperate, delusional psychopath Ali Jones tarnish the work we do. I’m proposing a #MamasNightOut to discuss and plan the coming months – plus, good for optics to be seen out together. Jenny has booked a table at The Landing so great for the ’gram. See you there and don’t even bother crying ‘childcare’ @Shelly, this is probably most vital for you.

  ‘So …’ Shelly was careful to keep her tone light as she turned back to Amy. ‘Are you considering it?’

  ‘Shelly, as if! Not a hope.’ Amy laughed. ‘I mean, she’s got some major stuff planned. She’s launching a wellness summit called W Y N D that’s going to be held on an uninhabited island out west called Inis Brí. She’s talking about flying in mega names from the international Insta scene. Dunno how she’ll be delivering on her promised “boutique luxe festival” vibes on what is essentially a remote rock in the Atlantic. And while that might be an entertaining disaster to watch – No. Thank. You.’

  Shelly grinned. ‘Maybe it’d be good for you, Amy. Realistically, I don’t know what’s going to happen to SHELLY. How does an aspirational lifestyle brand work with’ – she dropped her voice to a whisper – ‘an estranged husband living in the back garden? And a stalker raking up damning old pictures?’

  ‘Any word from the guards since last week?’

  ‘No, but I sent on another message from last night.’ Shelly passed her phone to Amy to catch her up on the latest.

  ‘This is creepy.’ Amy scanned the exchange. ‘They’re just trying to rattle you, though, you know that. Let’s get a meeting with Bríd locked in anyway to be on the safe side.’ She pulled out her iPad to make a note of this. On Shelly’s phone she scrolled back further to look at the messages @__________ had sent over the weekend.

  @__________: Me again! Where are you? You haven’t been on much at all? What’s my Insta feed without the Queen Bitch of Beige Shelly to brighten my day with your bullshit?

  @__________: Bbz seriously I can’t get through my day without an #OOTD update from the Queen of Bland. What EXACT combo of boots, skinny jeans and blazer are you ‘rocking’ today?

  @__________: Shel, I am one of your most loyal Shell-Belles and I need you to dress up some bullshit sponcon collab as female empowerment so that I can feel good about myself when I’m shoving your Shellypons up my gee.

  ‘They seem to both stan you and hate you! Can’t believe they remember the Shellypons! Morto.’ The Shellypons were an ill-judged collaboration with a tampon company from a few years before. ‘The messages are so weird,’ continued Amy. ‘But not in the way you’d expect from a stalker. Like, can you even call it blackmail when the only demands being made are for you to keep your Insta-content consistent? And on this front, I’m afraid I have to agree with them. Shelly, we need you back posting ASAP. What is this faux soul-searching about quitting Insta? We will ride out the separation just like we have everything else.’

  Shelly remained unconvinced. Money-wise she needed to keep her brand on track but everything with @__________ made her worry just what she was inviting with this level of exposure.

  Amy headed off to the office while Shelly cleared up Georgie’s breakfast. Dan texted:

  Cool if I drop in for a quick Georgie kiss?

  Shelly sent back a thumbs up.

  They were slowly finding their way with co-parenting, but it was very early days. They had agreed that with Dan so close, it would be nice to not live completely separate lives.

  He slipped in the sliding back door and Georgie sprang up.

  ‘Dada! Muma’s taking me to the park today.’ She clapped her hands, her dark braids bouncing as she launched herself at Dan.

  ‘Oh, that’s gonna be cool! Aren’t you the luckiest little puppy?’

  Georgie did a few little yelps and gave his face a little lick.

  ‘Hmmmmm, Puppy had porridge for breakfast.’ Dan winked at Shelly as he discreetly wiped porridge from his cheek. Shelly grabbed a wet wipe and scrubbed the shoulder of his suit jacket, where more porridge was now smeared.

  ‘Would you be around this evening to watch G if I head out with the girls?’

  ‘Yeah, there’s golf on so, cool, happy to chill in here and watch it.’ Georgie was now scurrying around the floor between his feet.

  ‘Have you much on today?’ Dan gathered his bag and stood to leave.

  ‘Just a couple of scenes this morning. I’m trying to cut back while I reassess things.’

  Dan just nodded and pretended to pet Georgie, the puppy.

