Amy was flicking through the first few outfits posted by the more eager wannabes. ‘Jesus, here’s a terrifying ensemble,’ she exclaimed as Dawn O’Connor, a fitness blogger, appeared on the opposite wall in shiny PVC thigh-high boots, a red kilt, white shirt and shiny PVC baker-boy cap.
‘It’s a look,’ said Shelly, careful to be diplomatic.
‘Oh my god, LOL,’ Amy burst out as the next wild-card wannabe’s #OOTD post appeared.
Shelly flung a dark look in Amy’s direction. ‘I like it,’ she said loudly, drowning out her assistant’s scoffing.
Amanda paused in her blending and turned to assess the latest offering. ‘Is it a bit … revealing? Does she have it on wrong?’
Amy was shaking her head. ‘It’s a nightmare – she must have it on backwards or something. There’s a lot of vadge on show there.’
Shelly laughed in spite of herself, but then was hit again by another wave of nausea. Any time she seemed to relax even for a minute the nausea was back – like a pesky reminder that her life was heading for a terrible collision. Amy continued to flick through the slideshow, keeping up a harsh commentary and occasionally noting down ‘potentials’. Amanda was carefully working away, shading and highlighting. Shelly closed her eyes.
Maybe the best thing to do was get away with Dan for a few days and do the reveal in a nice relaxed, luxurious setting. She had a backlog of invites from practically every exclusive hotel in the country. Amy kept any and all perks on a spreadsheet for reference any time there was a date night or mini-break on the horizon. All they need do was pick one, get Georgie sorted and hit the road.
Maybe Dan would be happy with the news? Maybe another baby was what they really needed to be more like a real family? A sharp prick wrenched Shelly out of the reverie; Amanda was tidying her brows. But the prick served as a necessary reality check – after all, Shelly realised, no marriage in history was ever improved by a new baby.
‘Marriages have to survive babies,’ her own mother had joked in the hospital the day Georgie was born. ‘Ah yeah,’ her dad had agreed, cradling the hours-old Georgie. ‘We were in the trenches for a long time there but it’ll pay off now when you’re all wiping our arses in a couple more years.’ Her parents had chuckled at that, while Dan practically flinched – he did not get her dad’s humour – and Shelly had felt the anxiety rear up. Dan had never made much effort to fit in with her family. In the early years, when they’d come home visiting from London, they’d sometimes stay with either Johnnie or Serena, her brother and sister, but Dan never made much of an effort with them and then she’d felt weird about being there. She knew they thought Dan was a snob and as time passed Shelly drifted apart from them. Especially after Serena went to Canada and Johnnie had kids. She still sent him and Mairead tickets to the panto and other bits of free swag she thought they might like, but it was mainly to make herself feel better.
She knew she was different to the old Shelly who Johnnie’d bailed out of trouble with their parents when she was caught drinking as a teenager. She acted different and she definitely sounded different. Johnnie once said he was sick of the act she put on in front of Dan. It had really stung, more so because she knew he was right. In London, she’d somehow taken on a bit of a persona and it didn’t quite match up with the pre-Dan Shelly. Had she known even back then that she and Dan were not a good fit and just tried to be what she thought he wanted? It was not an idea she enjoyed investigating, and she tucked it away to the back of her mind. They needed to make their marriage work and that was just that. Too much depended on it. Shelly took a deep breath. It would all be better after she told Dan about the baby and brought him round to the idea.
Where to go for the baby announcement? Laurel House was an option and Dan would love the oyster bar. But even thinking the words ‘oyster bar’ was a torment with this nausea. Of course, she’d need to take care of the requisite Instagramming while they were there – there is, after all, no such thing as a free luxury mini-break – and that could potentially piss Dan off. He just doesn’t get that it’s work, she thought.
Maybe she could have Amy do it remotely. She could record a few generic having-a-lovely-time posts against a neutral backdrop and send pics on the sly when they were down there, then Amy could do all the faff of uploading them.
‘OK.’ Amy clapped her hands. ‘Amanda, this is gorge,’ she said, waving her hands in the general direction of Shelly’s face. ‘You’re off the hook now until touch-ups around 5.30 – that cool?’
