‘I … I don’t know, Dan,’ Shelly said helplessly.
‘Are you duffed up?’
Shelly winced and dodged the question. ‘I don’t know what they’re talking about.’
‘Well, do you wanna check?’ he spat.
Shaking, Shelly grabbed her bag, pulled out her phone and brought up Instagram: The latest post had 48,000 likes, thousands of comments. Stats that would usually thrill her but right now she felt unsteady; the world was off-kilter. The pregnancy announcement was there at the top of her grid. She could feel the tears coming. Dan would never believe this had been an honest mistake. He would say it was a deliberate manipulation to strong-arm him into accepting this pregnancy. She gripped the phone hard. Should she delete it?
‘Show me,’ Dan commanded.
Shelly felt precarious. Delete it and he’d never see it – maybe that would make it easier to smooth it over. He wouldn’t have the visual, the wording to throw at her.
‘Show. Me.’ Dan was losing it. Nearby diners had clearly become aware of the storm brewing at their table. To their right, a group had stilled, cutlery poised above plates, obviously straining to hear.
Shelly checked the time – nearly twenty minutes since she’d posted the pic. If it hadn’t been reported there’d be time to delete it. It wasn’t the perfect solution but it would at least prove to Dan that she hadn’t done it on purpose. She quickly googled her name. The top six results were reporting her pregnancy announcement. The will to manage the situation ebbed away instantly – it was futile. She flicked back to the pregnancy announcement post and handed the phone to Dan, keeping her eyes down.
‘Dan.’ Her voice was small and beseeching. Tears were gathering on her lashes, ready to tumble forth. ‘It was an accident.’
Dan pushed his chair back from the table in a rush of fury. He pulled the phone closer to his face, disbelieving. The dining room was now watching with open fascination. Shelly could see Kelly’s Klobber out of the corner of her eye. Was that a phone in her hand?
‘Which part was an accident, Shelly? Huh? Which part exactly was an accident? The part where you fucking got up the pole against my wishes? Or the part where you completely humiliated me and told the fucking world about my baby before I knew about it?’
Shelly had nothing to say. Literally nothing. She felt sick. She gulped in air and gasped out some words. ‘Please, Dan …’ She covered her face.
Dan crouched down beside her chair and she felt a flash of hope, extinguished just as quickly when Dan snarled into her ear. ‘I’m leaving right now, Shelly. Don’t follow me. I don’t want to see you, talk to you, breathe the same air as you. You can come back the day after tomorrow as planned. I’ll talk to the solicitor.’
He stood, chucked her phone on to the table and walked out of the dining room, a sea of dropped jaws in his wake.
Shelly gathered her things. She needed to move. Now. She hurried through the dining room, keeping her eyes down. Once she made it to the hall, she swerved right and broke into a run. She dialled Amy but no answer. She reached the ladies, which was mercifully empty, and barricaded herself in a cubicle. She whispered a frantic voicenote explaining what had happened and the scene in the dining room and sent it off to Amy.
A couple of agonising minutes passed before Amy rang.
‘We’re going to be fine, Shel.’ Hearing her assistant’s voice was incredibly soothing. ‘Where are you right now?’
‘In the ladies beside the dining room.’
‘OK, first things first: containment. Time is of the essence. We can’t have anyone getting on to Notions.ie, stirring up shit. You stay right where you are. I need to make some calls. Do not leave the bathroom – lock the door and don’t come out no matter what happens. I will call you right back.’
Amy hung up and Shelly sat down on the lid of the toilet. Flashes of Dan raging in the dining room returned, assaulting her. What did he mean ‘talk to the solicitor’? He couldn’t be planning on separating after one slip-up? Though it hadn’t been just one slip-up exactly – more a series of unhappy days smoothed by mundane distractions like birthdays, anniversaries, dinners and TV. And the distractions had worked less and less as they had drifted apart.
The phone rang. Amy. Thank god for Amy.
‘OK, I’ve dealt with the onlookers.’
‘Do I want to know how?’ ventured Shelly, sniffing and trying to calm down.
‘I’ve spoken to management. They made an announcement, comping everyone’s meal and night’s stay in exchange for sensitivity in the matter.’
‘Oh my god,’ Shelly breathed.
‘There’s just one guest who was present that they couldn’t locate. She must have slipped out just after you. Kelly something. Don’t worry, we’ll find her and neutralise her. It’s not a problem. Put it out of your mind now, Shelly. You need to rest up. We need you on form tomorrow. We don’t want a whiff of this detectable on your social channels. Dan will come around and when he does we want the narrative to be in place for him to step back into. The concierge told me Dan left the car park five minutes ago so you’re good to go back to your room now. The night manager, Sean, is waiting outside the ladies to escort you. Lie low, order breakfast to the room in the morning and I’ll be down by 10 a.m. to get you out of there.’
Shelly hung up and went out to Sean, who smiled kindly and, without a word, brought her back to her empty room, Dan’s belongings gone. She collapsed on the bed and cried hopelessly. She felt ransacked by the events of the evening. She turned off the lights and, in the dark, scrolled through the likes and comments on her bump post. The squeals of ‘congrats’ and ‘suits you’ and ‘you look beautiful’ soothed her like a morphine drip until she eventually fell asleep.
15
‘So what are you? Some kind of pregnancy enthusiast?’ Ali was watching Tinder Sam giddily inputting her details to his app, iBump, as they strolled away from Grogan’s. It was after 11 p.m. and they’d been chatting for hours.
