Chapter Twelve
INT: ANNIE AND ROO’S HOUSE/ INT: NORTHSIDE OFFICES
My warm and fuzzy feelings towards Art – such as they are – don’t last very long.
It’s not entirely his fault, though. I don’t think I’m capable of feeling warm and fuzzy towards anyone at the moment.
Susan’s new notes arrive shortly after we return to our office, but I have to read through them twice before I can take them in.
And even then I can’t seem to get a handle on any of the necessary tweaks.
After attempting to focus for an hour and failing, I get up and go for a quick walk around the IBC grounds in an attempt to ease my jangling nerves. It doesn’t help much.
When I get back Art is lying on the couch, staring up at the ceiling and chewing a pen.
‘Please don’t say anything, McDermott,’ he says. ‘I’m on the verge of a widget breakthrough.’
I get back to work but it’s hard to concentrate on Mozzer McCaul’s romantic problems right now.
I glance over at Art. His eyes are closed now and his arms are folded behind his head.
There are shadows under his eyes and he clearly didn’t shave this morning and I wonder if he’s feeling as strung out and tense as I am.
You know what might release some of that tension? says a little voice in my head.
I do my best to ignore this unhealthy thought, then take a deep breath and return to my script. I set my timer but I simply can’t focus. I can’t forget that Art is just a few feet away from me. Horizontal. Tired and annoying and annoyingly attractive and possibly my only ally in all of IBC.
God, why did I have to kiss my only ally in all of IBC? What was I thinking? And why does that ally have to be the person who does my head in?
Okay. This is ridiculous. He’s distracting me too much. This whole situation is not conducive to productivity.
‘I’m going to work from home,’ I say, snapping my laptop shut.
Art opens his eyes and sits up on the couch. ‘Oh. Okay. Probably a good idea.’
There you go. He doesn’t want me around either. I stuff my laptop into my bag.
‘See you tomorrow,’ I say. ‘Maybe.’
‘See ya,’ he says. He’s already lying down again.
It’s slightly easier to work at home. I’m taking a tea break when I get a text from Laura reminding me it’s our mother’s seventieth birthday next month and we need to sort out her present.
God, it’s hard to believe Mam’s going to be seventy.
I really should be doing more for my parents.
After all, I wanted to move home partly to be closer to them.
But so far they’ve been doing more for me than I have for them, helping me move and having me over for dinner.
I haven’t even seen as much of them as I thought I would.
And Laura’s been away for work a lot recently so she can’t be spending much time with them either.
I think of my poor parents sitting at home, abandoned by their selfish daughters, and pick up my phone.
When there’s no answer from the landline I feel a pang of genuine fear.
What if they’ve had heart attacks? What if the boiler’s broken and they’ve got carbon monoxide poisoning?
There was a PSA about that in the Northside ad break on Sunday. I ring my mother’s mobile.
‘Mam!’ I say when she answers. ‘Everything okay?’
‘Sorry, love, I can’t hear you,’ says my mother. ‘Hang on a sec.’ I can hear voices and music. ‘I’m out with the retired teachers book club. We’re having post-book-discussion prosecco.’
‘On a Tuesday?’ I say.
‘Well, we are retired,’ says Mam. ‘We can drink a glass of prosecco on a Tuesday if we want to.’
‘I suppose you can,’ I say. ‘Where’s Dad?’
‘He’s having dinner with his old friends from the department,’ says Mam. ‘They’ve started doing it once a month.’
‘Oh right,’ I say. ‘That’s cool.’
‘Is everything okay with you?’ says Mam. ‘Or did you ring for a chat?’
‘Just checking in,’ I say. ‘I was wondering if there’s anything I can do for you.’
‘What do you mean?’ says Mam.
‘You know, to help out you and Dad,’ I say.
‘That’s very nice of you,’ she says, ‘but I don’t think we need any help. What were you thinking of doing?’
I haven’t actually thought this through.
‘Um, I could go to the shops for you,’ I say. ‘Or … I don’t know, take you to medical appointments?’
‘We do the big shop online,’ says my mother. ‘And I don’t have any medical appointments lined up.’
‘Oh,’ I say. ‘Great.’
‘You know we’re perfectly capable of looking after ourselves, don’t you?’ says Mam. ‘We’re not decrepit yet!’
‘Of course you’re not!’ I say. ‘Well, I’ll call over for a visit.’
‘That would be lovely,’ says Mam. ‘Now, we can’t do this week because there’s a bridge tournament tomorrow and Thursday, and then we’re going to Galway to stay with your Uncle Gerry and we won’t be back until the following Thursday, and after that the choir is going to that competition in Germany, so maybe in three weeks? ’
‘Sure.’ I’m slightly taken aback by their packed schedule.