‘Fab.’ Amanda gave Shelly’s face a final once-over.
Amy was busily tapping away on her phone. ‘Mail me the list of products used with corresponding Insta-handles. And don’t just guess them like last time, Amanda – that’s just sloppy and gives me more work to do.’
Shelly and Amanda exchanged furtive smiles and Shelly gave her a little encouraging wink as she headed out the door. It was great to have Amy do the delegating, really. Any correcting or unpleasantness with the personnel, Amy handled like a pro and Shelly didn’t have to get her hands dirty. It meant that PRs and stylists never bitched about her – they could all moan and rail against Amy while Shelly’s nice-girl vibes remained perfectly intact.
‘OK, real-talk time.’ Amy began taking snaps of Shelly’s finished make-up. ‘Look left,’ she commanded. ‘Suck in your cheeks. So my top three recommendations for wild cards are Grace O’Mahoney, Dara Stoney and Sinead Worthing. They’re all the perfect blend of nice and potentially useful.’
Shelly took in the profiles of each girl as Amy outlined their stats and prospective uses. Grace O’Mahoney (9.5K followers) did PR for some luxury brands – ‘Could cough up some nice gifties for us,’ commented Amy. Dara Stoney (just over 10K followers) was a stylist and art director who created shoots for the country’s biggest magazines – ‘It’d be good to get you into more fashion editorials, enough of this “at home with” stuff. Dan’s never up for it anyway,’ said Amy, never one to waste time on tact.
Shelly sometimes felt uneasy about the endless machinations and quid pro quo nature of the Insta scene, but it was a grimy world, and this was how it just was sometimes. Anyway, the girls would be delighted – it’s networking not bribery, reasoned Shelly. At this she had a sudden thought. ‘Wait, what about that girl on theDurty Aul’ Towncrew?’ She searched her brain for a name, clicking her fingers. Aisling? Alex? ‘I was talking to her yesterday …’
‘Ali?’ Amy looked sceptical. ‘You already liked one of her posts yesterday morning, so you’re set on that front. Plus she’s doing better these days – you don’t want her actually giving you a run for your money!’
‘But she has a hand in the production schedule and you know what a killer the early-morning calls are …’ Shelly hated sounding grabby and Imelda wasn’t getting many scenes lately but, still, 5 a.m. on set was a bitch.
Amy looked dubious as she flicked her fingers over the phone screen, checking the GlossiesWildCard hashtag. ‘She hasn’t actually posted for the wild-card entry yet.’
‘I told her yesterday and she was definitely into it.’
‘OK, I’ll suss that and give her the nudge re call times at tonight’s launch.’
‘Thank you.’ Shelly smiled. Amy worked for her but sometimes it felt like the reverse.
‘Fine, I’m bumping Sinead then.’ At this Amy’s phone buzzed in her hand and she hopped down from the stool. ‘Right, outfit-of-the-day time for us – we’ve got some sponcon Stories for your M&S partnership and we also need to pencil in some Georgie Stories for this afternoon, numbers are dipping. I’ll ring Marni.’
Shelly flinched at this – it was all so bald, carting Georgie in and out of her life as needed. So much was scheduled in every day – she was at work, after all, so she needed childcare – but then staging quality time with her daughter for the SHELLY account felt terrible. Sometimes in bed at night she’d look at the account, full of posts about #MamaDaughterTime and pics of her looking adoringly at the little girl and the guilt would start to choke her.
‘It’s no different to mums at the office all day,’ Shelly would think, trying to assuage her anxiety. But she knew she was different. Those women would probably have given anything to be home with their kids, while Shelly had practically run back to work after Georgie. She loved her little girl … but the lonely, long days of early motherhood had scared Shelly. She was certain she would never take to it, that nothing would feel normal again. The doctor said depression but Shelly suspected she was just a shit mother, just wasn’t cut out for it. When she returned to set she was relieved to be free and that made her feel even worse.
Amy stormed over to the wardrobe and flung it open. Flicking through the assorted blazers, she selected a blush one from the new M&S collection and thrust it at Shelly. ‘Try it with the Acne jeans,’ she commanded. ‘I’ll see you downstairs.’
