Check. Filter. Share.
Great! With the Dan and Shelly Show done, she was now ready to spend time in her actual marriage.
Shelly stashed the phone, filled the bathroom sink and began to take off the sticky serum and her layers upon layers of make-up. Out of nowhere the tears began. I can’t be crying. Shelly pressed her manicured fingers to her cheeks, automatically trying to suppress the swell of sadness, dread and exhaustion – then she remembered that she didn’t need to be on camera for the rest of the night so red puffy eyes didn’t matter.
She sank to the edge of the bath and gave in to the tears. The relief was profound. She didn’t quite allow the sobs that were threatening to boil over – that just wasn’t her style and she needed to keep an ear out for Dan, who’d be back any minute. He’d notice her blotchy face. Shelly had never been a subtle crier and he’d be grumpy that she was in one of her ‘moods’ – not that he’d even acknowledge it. She’d bet her life on him not so much as asking if she was alright. A little thought wormed its way in. Do I even like him anymore?
Shelly squeezed her eyes shut, attempting to dodge the question even though it was coming from within. A small part of her was starting to admit the answer to this was probably not. But life felt like it was steamrolling ahead and any attempts to change course or dismantle what she’d created – Shelly’s Perfect Life – seemed impossible. Instead she sat having her very contained, economical cry and then washed her face as soon as she heard Dan come in.
13
Ali stood in the side passageway of Grogan’s and peered round the door into the pub. Tinder Sam was there sitting in front of a pint surrounded by the weary Monday-night crowd. Seeing the pint made Ali want a pint. Damn this fake pregnancy, she thought, slinking back into the passageway to stall the inevitable awkwardness for a few more minutes. It was really going to make things tricky. What else was she not supposed to be doing? She’d have to do a Google deep dive at some point. In the meantime, what the actual fuck was she going to say to Tinder Sam?
For the last few days, she’d only had to agree with people thinking she was pregnant, like Kate and the PRs who’d been inundating her. Except for the drunk Insta-post – which happened in a blackout and therefore, according to Ali’s Rules for Life, didn’t count – she hadn’t had to launch the info on anyone yet, especially someone who was presumably going to be very unhappy about it.
She’d wasted the bus journey scrolling the Dublin Insta-mums’ pages, stealing their pregnancy memes to repackage for her own use later – after all, she’d no idea what kinda shite pregnant people would relate to – so she still didn’t have an opener prepped for Tinder Sam. As post-work punters squeezed past her into the pub to get in from the cold, Ali tried a few opening gambits on for size in her head.
How about: ‘Hey, Tinder Sam! What’s your last name?’ Jaysus.
Or ‘Tinder Sam, will you father an imaginary baby with me so I can score some free swag and rack up those sweet, sweet likes? I’ll give you any of the freebie make-up products that match your skin tone!’
Maybe say as little as possible, thought Ali, or just back out right now.
The backing out did seem like the most sensible thing to do. What if he freaked? Or didn’t believe her? The problem was that Ali kind of liked the excuse this gave her to see him again. She’d liked him. If it hadn’t been for theLove Actuallything and ruining his bed, she probably would’ve texted him back. He was a ride. Ali was just leaning forward to sneak another look at him when a huge figure barrelled round the door and straight into her.
‘Fuck.’ Ali was flattened on the sticky floor of Grogan’s side passage, arguably the most vom-anointed stretch of ground in Dublin. Tinder Sam’s stricken face was peering down at her.
Well, that was the opening gambit taken care of.
‘Ali! Oh my god. Are you OK? Jesus, I didn’t see you. I’m so sorry.’ He pulled her to her feet and then, leaning close, whispered, ‘Should we go to the hospital? What do you do if you have a fall? Oh god, I can’t believe I did this.’ Tinder Sam looked ashen and Ali felt a wave of sympathy. Poor guy. First he hears he’s got a fake baby on the way, now he thinks he’s hurt the fake baby somehow.
Ali found herself thrown by the sudden proximity of Tinder Sam – she’d forgotten about that vaguely intoxicating aura of his – and took a hasty step backwards.
You can’t actually get with him, she reminded herself, he’s the fake-baby daddy. He’d pulled out his phone, his dark hair falling into his face as he scrolled in agitated manner. Ali felt a spark of irritation. What the hell’s he checking?
Tinder Sam’s concerned face looked up. ‘The app says it’s fine – the baby is really well cushioned in there.’ He awkwardly indicated her tummy. Then a tentative smile broke on his face. ‘It says the baby’s, like, the size of a pea – that’s so cute. We should call her Sweet Pea until we, ya know, get to meet her. I deffo think it’s a girl!’ It was probably the most tender moment the side passage of Grogan’s had ever known – were it not for the light gaslighting taking place, of course.
And never mind gaslighting – what the hell app was he talking about? Tinder Sam took her hand and led her through to the pub, gently settling her in a booth. He seemed to be interpreting her slightly bewildered manner as a result of her fall and was looking worried, offering, ‘Tea? Decaf coffee? Juice? Though juice could be a bit acidic on the tummy – is the morning sickness passing yet?’
‘Eh, ehmmm, yeah, no, I’m fine. With the vomming, like. I’ll have a Diet Coke.’
‘Is that OK for the baby? I use Diet Coke to clean bike parts.’
‘It’s fine,’ said Ali a little sharply – she needed him to go away for a minute so she could get a handle on the situation.
‘Sure, sure.’ He backed off a little. ‘Hormones are a bitch, right?’ He winked very cutely.
‘OK, I get it, you’ve googled pregnancy. Well done. You’re top of the I-banged-a-random-girl-and-now-I’m-supposed-to-be-the-nice-guy class. Get the drinks and we’ll talk.’ She shooed him away and he ambled off to the bar, grinning.
He didn’t seem remotely put off by Ali’s bitchiness – rather he was amused by it, which she remembered from their date. It was part of what got her back to his depressing flat in the first place. Usually guys didn’t really get her. If she was being catty or bitchy, they never seemed to cop that she was joking. Tinder Sam had been entertained by her cutting remarks about a bad date unfolding at a nearby table where the guy was eating chicken wings with a knife and fork (‘Well, he’s got a date with his own hand later – no way she’ll be boning him now,’ she’d remarked).
This whole encounter was already way off-script. Tinder Sam’s intense hotness was really disconcerting, for one thing. For another he was not responding to the news of her impending apparent womb-fruit with the appropriate horror and insensitivity associated with males of a certain age and demographic. He didn’t seem pissed off at all – if anything he was being really nice about it. It was fucking weird.
He’d downloaded an app. This was a level of commitment that she could never have predicted. Phone storage was the scourge of millennial existence. Ali could not truthfully say that she would download a not-completely-essential app if the life of another human being depended on it. ‘He made space for me on his phone’ was the 2019 equivalent of ‘he gave me a spare key’.
All of this would be amazing if she actually was gestating his bastard child. She remembered Kate getting pregnant off some stranger penis in college and the Stranger Penis had been utterly obnoxious when she’d informed him. From the get-go, she’d been planning to terminate the pregnancy, but he still took the conversation – that she’d had with him out of courtesy – as an opportunity to shame her and insist he couldn’t be the father.
While it was hideous for Kate, it had served as inspo of sorts for Ali – she’d been counting on Tinder Sam being similarly dickish. Her plan had been for him to want nothing to do with the baby. She would say that was fine, and she would never bother him for anything in exchange for a few shots for Instagram of him posing as an adoring boyfriend and father-to-be, albeit with a fake name (she was planning on saving this element for after he agreed to the first bit).
