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‘Three, two, one …’ They mimed a cheers and, a moment later, the boomerang appeared in their communal WhatsApp thread and Polly and Shelly set to work filtering it, customising with different GIFs and writing their captions.

  ‘#chillaxing with my faves @HolisticHazel and @PollysFewBits #MamasNightOutOut #MamasOnTheLoose #partay #besties’ typed Shelly and hit Share.

  ‘OK, housekeeping done.’ Hazel leaned closer in and lowered her voice. ‘It’s one of the old Jennys.’ Hazel exclusively hired assistants called Jenny so the various brand managers and PRs wouldn’t wise up to how many assistants she went through.

  ‘She’s gone rogue and is starting a podcast and I’m pretty sure it’s a tell-all about the influencer scene.’

  ‘What?’ Polly’s voice spiked with anxiety.

  ‘Oh Christ.’ Shelly sighed. It was one goddamn thing after another. Still, it was nice to hear that everything wasn’t perfect in Hazel’s positive-vibes-only camp.

  ‘I’m totally safe, of course,’ Hazel went on, as Polly’s head snapped up in surprise. ‘My non-disclosure agreements with staff are watertight – they have to be; she cannot speak about me or any of my dealings. But I’m afraid you guys are potentially vulnerable.’ She sat back looking somewhat contrite but mostly relieved.

  So typical of Hazel to cover her own ass, Shelly raged silently, now we’re the ones potentially going to suffer the fallout of her being a megalomaniacal nightmare who probably bullied this Jenny girl.

  ‘Well, thank God you’re safe, Hazel. That’s the bloody main thing,’ she spat bitterly. ‘I’ve enough going on without this.’

  Hazel nodded. ‘I can imagine,’ she intoned calmly.

  ‘How are you so sure this is what she’s doing? The influencer thing, I mean.’ Polly looked disturbed too, which seemed odd to Shelly. Polly, while a committed mumfluencer, was kind of small fry. What did she have to hide? She shared snippets of a very wholesome family life with her two boys and an ex-rubgy-player husband, who occasionally did yoghurt ads and the like. She seemed to spend inordinate amounts of time crafting, if her Insta output was anything to go by, but she was so vanilla, so nice, Shelly couldn’t imagine her embroiled in anything more nefarious than the usual heavy hand with the FaceFix and maybe a bit of mild trickery – the macaroni Hogwarts she did at Christmas had to have come from Etsy: it was way too perfect.

  Hazel, too, looked surprised at Polly’s concern but didn’t have the tact to hide it. ‘Really, Polly, I’m sure Jenny will be going after influencers with a bit more clout than you, hun, you’re grand.’

  A flicker of annoyance clouded Polly’s otherwise polished features. It was probably the most Shelly had ever seen her react to one of Hazel’s frequent put-downs. She shook it off immediately and arranged her mouth into a slightly pinched smile.

  Shelly felt sorry for Polly, the tan-stained hands and laboured make-up – the contrast between her highlighter and darker shading gave her face a ghoulish, mask-like appearance – seemed to underscore just how much she wanted this Insta-life. And she wasn’t a desperate nobody by any stretch. But she did have a considerably smaller following than Shelly and Hazel. At 80K, she got far less salubrious gigs – lots of supermarket swag, kids’ stuff for Ben and Louis, her little boys, who were five and six, and she was brand ambassador for a detergent – it was hardly glam. Shelly knew she’d love a shot at more stylish brands – she was forever trying to push more of a fashion angle – but Shelly sensed the PRs didn’t rate her.

  ‘Shelly. Shelly!’ Hazel barked impatiently and Shelly tuned back into what had rapidly become a crisis-management session.

  ‘I was saying you need to think about potentially getting ahead of this thing. This Jenny could have been privy to some of your Insta doings, Shelly.’

  ‘But, what do you know so far? Why are you so sure we’ve got anything to be concerned about? Did it end badly? Does she have something concrete on me and Polly?’

  Hazel sighed testily as she flicked and tapped on the screen of her phone.

  ‘Here—’ She thrust it at Shelly.

  Shelly peered at the phone open on a podcast in the iTunes app – the logo was like the painting nails emoji but reworked slightly. The red nails were cracked and an adjacent bottle of nail polish was tipped over, the words Under the Influence spilling out in red.

