‘If only all Mondays could be like this. Mr Devine and I have decided to treat ourselves to a little impromptu staycation in the gorge Ballinahagh House. Ballinahagh House boasts beautiful sea views, world-class restaurant The Eden Bush and also has bar food available in the family-friendly Cockles and Mussels lounge …’
Ugh, the plugging is just too much sometimes – she sounds like she’s reading straight from the press release, thought Ali, skipping forward a couple of Stories. Now Shelly was on the balcony zooming in on a distant figure strolling down at the water’s edge and talking some nauseating shite about her gorgeous husband.
‘Fucking hell, we get it, he’s a ride – just put it away,’ murmured Ali, forgetting she was on the bus. The older woman beside her scowled at her and Ali laughed. ‘Soz, but she never stops going on about him and, like, he’s daytime-TV hot at most!’
The cranky woman turned back to the window and Ali resumed her Stories. The next one showed a selfie with the distant Dan Devine in the background, captioned ‘my heart’. I’m actually gonna vom in my mouth now, thought Ali. Why is he all the way over there if you’re so in love?
Suddenly it occurred to her, perhaps for the first time ever, that these were real people. Inside her phone they all seemed so distant and abstract. She flicked back to the selfie with the tiny figure in the background turned away. Shelly was radiant as per usual: her dark hair was twisted into an artfully careless side plait; her make-up was subtle – her big blue eyes, high cheekbones and full lips didn’t need much help. But peering closer, was there a hint of tension around the mouth? And she looked a little wan. Trouble in the beige kingdom? wondered Ali, who couldn’t help but feel a dark, cruel little shiver of pleasure at the prospect. Stop it, Ali, she admonished herself. There’s a word for that – schadenfreude. Or just plain old bitch. Ali put away the phone, pulled herself up and headed to the front of the bus – her stop was next. She had two hours to figure out what to do with Tinder Sam.
Shelly was frantic as she dashed around her huge suite with its wrap-around balcony overlooking a desolate beach. She consulted the list Amy had sent her. The bathroom-products tour was done and the various necessary details regarding Ballinahagh House. Amy had the dinner pics taken care of – the hotel publicist had sent shots of the food directly to Amy to caption and post while they were eating. Dan had huffed his way through many a free high-end dining experience because Shelly had to take a few snaps for her channels, and Shelly needed to keep him sweet before dropping the baby bomb. He’d been pretty wary of the trip when she’d proposed it in bed on Friday night.
‘I’d rather pay for a nice hotel and it just be us, babe. All this play-acting for the ’gram – it’s embarrassing.’ He’d been in a more reasonable mood than the day before and she didn’t detect a derisive tone, rather the tone of someone a bit worn out.
‘I promise it’s just going to be us,’ she’d said, moving closer to nuzzle his neck the way he liked. She and Amy had engineered every last detail so that, bar a few teeny bits of housekeeping, Shelly could be totally focused on Dan while Amy did the Insta-updating remotely. Though when she thought of all the trouble they were going to just to keep Dan sweet, she felt irritated. Lots of people would enjoy this kind of thing but Dan seemed unwilling to either enjoy it or accept that it was work.
The phone buzzed on the marble-topped table beside the enormous bed. Amy on the WhatsApp reminding her of the dress she needed to plug for the #DateNightOutfit pic. She didn’t want to give Dan any ammo about her being glued to Insta so her plan was to take the picture now, before they went for their couples massage, and save it in Drafts, then post it discreetly later (7.30 p.m. according to Amy’s schedule). She checked the time. Dan had been gone for forty minutes, which meant he’d be back any second. Better hustle.
She flipped open the top of her weekend bag – the source of the first fight of the trip (if you didn’t count Dan complaining about coming in the first place, which Shelly chose not to). The bags were from Louis Vuitton and they’d had to do a couple of pictures with them before leaving to drive the forty-five minutes to Ballinahagh House. Dan had erupted in front of Amy, which was rare for him.
‘I’m not posing with this man-bag,’ he’d said scathingly. Amy looked unfazed but Shelly felt uneasy. Dan sounded kind of homophobic the way he was saying man-bag – it was mortifying.
‘Don’t then,’ snapped Shelly. They quickly did some shots with Shelly that Amy would upload later.
‘I’ll sort the man-bag thing,’ muttered Amy. ‘Don’t worry.’
Shelly had said goodbye to Georgie, who was staying with Marni until Shelly’s mum came to collect her in an hour or so. She could see Amy discreetly filming the farewell and Shelly cringed a little. What kind of life had she opted into?
They’d got into the car – one they didn’t pay for: it was #gifted by the car company, not that Dan would ever complain about that. He’d been excited the day they went to pick it out a year before. They’d probably be getting another model in a couple of months. Shelly buckled up as Dan chose some obnoxious throbbing bass music for the drive. No ‘what would you like to listen to?’ Nothing. Shelly had waved to Georgie out the window and felt a stab of guilt.