  He’s a good father, Shelly thought, tinged with regret. That was the thing you forgot when a relationship was in a nosedive for so long. In between all the cheap shots and resentments, you completely forgot who the person even was before you started hating each other. Dan was not a bad person. They had both changed. He didn’t like the Insta-life and she didn’t like the person she’d been pretending to be to keep him happy. They had both made mistakes, but if they could co-exist like this for the moment, Shelly was happy with that.

  ‘You’ve got to mind yourself and this one.’ He made to pat her slightly swollen stomach but thought better of it at the last minute and Shelly smiled awkwardly to hide the sadness rearing up inside.

  This isn’t how it was meant to be.

  ‘Of course it isn’t,’ her therapist, Berna, had responded just the day before. ‘You thought you’d be welcoming this second child as a couple. You need to feel sad about it. It is a sad thing. Feel that. Don’t be afraid of feeling it.’

  ‘So, who’s going tonight?’ Dan made his way to the door.

  ‘The Insta-mums, Hazel and Polly.’

  ‘Horseshit Hazel? Wasn’t she tearing you down last week?’ Dan grinned.

  ‘What? Have you been reading Notions.ie?!’ Shelly mugged.

  ‘I may have been …’ Dan looked sheepish. ‘It’s only ’cos I forgot to take the Google alert for your name off from when things were … a bit … heated there a few weeks ago. The sidebar on that Notions thing is addictive. It’s worse than crack.’

  Shelly laughed at the image of Dan stuck into the gossip on the Notions.ie sidebar of shame. ‘Well, that was last week. This week, according to Hazel, we need each other. She says she’s got some news and, well, I don’t really know what’s going to happen with SHELLY, but I probably need to hear what she has to say. Plus, that weird person is still in my DMs and I kind of actually wanna talk to Hazel and Polly about it. See if they’ve come across the account. Bríd, the guard, says lots of these trolls target loads of people at once. I might just be on her rotating roster of people who piss her off. The guards ruled out a suspect last week and seem to be having a lot of trouble attaching an IP address to the account.’ Shelly shrugged unhappily. ‘Meeting Hazel and Polly might be useful or at least comforting. Surely Hazel’s been trolled online.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Dan agreed. ‘You don’t swan around the internet bad-mouthing epidurals and bottle-feeding without ruffling a few feathers.’

  Chapter 5

  After Mini left, Ali went into the living room and flopped onto the couch while Liv went to faff with the chicken for a bit. She flicked between Amy’s email and the text she’d sent to Sam that w
as blue-ticked but remained unanswered:

  My first appointment in the Rotunda is tomorrow at 10 a.m. You’re welcome to come with me. Just let me know.

  She’d deliberately left it till the last minute to give him the details. It was a bit of a defence mechanism – so that if he said no she could just blame it on not giving him proper notice.

  ‘Chicken’ll be another twenty,’ Liv announced, joining Ali in the sitting room. ‘So, how’s it going?’

  Ali burst out laughing and after a moment Liv joined in.

  ‘Oh my gawd,’ Ali gasped through her peals of laughter. ‘How do I even start to answer that?’

  ‘Well, you look shite,’ Liv proffered cheerily.

  ‘Yep, I do, thank you. Turns out public shaming is a real appetite killer.’ Ali tugged her hoodie sleeves down over her hands.

  ‘Is Mini still on the “pretend you were doing an art performance this whole time” train?’ Ali had filled Liv in via text in the car on the way over.

  ‘Well, I think she’s coming around to the idea that it might be pouring petrol on an already raging dumpster fire. And I got an interesting email from Amy Donoghue, Shelly Devine’s assistant.’ She fired the phone displaying the message across to Liv and waited.

  ‘Racist slurs in the voice of his teddy bear? Whoa, I think I know who that might be!’ Liv peered once more at the phone. ‘She sounds hilarious.’

  ‘She’s … I dunno if “hilarious” is the word but she’s certainly pretty intimidating. Think I should meet her?’

  ‘Yes.’ Liv was emphatic. ‘Ali, you can’t stall like this forever. Even if living out your days in internet exile was an option, the baby is going to happen whether you engage with life or not. You have got to clear the decks and make a fresh start. This looks like as good a step as any. Just see what she has to say. I’ll come.’