  The blurb said it all:

  Under the Influence is an investigative podcast revealing the malignant lies we’re sold on social media. Every week, join our host Jenny Delaney as she uncovers the sordid scams and bullshit pedalled by our so-called influencers; from white labelling to white lies and minor misdemeanours to mega misrepresentation. Former assistant to one of the most toxic and malignant influences in the Irish scene (who for legal reasons may not be named), Jenny has the tea and it’s about to be SPILLED. Episode 1 coming soon …

  ‘She’s been digging around, though I’ve no idea who the subject of her first episode is going to be.’ Hazel was looking positively high on her supposed concern.

  ‘What’s this number? Sixty-eight thousand?’ Shelly passed the phone on to Polly to give her a look.

  ‘It’s the number of subscribers, Shelly. This only went up this afternoon,’ Hazel explained, her green eyes wide. ‘She shared it on her social and it has spread like wildfire. She doesn’t even have many followers, five or ten thousand tops, but I’d say it’s all over the WhatsApp groups. People are gagging for these takedowns.’

  Evidently. Shelly sighed and downed her drink glumly.

  ‘Well, I may as well tell you guys since it’ll probably be on Under the Influence next week, but Dan and I have separated.’

  Hazel gasped, drawing looks from a nearby table of suits, while Polly looked up sharply but said nothing.

  ‘Please calm down, Hazel. I’m OK. We’re OK. It’s been coming for a while and obviously we’re still totally committed to co-parenting and being a family.’

  Hazel’s face remained aghast. ‘But what are you going to do? No more @DivineMrDevine? The loss of earnings must be astronomical …’ @DivineMrDevine, an account purporting to be Dan, had provided a lucrative arm of the SHELLY empire. Hazel was shaking her head in disbelief.

  ‘Well, I’m fine, thanks for asking.’ Shelly laughed.

  ‘But how can you be? I mean, it’s the whole identity of the SHELLY brand – this happy clappy families thing.’ Hazel’s expression was swinging wildly between horrified and slightly gleeful.

  ‘It’s not and I’ll be fine.’ Shelly was refusing to let Hazel see her rattled. She was already rethinking telling them about @__________. With Under the Influence on the horizon, she needed to keep a lid on anything potentially scandalicious.

  ‘I know the brands still love you, Shelly,’ said Hazel. ‘But, gawd, the struggling single mother thing … it’ll be a bit grim with Dan gone—’

  ‘He’s not gone, sure,’ Polly interjected. ‘He’s in the Seomra in the garden. Leave her alone, Hazel!’ Shelly was surprised to hear this from Polly. Not only Polly defending her, but Polly apparently being privy to their current living arrangements. However, before Shelly could ask her who had told her, Hazel was signalling for a waitress.

  ‘Another round, good girl.’ Hazel smiled tightly. ‘Now, sorry to be blunt, Shelly, but I’ve a bit more business. This year the Holistic Hazel brand has been going from strength to strength, as I’m sure you’ll have noticed. My meal-replacement Nourish Dust™ has been my biggest-selling product of the last five years, would you believe. But it’s time to bring a more three-sixty approach to my devoted audience. As such, I am planning an event on a scale never before attempted by any Irish influencer.’

  This was a dig at her, Shelly thought, as she recrossed her legs, trying to get comfortable. Hazel’s pitches could be quite long.

  ‘W Y N D summit,’ Hazel continued, holding her bangle-adorned arms aloft to underscore the words that she uttered with reverence, ‘will be a part of this new evolution of influence. A chance to connect more deeply and au
thentically with our followers. We’ve shown these women how to do an everyday no-make-up-make-up look. We’ve revealed the brow technicians who can change their lives. We’ve given them the interiors inspiration. We’ve shown them what fresh flowers, a well-judged tray arrangement and a column candle in a vase can do for a room. Now we need to bring them on the next phase of our journey. W Y N D summit will acquaint them with how we, Ireland’s premier influencers, replenish our souls.’

  ‘Riiight.’ Shelly nodded along. ‘And so, is it like a showcase? For the brand?’

  ‘No.’ Hazel’s eyes flashed. ‘It’s the most unique lifestyle festival the world has ever seen.’

  ‘OK.’

  ‘Sounds amazing, Hazel,’ Polly chimed in.

  ‘I know.’ Hazel nodded decisively. ‘It’ll be in an exquisite and unique location. I’ll have all the top alternative practitioners. Huge influencers from around the world. Everyone who is anyone in the wellness sphere. And thousands of paying attendees. The luxury will be mega and the best part? All the attendees will be at the festival with the women they admire most in the world.’

