Page 71 of Filter This
Liv’s eyes widened. ‘Oh my god, no. Holy fuck! I’m so sorry, Ali. I put it down for, like, five minutes while I jumped in the shower. Ali, shit. Shit, shit, shit. I’m so sorry.’
‘You really shouldn’t be. It’s my fault. The whole lot of it. He fucking hates me. He’s right too. It doesn’t matter now anyway …’ Ali dragged in a gulp of air. ‘Miles is really bad, Liv. I’m scared.’
Liv stepped forward and held her firmly in her arms. They stood in silence and Ali held on to her friend with everything she had.
‘He’s going to die and I can’t take it.’
Liv started to cry and Ali felt strangely envious. She longed to cry – big, violent, wrenching sobs – to get some kind of release from this paralysing pain. But nothing was coming. She felt like all this was happening to someone else. The many elements of her world had suddenly skipped out of their orbit. It was any old Thursday in the rest of the world, but here in her little sliver of a life everything was spinning out of control. Sam’s rage, Liv’s tears, the phone buzzing with notifications about the Glossies, Mini’s flat, lifeless voice and, beneath it all, Miles’s quiet, shallow breaths counting down the minutes, leading her to a precipice, one she couldn’t even imagine.
She knew what she had to do.
‘This towel reeks.’ She unravelled from the embrace and stepped back.
‘All towels reek,’ Liv said, adopting faux gravitas. ‘It’s one of life’s tragic certainties. Like death and taxes.’ She smiled weakly, her cheeks wet with tears. ‘He was the best.’
Was.
‘I have to get ready.’ Ali moved away towards her room, where she had everything she needed laid out.
Liv looked confused. ‘Ready?’ She wheeled around and followed Ali down the hall. ‘You’re not … you’re not going to the bloody Glossies, are you?’
‘Welcome to the third annual Glossies brought to you byGlossie Lifemagazine in association with lip artists Filler Fabulosity and Brown Thomas. How are we all doing tonight?’ Blake Jordan was wearing a leopard-print tux and pink dress shirt. His veneers were particularly blinding as he stalked the front of the stage giving shout-outs to the various bloggers and Insta-stars in the front row. ‘Look, it’s Insta-mum Holistic Hazel, everyone. You’ve managed to unsuckle the litter and get out on the town.’
Hazel waved her arms in the air and whooped ‘Mama is out-out’ to a sea of iPhones pointed in her direction.
‘And …’ said Blake, moving along, ‘we’ve got my fave gal, Crystal Doorley, nominated in the Best Natural Tan category. Don’t worry, love, we all need a little help in that department, don’t we?’ Crystal looked unabashed despite her recent shaming; there wasn’t a natural tan in the entire room, never mind that category.
‘And here’s the amazing Norah Darcy.’ Blake had switched to his solemn voice. ‘Norah is being honoured in our Best Mental Health Journey category, a new and hugely important category this year. Because, as we all know, it’s important to be real sometimes too. Social media isn’t this big toxic thing – it’s making a difference to people’s lives. Well done, Norah –bualadh bos, everyone.’ Blake clapped reverentially and everyone joined in.
‘Now who’s this hot bish?’ Blake had swung back to bubbly-host mode. ‘It’s Jess Hamilton, of course. The ridiest ride we’ve got and nominated tonight for Best Facial Work, a category sponsored by the good people at Filler Fabulosity. Show us those trouty beauties, hun.’
‘Not today, Satan!’ Liv shouted. Keeping one eye on the road, she slapped the phone out of Ali’s hand, interrupting the #Glossies Instagram Stories.
‘I’m in distress. Insta is soothing me,’ Ali argued as she retrieved the phone, and Liv sighed.
‘We’re going nowhere fast, anyway – these bloody roadworks.’ The car inched forward and she craned to see beyond the snaking line of traffic, leading to Ailesend. ‘Three lanes all trying to merge into one. Bloody ridic.’
Ali reinstated the Insta-live, capturing every moment of the awards she’d thought were so important.
Blake Jordan had turned serious once more. ‘We do have an important announcement to make before we can commence honouring the women in this room, women of integrity and values. It has come to light that one of tonight’s nominees has been less than honest on her Instagram and has been excommunicated from the awards.’ As the shot panned the room, the whole crowd appeared to shift awkwardly.
‘Uh oh.’ Liv had come to a stop and leaned in to check the screen. ‘They couldn’t be talking about you, could they?’
Ali felt lightheaded. ‘I haven’t been on much today,’ she said slowly. ‘But no one told me I was disqualified.’ She X’d out of Insta and checked her emails.
‘Oh fuck.’ The inbox was rammed with brand new unreads, all sent in the last half-hour or so.
‘Notice of disqualification’ read the subject line of one from theGlossie Lifemagazine editor. ‘Termination of contract, effective immediately’ said one from Baby Bella Boo Boo Buggies. And on and on.
‘Oh, shite.’ Liv stared horrified as Ali scrolled. Some subject lines just said ‘You’re SICK, you fucking BITCH’ while others seemed to be dubious offers of help – ‘Re your recent nervous breakdown, heal yourself with the power of juicing’.
A beep from the car behind gave them both a jolt.
‘OK, OK, I’m going,’ Liv muttered. ‘We’re only after moving two feet – are ya happy?’ She gave the finger in the rear-view as Ali flicked back to the Glossies’ Insta-live, where Blake Jordan was clearly struggling to be heard over the crowd, who were abuzz.
‘The Glossies do not in any way condone or endorse behaviour of this kind.’ The Story zoomed in on the circular tables around which nearly every woman held a phone to her ear, many covering their mouths in shock while others were wiping their eyes from laughing so hard.
The person filming the Insta-live could be heard laughing and chatting to someone off-camera. ‘I know! What a crazy bitch. OMG, how pathetic can you actually be?’