‘I’d better get back to the book club,’ says Mam. ‘Mary Ryan was telling us all about her neighbour’s divorce.’ She lowers her voice. ‘Don’t put this in your show but he’s run off with a school inspector.’
‘How can I keep you from all this hot gossip?’ I say. ‘I’ll talk to you soon.’
‘Work might be a mess but it turns out I don’t have to worry about my parents,’ I tell Roo, after she gets home from an in-person meeting with a client. ‘They’ve got a better social life than I have.’
Roo takes some cups down from the press and turns to face me. ‘Speaking of social lives …’ She takes a deep breath. ‘I’m going on a date tomorrow.’
‘What?’ I stare at her in delight, all thoughts of my parents and Art and Northside forgotten. ‘Oh my God, Roo! When did this happen? Tell me everything!’
‘Don’t look so excited,’ says Roo. But she’s smiling. ‘It’s not a big deal. That’s why I didn’t tell you before now.’
‘It’s not a small deal,’ I say. ‘Who is he?’
‘His name’s Steve,’ says Roo.
‘Was he impressed by the fact that you can tap dance?’ I say.
‘I didn’t ask,’ says Roo. ‘Though he works in the theatre, so maybe?’
‘Let me have a look at him,’ I say.
Roo opens the app and shows me his photo.
‘Not bad,’ I say honestly. He’s got good hair and a nice smile. A vast improvement on Justin’s habitual peevish expression.
It turns out he and Roo have been chatting since they matched on Sunday night. She shows me some of his messages.
‘He seems normal, right?’ she says.
‘Totally normal,’ I say. ‘And not a creep. So where are you going? And who asked who out?’
‘I suggested meeting up,’ says Roo. ‘I know it’s kind of quick, but I figured we might as well find out if there’s a real-life vibe between us sooner rather than later.’
‘Very sensible,’ I say.
‘And it turns out his friend is the manager of this new cocktail bar on Drury Street,’ says Roo, ‘so we’re going there.’
I can’t remember when I last saw her look forward to something like this.
‘Oh, Roo, this is so great!’ I say. ‘Who needs Justin? Tomorrow night he’ll be playing stupid German board games with a woman who only wears fleeces and you’ll be drinking cocktails with Cute Theatre Guy!’
‘Yeah.’ Roo can’t stop smiling. ‘I know.’
Much as I would love to spend the entire evening anticipating Roo’s first date with a new man in four years, I have to get back to work.
I find myself getting distracted by the Frog Boyfriend group chat (Maggie thought she might be going into early labour this afternoon but it was a false alarm) but I keep working.
I stay up until after midnight and the next morning I almost mail Susan to say I’m going to work from home. But I decide against it.
‘It mightn’t look good, especially after the notes debacle,’ I say to Roo, who doesn’t have any clients this morning and is sitting at the kitchen table eating toast. ‘I should probably show my face. Not that I particularly want to show any part of me around that office.’
‘I can lend you my mantilla,’ says Roo. ‘Though you should probably get yourself a bright blue one to match that top. And those insane enormous trousers.’
‘Very funny,’ I say.
‘By the way,’ says Roo, ‘I have a favour to ask.’
‘Oh yeah?’ I drain the last of my coffee.
‘I’m doing this ethical beauty thing on Saturday morning,’ says Roo. ‘Francesca’s organising it.’
Francesca is one of Roo’s PR pals. She’s got to know a lot of people working in this field since she started doing events, and some, like Francesca, have become good friends.
While I know and like most of Roo’s college friends, I was living in England when she met her work chums and, to be perfectly honest, I’m kind of intimidated by them.
They’re all very glamorous. And I’ll admit that when I’m intimidated I can be a bit …
prickly. (Not prickly like a hedgehog, no matter what Laura says.
Prickly like … a very delicate rose.) So they may not be fans of mine either.
‘Okay,’ I say. ‘Where do I come in?’
‘They asked me if I could bring all the props I use for my videos,’ says Roo, ‘which means I’ll have to carry two cases of stuff and it’ll take ages to arrange everything properly. Could you give me a hand?’
‘One question: do I have to dress up?’
‘A bit,’ admits Roo. ‘But you’ll get a free brunch out of it.’
I was looking forward to spending all of Saturday in my pyjamas after such a weird week, but how can I say no to Roo? She’s had to put up with me going on about Northside and Art for a week and a half.
‘I’ll do it.’ I pick up my bag. ‘But I’d better go and face my enemies now. I’ll see you later.’
‘Hang on a sec,’ says Roo. She trots off to her room and returns holding a narrow silver ring. There’s a shimmering flat stone in it that seems to contain all the colours of the rainbow. My breath catches.
‘Oh, Roo!’ I say. ‘Is it—?’
‘It’s a rainbow opal,’ says Roo.