Love Scene

Prologue

INTERIOR: ANNIE AND ROO’S HOUSE

I’m so glad I got to kill Tony Barton before I left Newcastle.

‘I wanted to really show people what I could do,’ I tell Roo. ‘I wanted to leave on a high note.’

Roo hands me a mug of tea and joins me on the couch where I’m snuggled under a blanket. It’s a Sunday evening in early May and the weather is still chilly.

‘You definitely did,’ she says. ‘It was an excellent murder. Very dramatic! Tony didn’t know what hit him.’

‘Aw, thanks.’ I’m genuinely touched. ‘I did my best. I was lucky it turned out so well.’

‘And don’t worry.’ Roo takes a sip of her own tea. ‘I’m sure you’ll get to kill more people in Dublin too. Or at least cause a few accidents.’

‘I know!’ I say. ‘Ooh, I can’t wait.’ I beam at her over my mug as I think of all the lives I’m going to ruin now I’m back home. All the deaths and fights and disasters. The fires and floods and robberies, the betrayals and arrests and jiltings at the altar.

And, not for the first time, I think how incredibly lucky I am to write soap-opera scripts for a living.

I’d just finished working on the Tony Barton murder episode of Our Toon when I got the call that brought me home to Ireland.

When my phone rang I was so exhausted after some last-minute rewrites that I almost didn’t answer.

Then I saw it was an unknown Irish number.

I always answered if I got a call from an Irish number, in case it was a family emergency.

‘Is that Annie McDermott?’ said an unfamiliar male voice.

‘It is.’ My stomach lurched. He sounded serious. Oh God, was something wrong with Mam or Dad? Or my sister? Was this a doctor calling from a hospital? Was it—?

‘My name’s Bernard Brennan,’ said the stranger. ‘I’m the executive producer at Northside at IBC.’ There was a pause. ‘I’ve got a proposition for you.’

‘Oh!’ I said. Now the butterflies in my stomach felt like excitement, not fear.

Suddenly I wasn’t tired at all.

Every television writer has a show that made them want to be a scriptwriter.

And for me, that show was Northside, the soap opera that’s been a staple of Irish television for five decades.

My whole family were addicted to Northside when I was growing up, and when Roo and I were younger we religiously watched the omnibus every Saturday.

We loved how funny it was, how despite the melodramatic storylines it still felt authentically Dublin in a way that we never saw on screen elsewhere.

We loved the residents of the fictional Charlemont Street, from the villains everyone loved to hate to the no-nonsense matriarchs like Maureen ‘Mozzer’ McCaul and – above all – the legend that was Ma Cusack.

In college we briefly pretended that our love for Northside was ironic, but it wasn’t really.

We were genuine fans. When the actress who played Ma Cusack suddenly left the series eight years ago, I got texts from no fewer than four separate people breaking the shocking news.

Roo: Have you seen Ma Cusack’s quit Northside? It made the actual headlines here! Wish you were here for the DRAMA.

Laura: Our parents are taking Ma Cusack’s departure as well as can be expected.

Mam: Who does Honoria Quigley think she is, leaving a show like that?

Dad: It’s a sad day for Irish television, Annie. A sad, sad day.

Northside was simply a part of our lives.

And of course I knew who Bernard Brennan was.

I was living in England when he got the top job at Northside, but I remembered reading about how he’d shaken up the show.

He was the man behind the sensational fortieth-anniversary episodes when a train crashed off the embankment at the end of Charlemont Street, killing several main characters and destroying the community centre.

There hadn’t been anything like it on an Irish show before, or indeed since.

The man was a legend. And he had a proposition for me.

‘I believe you’re based in England?’ said Bernard.

‘That’s right,’ I said.

‘Well,’ said Bernard, ‘would you consider moving to Dublin?’

Then he told me that, after fifty years, instead of hiring freelance scriptwriters, they were creating a Northside writers’ room.

Which was where I would come in.

‘So you mean I’d have a secure staff job?’ I said. ‘Writing Northside scripts?’

‘Well, that’s the idea,’ drawled Bernard. ‘Might you be interested? I’m sure our little show could benefit from your international expertise.’

Was I interested in writing full-time for the show that inspired my career?

In my home city, at a time when I was starting to worry about my parents growing older, at a time when I was starting to consider how and where I wanted to grow older myself?

As a freelancer, I’d been waking up in the middle of the night for years worrying that I’d never be commissioned to write another script.

I’d written for a few TV dramas over the years but I’d never had job security at any of them.

This offer was a miracle. It was the best thing I’d ever heard.

I tried to sound calmer than I felt. ‘Yes,’ I said. ‘I might be interested.’

‘Very good,’ said Bernard. ‘My staff will be in touch.’ And he hung up.

