Her outfit-of-the-day pic was a pretty poor effort if the scrolling images being projected on the back of the stage were anything to go by. Snap after snap of the other entries, all perfect shimmering bronzed legs and abs, were playing on a loop and, sure, some of the FaceFix work was a bit heavy-handed but, still, Ali’s own pic was infinitely worse.
As Blake Jordan chatted on about Dara Stoney’s talent with a selfie, Ali slipped her phone out to confirm just how shite it was.
The outfit was good but given that everyone else had gone for quantity over quality in the flesh stakes, maybe the Stevie Nicks hippie vibe had been misjudged. It looked like she was trying to hide a ‘problem area’, as Mini would say. She had also done a sloppy job editing the background to hide that she was in a care home. She could just about make out the ghost of her dad’s hand in the frame behind her right elbow. FFS. The DM notification glowed red, showing thirty-six unread messages – she still hadn’t had a chance to check her Stories to see what they were all on about. Thirty-six was a lot for Ali.
She tuned back in to Blake Jordan long enough to ascertain that he was in the middle of an anecdote about a mishap involving himself, a well-known and volatile Irish panto star and her pet iguana and not about to announce the third nominee just yet. She opened her DMs and began flicking through the messages.
Oooooh, I see those pee pots, are you in Holles St, missus? @MaggsieLolz
Oh my god, Ali, are you in the Holla?! How far gone are you? @ClodaghH
When’re you due, hun? You’re gonna love it. @SlimminWorldHun
I’d know those toilets anywhere LOL! I have the best antenatal Pilates instructor, you HAVE to go. @JennzerOD
Ali felt the kind of potent panic that starts in your toes and sweeps up and through your entire body – what the fuck were they on about? They seemed to think she was pregnant. Sketchily she glanced around and then opened her last few Stories.
There in the background of her last Story were enormous stacks of urine sample containers and nappies and her smiling away, shiteing on oblivious. Ali raised the volume just enough to catch what it was she’d said.
‘Hey, lovelies, thanks for the DMs. A few of you guys might have gotten the wrong end of the stick there. I’m not getting anything done and I’m totally fine – I’m just working on a little surprise coming in a few months. Big kisses!’
Working on a little surprise … uh oh. That did sound a bit off in the context of what looked like a hospital bathroom with piss jars in the background. Feck, feck, feck.
She’d have to fix it the second they announced the winner. Shit. What a crappy fucking day. A waiter passed and she swooped in for another Prosecco. Tilting the glass to her mouth, she was suddenly aware that Belle McGinnley, a brand consultant who had a fashion blog on the side, had appeared by her side, smiling.
She leaned in. ‘You’ll have to go easy on the old bubbles, I hear,’ she whispered conspiratorially. ‘I saw the Story and I was, like, “Is she hinting at something?” I wasn’t sure but then I saw the post! Congratulations, mama!’
‘The post …?’ Ali lowered the glass and brought up her feed on her phone. The red-carpet pic with the stupid quip about maternity wear had more than five hundred likes and a ton of comments congratulating her. Ali gasped. Jesus, this was loads more engagement than she usually got.
Spying the phone over her shoulder, Belle murmured, ‘Oh yeah, they love a good pregnancy journey. When I was expecting Emmerdale, I doubled my following.’
At this Ali, who had been about to explain the mishap, stopped. ‘Doubled?’ she repeated.
Belle nodded emphatically. ‘Best thing I ever did.’ She smirked. ‘Well, I mean, obviously Emmerdale is the best thing that ever happened to me. But she’s also the best thing that ever happened to my Insta!’ She winked and then clamped her mouth shut, realising the final shortlisted wild card was about to be announced.
Blake Jordan, clearly revelling in his duties, waved the final envelope. ‘I’ve just learned from my Insta prowling that our final wild-card wannabe has had a pretty big day already today …’ He paused, pressing the envelope to his pursed lips. The silence seemed to intensify with each passing second. Every girl in the room wanted to be on that final plinth. Ali was feeling jangly – she wanted to neck the last of her Prosecco but Belle was still right beside her and thinking she was up the duff. As Blake wrung every last bit of tension from the moment, Ali consoled herself. It was just some people on Instagram – she’d be able to smooth it over and then just go quiet for a few days and nobody would remember.
At last, Blake exhaled dramatically. ‘Phew, sorry for that pregnant pause there! Though our next nominee knows all about that … Please welcome Ali Jones and her “little surprise” to the stage!’
Ali felt the blood drain from her face. What the holy fuck was going on? Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. The spotlight found her and the crowd had turned as one heavily-contoured-and-not-entirely-friendly-looking entity to look at her. Ali flung a wide smile across her face and swiftly shoved the Prosecco glass into her tote bag.
The crowd applauded dutifully – they seemed sapped of their enthusiasm now that the last spot had been nabbed.
She made her way forward, trying to quell the storm of anxiety rising with every step. Maybe no one had noticed. Maybe she could just gloss over it. Maybe he wouldn’t mention it again.
As she reached the stage, Blake boomed, ‘Someone help her up, for god’s sake – a woman in her condition can’t be leaping about.’
Two waiters rushed forward to manhandle her awkwardly onto the plinth, one somehow managing to pull up her skirt in the process, while the other knocked the bag from her hand – out of which naturally fell the hidden glass, sloshing Prosecco everywhere. This was not quite how Ali had imagined this moment of glory would play out. While one waiter smoothed down her skirt, the other passed her bag back and dumbly held the glass out towards her. She smiled coldly at him until he finally got the message and withdrew the incriminating evidence. Ali wanted to kick them both. Absolute fucksticks.
‘So, Ali, you’re having a big day!’ Blake mimed a pregnant belly, winking.
‘Yeah,’ said Ali, feeling her cheeks starting to burn.
‘Are you excited?’
‘Yep.’ She nodded, staring out into the crowd and wondering what the actual fuck she was doing. Belle’s voice seemed to be whispering in her ear once more: ‘They love a good pregnancy journey. I doubled my following.’ Doubled. Double!
‘Double …’ Shit, she’d said that last one out loud.