She loved her daughter, but for some reason she was forever stuck in a loop of guilty feelings about her. Just like right now. She felt happy to be getting a little break and a chance to spend time with Dan, but then she felt bad about being happy at getting a break away from her darling girl. It was exhausting. Did other mums feel this? She didn’t really know the yummy Insta-mums like Hazel well enough to ask them, and Plum only had her stepkids who she only saw on weekends for comparison. Also, she was keenly aware of the role Georgie played in the appeal of SHELLY the brand. Was it exploitative to feature her on the various SHELLY platforms? Especially when she was such a terrible mother?
‘All mothers think they’re terrible mothers,’ her own had advised when Shelly sought reassurance, but it didn’t take away the wretched feeling that seemed to haunt her every interaction with Georgie. Sandra thought she was too hard on herself. She’d come with her to the doctor and held the tiny Georgie, just a few months old, while Shelly went in and tried to explain the bottomless fear that seemed to engulf her whenever she was alone with the baby.
After, when her Instagram began to take off, Sandra was encouraging but still worried about her. ‘You don’t have to be the perfect mother,’ Sandra had reminded her as Shelly posed with the baby for a picture. ‘Just be present, that’s all I was.’
Sandra couldn’t know that even that made Shelly feel bad. She worried constantly that she was most present for her daughter when it was for Instagram. She felt fraudulent, the captions, now mostly penned by Amy, braying about how much she adored motherhood felt like a terrible lie.
Now she idly picked up her phone to see that Amy had already posted the video of her saying goodbye to Georgie to the Shelly Insta-account.
Need to squeeze in every last hug – gonna miss my girl so much while we’re away basking in 5-star luxury in @ BallinahaghHouse.
Jesus. And now she was bringing another baby into this bizarre pantomime. Speaking of which, she needed to get this #DateNightOutfit snapped before Dan returned and she’d have to hide the phone.
Date night and I am loving my outfit from @oliviascloset. Feeling so blessed to be sharing this rollercoaster adventure of a life with the @DivineDanDevine. The last few years have been such a joy, with the arrival of @BabyGeorgie and the launch of my footwear line, writing my first lifestyle book INSPO FOR EVERY DAY and, of course, by my side through every incredible achievement was my husband. We’ve snuck away for a couple of loved-up days in the tranquil surrounds of @BallinahaghHouse. #love #family #datenight #DateNightOOTD #DateNightOutfit #irishinfluencer #irishmama #mumfluencer #secondhoneymoon #WinterBreak
Shelly checked the pic over one last time. She wasn’t as good as Amy at FaceFix. She erased a spot on her chin – presumably soon to be joined by many more, the bloody joys of pregnancy acne – and shaved a few centimetres off her waist. The dress was actually gorgeous, lilac, which suited her dark hair, and kind of twenties style. It was short, heavily beaded and plunged low in front, which was working nicely with the early pregnancy boob job she was currently enjoying – pity they were so sore to the touch. Dan would surely want some action tonight but the thought of anyone coming near her in her current state was deeply unappealing. Still, wearing this flirty little dress, showering Dan with all the attention and having sex would definitely set the scene for Baby Bomb.
Did other people have to work this hard with their husbands? It hadn’t been so hard at the beginning. They’d travelled and stayed in glamorous hotels and partied with their friends, though the group had started to shift and drift, as was the way with these things. And Dan had been looser then – old Dan would definitely not have been uptight about a few pictures on the internet. Though old Shelly had been very different too. Old Shelly probably wouldn’t have done anything Dan didn’t a hundred per cent approve of. So maybe that’s what happened. She changed and he couldn’t deal with it.
Yep, relationships were hard work – but what if only one person was trying?
Shelly gave the retouched pic a final filter to bring up the highlights and give the whole thing that all-important glow of perfection. She regarded the girl in the picture, who was now a few times removed from the woman sitting in a borrowed dress in all-the-strings-attached luxury waiting for a man she used to adore unquestioningly.
She hit Save in Drafts, ready for later, and then quickly took the dress off. The weight of it slipping to the floor was oddly satisfying – here was something substantial in this invented world of hers. Costume change. She pulled on the bathrobe and put her hair up into a topknot. She slicked a little serum over her make-up to give her a fresh-faced no-make-up-but-still-frankly-perfect look – another minor deception from Amy’s arsenal of tricks – and turned the camera on.
‘Shell-Belles! We are just basking in this gorgeous reprieve from the Georgie-juggle – you know what I mean, mamas! We love them but sometimes you just need some mummy–daddy time.’ She winked. ‘We’re just about to hit the spa to get some majorly needed chillaxation in, if Dan Devine would ever get a move on!’ She raised her voice as if trying to be heard by some nearby pesky husband. As if they had a playful, easy relationship. She posted the Story then did several Boomerang takes to get the exactly right, perfectly adorable eye-rolling one, over which she typed:
What is it with men taking AGES to get ready? And they think WE’RE the bad ones!
