Chapter Thirteen
INT: NORTHSIDE OFFICES / INT: PUB / INT: ANNIE AND ROO’S HOUSE
‘Annie! Wait!’
It’s eleven o’clock on Thursday morning and I’m walking into the lift on my way to get a much-needed coffee when I hear Róisín, the Northside researcher, calling my name.
I suspect Art stayed up as late as I did last night working on his script, because neither of us has much energy today.
Having barely spoken for the rest of yesterday afternoon, we’ve just grunted more or less politely at each other this morning.
Art didn’t even mention the hot-pink top covered in red strawberries that I’m wearing.
My script is looking a lot better than I feel, however, and I’m trying to be optimistic about getting a decent second draft done by tomorrow. But to do that I need some caffeine.
I press the button to keep the lift doors open until Róisín rushes in.
‘Thanks!’ she says.
‘No worries,’ I say, hitting the ground-floor button.
‘I wasn’t only calling you to hold the lift,’ says Róisín. ‘I wanted to apologise.’
‘Apologise?’ I say. ‘To me? What for?’
Róisín’s brown eyes are full of guilt. ‘I was the one who told Bernard about your sister.’
‘Ah,’ I say. ‘Okay. Well, it’s not a secret or anything.’
The lift doors open and we walk out into the lobby.
‘No, but …’ Róisín nervously twists one of her braids around her finger. ‘I really didn’t mean to tell him. He heard me mention your name to Lainey when we were leaving a production meeting – we were just saying that you look a bit like your sister, nothing weird.’
‘Okay,’ I say.
‘And Bernard kind of jumped in and asked how we knew your sister and, well, I told him who she was. But I didn’t know he was going to have a go at you about it at the next writers’ meeting. I’m really sorry.’
‘It’s fine,’ I say. ‘It’s not your fault.’
‘Thanks.’ Róisín’s smile is full of relief as we make our way through the lobby and out into the sunshine. ‘Sorry he’s been such a dick to you.’
A laugh escapes me. ‘He really has.’ Though seeing as he still hasn’t yelled at me for causing Adam’s injury, at least that bullet has been dodged. Adam mustn’t have told him.
‘If it’s any consolation,’ says Róisín, ‘I thought your ideas at the meetings were really good. Especially the bit about referencing Ma Cusack.’
I smile at her. ‘Thanks. It’s a pity Bernard didn’t agree.’
‘I mean, I don’t really remember Ma Cusack being on the show,’ says Róisín.
‘Well, it was a long time ago,’ I say.
‘But I’ve seen clips and I know she was incredible,’ Róisín continues. ‘I mean, the hair!’
‘The hair was amazing,’ I agree.
‘And she’s so funny!’ says Róisín. ‘You know there’s a supercut of the home-invaders storyline on YouTube? It’s brilliant.’
‘Oh wow, I’d love to watch that again,’ I say as the canteen doors slide open.
‘I watched the episodes where she saved Barbara from the cult too,’ says Róisín. ‘Seriously, when the cult leader tried to exorcise Ma Cusack and she laughed in his face I wanted to applaud!’
‘I think I did applaud,’ I say. ‘God, Honoria Quigley is such an amazing actor.’
‘The best,’ agrees Róisín.
‘I was so sad when I heard she was leaving,’ I say. ‘But I get why she decided to call it a day. I suppose you get tired, playing such a big role for so long.’
‘Oh, she didn’t decide to leave,’ says Róisín.
‘Sorry?’ I say, but we’ve reached the counter.
‘An Americano, please,’ says Róisín.
Once I’ve ordered my coffee I say, ‘What did you mean just there, about Honoria not deciding to leave the show?’
‘It wasn’t her choice to go,’ says Róisín. ‘She left because Bernard didn’t renew her contract.’
‘What?’ I stare at her in confusion. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Oh, yeah,’ says Róisín. ‘Have you met Des Smyth, the sound guy?’
‘Not yet,’ I say.
‘He’s lovely. He’s been here forever. He’s the first person who told me about the Honoria stuff, but all the older Northside crew who were around in those days backed him up. They loved her. Bernard getting rid of her is one of the reasons they all hate him.’
‘But …’ I’m totally baffled. ‘But if Honoria wanted to stay, and the crew and the cast all loved her, and’ – most importantly of all, as far as a TV programme is concerned – ‘if the audience loved her, and they definitely did, why did Bernard let her go?’
Ma Cusack is the best and most beloved character Northside has ever had. This doesn’t make any sense at all.
‘Well, it’s typical Bernard,’ says Róisín.
‘In what way?’
‘He let her go because he thought she was getting too popular,’ says Róisín. ‘At least, that’s what all the old crew say.’
‘Too popular?’ I say.
‘Yeah.’ Róisín gets her Americano from the counter and takes a sip.