A few days later I had a formal Zoom interview with Bernard’s second in command, Susan Halloran, which made me even more excited about the new job.

‘The writers’ room is just the first step in a new regime here at Northside,’ she said.

‘You’ll still be assigned to write individual episodes, but there’ll be a lot more collaboration between the writers.

And once everyone’s working on site, we’re going to need fresh new ideas from all of you to shape the future of Charlemont Street. ’

First Bernard saying they wanted my expertise, now the opportunity to shape Northside’s future! This was getting better and better. I beamed at Susan through my laptop camera. In the glow of my ring light I looked positively radiant.

‘Susan,’ I said, ‘you’ve come to the right place.’

And now, two months later, here I am, sitting on Roo’s couch –which is now my couch too, I remind myself – bubbling with anticipation about my first day at Northside.

‘I can’t believe I’ll be on Charlemont Street tomorrow.’ I let out a sigh of happiness. ‘This is literally my teenage dream come true.’

‘When d’you think you can take me in to have a gawp around the set?’ says Roo.

‘Hmmm, I dunno,’ I say. ‘Probably not straight away. I mean, technically I’ll be on trial until August. But as soon as I’m settled in, you’ll be my first guest. It’s the least I can do, considering you’ve given me a home. For which I’m very grateful,’ I add.

‘Stop that,’ says Roo, tucking a lock of black hair behind her ear. ‘You’re the one doing me a favour. I’d have had to sublet that room to a stranger if you hadn’t moved back.’ She glances at the art deco clock on the sitting-room mantelpiece. ‘What time is Northside on these days?’

I follow her gaze. ‘Ooh, it’s on now. Quick, turn on the telly.’

Roo grabs the remote control. ‘I haven’t watched it in years,’ she says. ‘Is Barbara Brady still there?’

‘Nope,’ I say, because I’ve been doing my research since I got offered the job. ‘She’s in prison.’

‘Barbara?’ says Roo. ‘What for?’

‘Perverting the course of justice,’ I say. ‘She framed Mozzer McCaul for killing Jake two years ago, but really Barbara’s twelve-year-old son Colin did the murder. Now sssh, it’s starting!’

The familiar music plays over the credits.

We see an aerial view of Dublin and then the camera zooms in to the north of the Liffey river and hovers over Charlemont Street.

There are shots of Donnelly’s pub, of the White Lady statue in the McCauls’ window, the various businesses, and then the title, in the style of an old street sign.

The street is officially in Dublin 3, though its exact location seems to wander all over the north of the city.

Geography isn’t Northside’s strong suit.

And tomorrow, that familiar set will be my workplace.

‘Mozzer!’ cries Roo, as the episode begins with the show’s comedy queen emerging from her terraced house. A feeling of warm nostalgia washes over me. Me and Roo watching Mozzer McCaul together! It’s like old times.

Except it isn’t, not quite.

When the ad break starts I turn to Roo. ‘That was …’

Roo takes a sip of tea. ‘It’s changed a bit since our day, hasn’t it?’

I hadn’t wanted to admit it, but now Roo’s said it I have to acknowledge that she’s right. In the past, the programme was famous for its warmth and humour, and the big dramatic stories were balanced by lighter character-based moments. Now it all feels a lot more intense and … downbeat.

But then, I haven’t been able to watch much of it since I got home. They only had the last two weeks on the IBC Player. We can’t judge the state of Northside on a fortnight’s worth of episodes!

‘I suppose it’s just going through a very serious phase,’ I say. ‘It’s done that before.’ And it has, hasn’t it? I cast my mind back. ‘Remember when every episode was about Baby Rosie’s kidney disease for, like, two months?’

‘Oh yeah,’ says Roo. ‘And there was the time Barbara left that cult and had a breakdown and went to live in a shed …’

‘That was pretty grim,’ I agree. ‘But it didn’t stay like that forever. Remember what came next?’

And together we both say, ‘Mozzer’s music career!’

‘You’re right,’ says Roo. ‘I bet it’ll be more cheerful soon.’

‘Of course it will,’ I say. ‘I’ll make sure of it!’

When the episode ends, Roo gets up and stretches. ‘Right. More tea. Do you want to try one of my new tisanes? I made a good citrus one this morning.’

Roo is fond of concocting her own herbal teas, and is actually pretty good at it, which is why the house always smells lovely.

‘Yes, please,’ I say. Roo pads off to the kettle and I let the Northside credits roll.

I think of Susan’s promise to listen to all my ideas and feel a cosy warmth spread through me as I lie back on the cushions.

I can’t remember when I last felt this happy.

I’m back in my home town, living with my best friend.

I’m going to be part of a new golden age of Northside!

And tomorrow I’m going to walk down Charlemont Street and my brilliant new life is going to really begin.

I’m so, so happy I came home.