  ‘The Real Housewives?’ Polly guessed.

  ‘Us.’ Hazel scowled at her. ‘We will be the selling point.’

  ‘Right.’ Shelly was unsure. ‘When are you thinking, Hazel? Small matter of a baby on the way.’ She indicated the burgeoning bump.

  ‘Launch will be in the summer, but the festival won’t be till early September. Look, Shelly,’ Hazel hurried on with the hard sell, ‘you’ll help front the launch. You can opt out of the actual festival. We’ll work out payment plans for everyone proportionate to their input and personal influence.’ Hazel, Shelly noticed, levelled a pointed look at Polly, lest she was getting any ideas above her station. Poor Polly. ‘It’ll be good money for your divorce, if nothing else,’ Hazel finished bluntly.

  ‘OK, relax, Hazel. We’re separated. No one’s talking about divorce.’ Shelly was drained and eager to wind this up. ‘I’ll have Amy look at our schedule.’

  Hazel gave a decisive little nod before accosting the waitress, who had returned with the drinks.

  ‘Hey, will you be a darl and take a little candid shot for us?’ She rummaged in her bag and pulled out a small box. ‘It’s just a quick bit of spon. You don’t mind, do you, gals? It’s a holistic haemorrhoid solution and the brief is “don’t let haemorrhoids ruin a night out”. So, everyone laughing and super carefree and casual,’ Hazel instructed, playing around with poses herself, holding the box to the camera and fake laughing.

  Once the sponcon was taken care of, the Insta-mums drifted their separate ways and Shelly, relieved they had wrapped up so early, got a taxi home. Georgie might even still be awake for a cuddle, she thought, as the car pulled up to their gates and the driver killed the engine. At that moment, she spotted the porch light go on, illuminating Dan and a young blonde woman standing in the doorway.

  ‘Can you turn off the headlights, please.’ She leaned forward to see what they were doing. A churn of revulsion as she realised he was holding her face and passionately kissing her. They pulled apart and he pointed down towards the side of the house where the path to the back garden was. The woman – though she couldn’t be older than early twenties, Shelly realised – followed his direction and made her way around the side of their house. Dan appeared to scan the driveway without noticing the unlit taxi, then retreated back inside.

  Shelly slumped against the back seat. ‘Why are men so goddamn predictable?’ she asked the taxi driver.

  ‘Is he your fella, then?’ the man responded grimly.

  ‘Was. But we only decided to separate, like, a month ago.’ Shelly shook her head. ‘I’m expecting his second child.’

  ‘Scumbag.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Shelly agreed. She paid up and let herself in the side gate.

  Fuck him, fuck him, fuck him, she thought with every step towards the house. Pretending to be so nice, all the while stashing some 20-year-old in the back garden.

  She felt sick. She paused at the front door, wondering what the hell she’d even say to him. She thought about the possibility of losing the house. And the divorce she’d dismissed an hour ago that they would now surely be getting, the inevitable custody agreements. The ammunition Dan had against her. He would probably throw her whole Insta-life in her face and @__________ would be all her fault.

  Well, maybe this girl-woman was ammunition against him.

  I should just sit on it, Shelly decided, wait until I need something to throw in his face.

  She made her way inside and followed the sounds of tedious golf commentary to the living room. Dan had already jumped up from the sofa as she rounded the door.

  ‘Hi.’ She smiled tightly.

  ‘Hey, hey.’ He shoved a hand through his hair. ‘You’re home early.’

  ‘Yeah, thank God, I’m wrecked.’ She patted her bump. ‘How was Georgie?’

  Before he could answer, she heard Georgie bounding down the stairs.

  ‘Ha!’ Dan grinned. ‘She was asleep, I swear.’

  ‘Muma! Muma!’ Georgie flung herself into Shelly’s arms.

  God, she was awake upstairs while you kissed that girl on the doorstep, she thought furiously, staring at Dan over Georgie’s shoulder.

  Dan started gathering up some official-looking pages from the coffee table.

  ‘What’s all that?’ Shelly was sure she spotted her own name on the page closest.

  ‘Um. Well, these are actually from the solicitor. It’s a proposal about the s-e-p-a-r-a-t-i-o-n.’ He finished the sentence spelling the word for Georgie’s benefit.

  Shelly felt a tug of alarm. ‘Why do we need solicitors for the s-e-p-a-r-a-t-i-o-n?’

