Page 18 of Filter This
‘Well, that was a shitshow,’ she huffed, flicking through the pics as she settled on the side of Miles’s bed. ‘Oh god, I look like some middle-aged auntie drunk at a wedding in this one,’ she sighed, holding the phone out in Miles’s general direction. ‘It’d make you appreciate Liv. She complains about doing it but she actually makes me look good.’
A quick search of the Glossies wild-card hashtag over on Insta threw up some of the other wannabes who’d been quick out of the gate with their entries – in the case of one poor unfortunate, so quick as to have apparently put the dress on backwards. Ali peered closer – the slinky strappy number was borderline pornographic. If this was the competition, she could probably go with the thong-extraction pic and do fine.
A knock on the door startled Ali. ‘Yes?’ she called, chucking the phone on to the side table and grabbing Miles’s hand, attempting to look like a loving daughter. She hated being caught on the phone while visiting.
‘Ms Jones?’ A smiling face peered around the door. ‘It’s Dr Walsh. We met at the ward Christmas carols a few weeks ago.’
Ali suppressed a shudder at the memory. It had been one of the more spectacularly grim afternoons in Ailesend. She had refused to put a Santa hat on Miles and after horsing into the mulled wine stormed – quite clearly completely plastered – out into the car park and cried. Not her best moment. And this greeting presented a further unsettling development – she did not remember meeting this woman.
‘Yep.’ Ali smiled tightly as Dr Walsh shut the door and settled herself in the chair across from Ali’s seat on the bed. ‘Great night that was. Juxtaposing crippling degenerative disease with festive cheer is always a winner.’
If Mini had been there, Ali would have been getting a kick, but Dr Walsh just smiled vaguely and pulled a file from her bag.
‘So,’ she continued briskly, ‘your dad is responding really well to his treatment.’
Ali raised an eyebrow and looked from Miles to Dr Walsh. The silence stretched on, the only sound being the grind of the pump for the air mattress Miles needed to ward off bedsores.
‘“Really well”?’ Ali’s words cut through the silence. ‘Is this what’s considered the clinical definition of really well?’
Dr Walsh’s cosy smile dropped and she crossed her legs, slipping on her more businesslike veneer. ‘Ms Jones, my responsibility is to take the measures necessary to keep your father comfortable and minimise the risk of further infection. That last infection has weakened him considerably. He’s finished the last course of antibiotics and we are doing everything we can to keep him stable.’
‘I know, I know,’ Ali muttered quietly. ‘I’ve heard this before. It’s just that … he has no life now. You wouldn’t leave a dog in this state. It’s just—’ Ali swallowed. She could feel her throat tightening as she strained not to cry – she hated to cry in front of people. Finally she got the words together. ‘It just feels so cruel,’ she finished.
‘I know, Ms Jones. But there’s nothing we can do. I have my responsibilities.’ Dr Walsh launched into a detailed report on how perfectly and exactly to the letter those responsibilities were being carried out. Ali nodded in all the appropriate places, trying not to give in to the urge to scream.
The details droned on and Ali picked up her phone and started flicking before she even realised what she was doing. It was like a nervous tic. Thankfully, Dr Walsh, still talking, was leafing through her file and hadn’t noticed. Ali fumbled helplessly, trying to shut off the screen, which had frozen on the pornographic image of the strappy-dress wearer. Of course, this was the moment Dr Walsh chose to look up.
‘Sorry, sorry, I was just checking the time … I just have a work thing on today,’ explained Ali, finally shutting it off.
For the briefest moment, Ali toyed with asking Dr Walsh to do the pic, but one look at her disgusted face told her that would not be a good idea. All of a sudden, Ali felt a wave of defeat crash over her. It was hard enough coming here and feeding Miles and pretending he could hear her without some bitch making her feel bad for picking up her phone for two seconds.
For the rest of the meeting Ali steadied herself and listened, even asking the odd question from Mini’s email. Finally Dr Walsh began gathering her things. Ali tentatively cleared her throat – she had one more question but it felt somehow stuck.
‘How long do people really stay like this?’ she asked, her eyes fixed on the floor, blinking rapidly, trying to keep the tears at bay. ‘How long can he live like this?’
Dr Walsh sighed. ‘It could be weeks or months. He’s so young, maybe even years. I’m sorry, I can’t give you a better answer.’
Ali slumped back on the edge of the bed and watched the doctor closing the door quietly behind her. One part of her felt guilty for asking that question in front of her dad, while another part insisted there was nothing of him left now. A tear hit the back of her hand and snapped her back to the present.
She walked to the mirror on the opposite wall. No crying now, Ali. She gently wiped her eyes and took a long, slow breath. She had to look good for this pic. She stood back and considered the mirror; it was a large square full-length one. Maybe it would do? She could draw the curtains; they were a simple sheer fabric that would diffuse the light quite nicely. Her eyes came to rest on the figure in the bed. The bed would be in shot.
Ali pursed her lips as she reviewed her options. There was nothing in the room to block him. The wardrobe was bolted to the wall. She caught herself considering the blanket covering the lower half of the bed. She could almost hear Liv’s voice inside her head. ‘That’s dark, Ali,’ she’d say. Ali dismissed the idea and turned back to the mirror to check just how much of the bed would be visible. Maybe a bit of FaceFix would do the trick? If she could remove a blemish or shave whole chunks off her body, she could probably fix the background easily enough.
Opening up Insta, she could see a ton of DMs from her followers. The sight of the little glowing icon in the top right corner started a pleasant glow in the pit of her stomach that then radiated outwards. They were probably all wondering what she had planned for the Glossies. She felt a little giddy – it was the same feeling she got seeing the likes and comments rolling in on her posts. Checking the time, she decided to save them for later. It was good to draw out these little treats, and she needed to get a move on – there were only two hours to get home, spruce up and make it to the Glossies party. She ducked her head out the door of the room and checked the corridor. All clear. She took the pic, did some editing, covering the background as best she could, carefully added the #GlossiesWildCard and hit Post.
8
After a quick stop-off home, Ali’d spent the taxi ride to the Talbot fixing her make-up and chugging gin from a 7Up bottle and was only getting around to checking her DMs as she walked across the reception area.
Oh my gawd … someone’s working on something exciting alright! Congratulations!!! @AndreaH
Ali STOP! What IS this? Are you saying what I think you’re saying? @AnnaDelaney1
I am so excited for you! I have three and it’s the best thing I ever did. @Sally_anne123
Ali was baffled. She stopped just short of the red carpet leading into the ballroom, which was nearly as glammed up as its occupants. The ceiling was covered in a layer of gold balloons, the ribbons dangling a few feet above the guests. Waitstaff bearing trays of Prosecco and canapés were coming in a steady stream from the kitchen, though they rarely got more than a few steps into the room before being ambushed, their trays emptied in a matter of seconds.
She was about to check her Stories to see what on earth they were all talking about when a photographer from one of the magazines waved to her.