‘I know. It’s insane. And from what everyone says, she wasn’t a diva or anything.
But Bernard was … well, he had this whole “no one can be bigger than Northside” thing.
You know? “The show doesn’t need the actors or the writers, the actors and the writers need the show. ”’
I do know. The ethos is basically the same on many long-running TV dramas like this. But …
‘But to get rid of the show’s biggest character …’ I say.
‘That’s Bernard for you!’ says Róisín. ‘He hated the fact that she’d become such a big star. Like, it was one thing he couldn’t control.’
‘So he fired her,’ I say. ‘Even though everyone loved her and she made the show better.’ I’m reeling.
Róisín shrugs. ‘Pretty much. Seriously, he’s an egomaniac. The sooner he retires the better.’
‘Is he talking about retiring?’ God, I hope he is.
Róisín snorts. ‘I wish. But there’s no way he’d ever go quietly.’
‘Oh,’ I say. ‘Right.’
And as we leave the canteen a possibly crazy suspicion takes root in my mind.
Maybe someone did sabotage our scripts after all.
But maybe it wasn’t one of the writers.
I’m still thinking about Róisín’s revelation and what it might mean when I push open the door of my office.
‘I don’t suppose you brought me a coffee, did you?’ says Art hopefully.
‘No, I did not.’ Maybe I should have been noble and offered to get him an Americano, despite how hurt he inadvertently made me feel yesterday afternoon. Still, I have something else to offer him. ‘I have some news, though. It’s about Honoria Quigley.’
‘Who’s Honoria Quigley?’ says Art.
For the love of God.
‘She played Ma Cusack,’ I say.
‘Who’s Ma Cusack?’
It’s like that argument we had in college all over again. ‘Art, did you even look at Northside’s Wikipedia page before you started working here?’
‘I didn’t look up every character!’ he protests. ‘That name is familiar, though.’
‘Yeah, I should hope so,’ I say. ‘She’s the most legendary character in Irish television history.’
‘Oh no, that’s not how I know it,’ says Art. ‘You mentioned her at the tone meeting, didn’t you?’
Of course Art is too lofty to be properly aware of a bastion of Irish pop culture. But I’m not going to argue with him about that now.
‘I did mention her.’ I explain what I’ve just learned.
‘Wow,’ says Art. ‘Well, I suppose it’s good to know we’re not the only people Bernard hates.’ He turns back to his laptop.
‘Art,’ I say. ‘Do you think …?’
I clear my throat. Now I’m about to say my thought out loud it sounds too insane.
‘Do I think what?’
Oh, bollocks, I might as well say it. ‘Do you think Bernard could have deleted those notes?’
‘Bernard?’ Art turns his chair around to face me. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. Why would he sabotage our scripts?’
‘He basically sabotaged Northside already when he got rid of Ma Cusack!’ I say. ‘He has form when it comes to throwing his toys out of the pram and ditching anything that makes the show great, just to serve his own ego. And we know he doesn’t want us here.’
‘He’s the executive producer of the show, McDermott,’ says Art. ‘Messing with the two biggest episodes of the year is going pretty far.’
‘Getting rid of the most popular character ever was going pretty far,’ I say.
‘Yeah, but it’s not like he ordered her off set just before she started filming,’ says Art. ‘He didn’t renew her contract. They’d have had plenty of time to write her out. If he’s messing with our scripts at such short notice, it could really fuck up the entire show.’
He’s right. My theory isn’t totally implausible but not exactly likely.
‘You’re right,’ I admit. ‘But I still don’t trust him.’
‘Neither do I,’ says Art. ‘I don’t think he’s a saboteur, but he’s still a prick.’
‘So I suppose we just … remain vigilant,’ I say.
Art looks like he might laugh but he says, very seriously, ‘Vigilance will be our watchword.’
Unsurprisingly, the revelation that Bernard is even more unhinged than I thought doesn’t make me feel less antsy.
It’s starting to feel like nothing can do that.
I wish I were into exercise, any form of exercise, because maybe going for a run or to the gym might work off some of this restless energy, but I hate doing both those things so I put my head down and try my best to write my script.
I’m aiming to get some sort of second draft finished by the end of the day so I can spend tomorrow morning giving it one last polish before I send it to Susan.
This episode has to be good. No, it has to be great.
It has to be good enough for the Northside anniversary.
This might be the most important script I’ve ever written.
And I’m determined to stay in the office until I’ve got this draft done.
Art’s clearly feeling the same way – though, being Art, he’s constantly moving between different spots around the room. At lunchtime I stand up and see him lying on the floor, his head and shoulders propped against the wall, his laptop on his chest.
‘Comfortable down there, Mr ó Súilleabháin?’ I say.
‘Perfectly,’ he says, without looking up from his screen.
I hope he’s got a good physio. But I’m not going to scold him about his posture now. What happens to his body is absolutely none of my business.