  ‘Well, it’s to iron out money and living arrangements in the meantime. So that the d-i-v-o-r-c-e, when we start the process, will be easier, and then there’s this place.’ He gestured around the room. ‘We’ll probably have to s-e-l-l. Unless one buys the other out.’

  God, this was all moving so fast. This morning he was all ‘dad of the year’ and ‘mind yourself’and now he was flinging this at her.

  ‘Well, I’m not going to be able to buy you out, Dan,’ she spat, thinking of the girl, sitting right at this moment in her fucking garden.

  ‘Yeah,’ Dan agreed quietly.

  ‘So, what? You honestly expect me to move in this condition?’

  ‘Move where?’ Georgie had tuned into what her parents were saying. ‘Are we leaving? I don’t wanna go. I hate everywhere else.’ Her anguished little voice was hitting a frantic pitch. ‘This house has my dollies and the daddy house in the garden.’

  ‘Shhh, it’s OK, love,’ Shelly rushed to reassure her. ‘We’re not going anywhere, OK? This is your house. It’ll always be your house.’ She cradled her daughter and glared at Dan. ‘I think it’s time for bed. We’re a bit overtired, aren’t we?’ Shelly slipped into the soothing first person plural that oddly seemed to kick in for all parents when faced with a tantrum. ‘Say “night” to Daddy and I’ll tuck you in.’

  ‘Nighty-night, Pup.’ Dan kissed Georgie’s head.

  ‘You go on, sweetie. I’ll meet you in the bathroom for teeth.’ Shelly watched the little girl scampering off, then turned reluctantly back to Dan.

  ‘I dunno why you would tell her something so definitive when you know it’s not possible.’ He shook his head.

  ‘Well, I don’t know why you would fling this at me at nine o’clock at night. Anyway, I’m not going to freak her out unnecessarily, Dan.’

  ‘It’s not unnecessary,’ he argued. ‘Look, I’m not going to be a dick about it, but the fact is you’d need at least a couple of hundred thousand to buy me out of this place, Shel. And that’s probably me being too sound.’

  ‘Oh yeah, you’re “too sound”, Dan.’ Shelly made sarcastic little air quotes. ‘There’s been so much upheaval, we need things to be steady. Especially while Georgie is getting used to all this. What is the rush?’ She crossed her arms and cock
ed an eyebrow.

  ‘For one, it’s a good time to sell. Two, I don’t want to live in my own garden for ever. I want to be in your lives, but I need my own space. I’ve started looking at places.’

  Shelly sighed and stormed into the kitchen where predictably Dan hadn’t so much as washed a cup from dinner. She began clearing the table. It was so easy for men. He could just get some cool pad, probably in town, start going on Tinder, or whatever the equivalent is for snobby executives, scoring 20-somethings and she’d be stuck in some one-bed shithole in Ballyashtown commuting in to 5 a.m. calls on set and juggling his two kids.

  ‘Good for you,’ she eventually snapped. ‘Do you wanna head on? I have to go and actually put Georgie to bed.’

  ‘I can wash up,’ Dan suggested, a peace offering but Shelly was over it.

  ‘Nah. Don’t bother. I’m sure you need to get back to your little …’ Shelly wavered for a moment, sorely tempted to add ‘Tinder bitch’ or something equally damning, but now wasn’t the time. ‘… your little bachelor pad.’

  She whipped around and marched up to the hall without saying goodbye. Crossing the blush marble floor tiles, she flashed back on the day she’d picked them out. She’d been so proud of them. They had them shipped from Denmark.

  She climbed up the stairs, her eye snagging on the series of family portraits that punctuated the ascent.

  I should get rid of these and do one with me and my girls, she thought defiantly, patting the bump – she was certain it was another girl.

  Even though, a few weeks before, she’d thought about downsizing, maybe renting for a while, she hadn’t been in her right mind then. After the punishing week of exposure from the leaked viral footage, she’d daydreamed about slinking off to a simple life off the ’gram but that wasn’t her either. At the end of the day, she was Shelly Devine. She couldn’t live in some depressing hole – she’d made this house and she was not giving it up so Dan could buy a city centre fuck-flat without a fight.

  She pulled out her phone and opened her thread with Amy to read Amy’s last message.

  You can’t keep on like this, Shelly. One foot on the dock and one foot on the boat doesn’t work for an influencer. If you’re not committed, the followers will dump you. You need to decide if you’re in or out once and for all.