‘Did he go to Belvedere too?’ I ask innocently.
Art doesn’t say anything. He just raises an eyebrow, picks up his laptop and strolls out of the room.
I had hoped that the afternoon would be less hideous than the morning. But if anything, it’s even worse. Towards the end of the day, everyone clearly feels a little on edge. And this, of course, is when we get to Art’s and my episodes. The final two episodes in the block. The ones that will air on the fiftieth anniversary itself.
‘No, no, no!’ shouts Bernard, after Art makes what even I mustadmit is a perfectly sensible suggestion for one of the villainous Louisa’s big scenes. ‘Christ almighty, what were you doing over in Hollywood, cleaning toilets? Because you’re clearly an expert when it comes to steaming piles of totalshit.’
I can hear a few gleeful gasps around the table. Some of the team are loving this. But I’m furious. I may not like Art, but no one deserves to be talked to like that. I clench my fists under the desk and scowl at Bernard.
Art looks down at the table. ‘You’re absolutely right,’ he says humbly, so humbly you couldn’t possibly accuse of him of defying Bernard. ‘I’m used to dealing with pieces of shit.’
It feels like the whole room holds its breath for a second. Then Bernard snaps, ‘So I see,’ and moves to the next scene.
I glance at Art, who looks utterly unfazed. Against my will, I’m impressed.
My episode is next. At this stage we’re all exhausted and my nerves are, unsurprisingly, shot. This is the climax of the block, and Ritchie’s kidnapping is the climax of the episode. I’m conscious of the other writers looking at me. Waiting to see what the newcomer will do.
But the discussion starts off surprisingly well. I suggest adding another character to one scene and Bernard grunts in what I presume is approval. A writer called Nora suggests a way to make Louisa’s arrival at the hospital more impactful. And to my relief, she makes the suggestion in a way that doesn’t feel like a dig at me. Bernard slams down some of our ideas, but I’ve seen him behave worse over the course of the day.
Then we get to the scene in which Ritchie breaks down and tells his father how much he loves him. Despite the fact that hepresumably approved every scene in this storyline last week, Bernard is now ranting that it’s not dramatic enough.
‘We need to get more emotion out of this!’ he cries. ‘This is a huge deal! Ritchie is terrified his dad is going to die!’
And then a thought strikes me. Quite a good thought, if I say so myself.
‘What if,’ I say, ‘Ritchie imagines what Paddy’s mother would say if she were there? What if we let him channel Ma Cusack? It would be a great way to, you know, pay homage to one ofNorthside’s most iconic figures on the anniversary and remind people that, even though she was driven into exile in Lanzarote by those gangsters eight years ago, Ma Cusack always has a place on Charlemont Street …’
I can feel the energy at the table change. I catch Susan’s eye and she shakes her head, almost imperceptibly. My voice trails off.
‘It’s only an idea,’ I say.
‘Angela, or whatever your name is.’ Bernard’s voice is pure ice. ‘This anniversary should be about looking to the future. Not dragging up old characters from the past.’
‘I understand,’ I say. ‘But, you know, I don’t think it’s regressive to celebrate the show’s history on its anniversary, is it?’
Susan is definitely shaking her head now. Simon looks concerned. At the far end of the table, someone stifles a snigger.
‘I’m sure you think you know everything, coming from your big English show,’ says Bernard. ‘But you clearly have no understanding of this series. So let me make it clear to you.Northsidedoesn’t need Ma Cusack.Northsideneeds a decent script for the actors we’re actually employing right now. Can you remember that, Ms …’ He looks at my episode’s scene-by-scene document because obviously he genuinely can’t remember myname. ‘Ms McDermott?’ His voice drips with contempt. ‘Or is it too much for you and your over-inflated ego?’
I try not to glower at him but I can’t help it. It’s like my fourteen-year-old self has possessed my body. ‘I can remember.’
I try not to snarl at him too, but I’m not sure I quite succeed.
I don’t even bother suggesting any changes to the rest of my episode’s scenes. Eventually, to my great relief, Bernard says, ‘Right, there’s no point in keeping this going any longer. We’ll have a check-in meeting on Friday morning and you’d all better have your first drafts to your editors by the end of that day.’
He slams his laptop shut and marches out, followed by Gina.
I stay seated as everyone starts to leave. I’m worried that if I pick up my laptop my hands will start shaking. Simon clearly notices something’s wrong because he pats my arm gently as he passes.
But before I have a chance to reply, he’s left the room. Maybe he doesn’t want any of his colleagues to see me talking to him.
Susan stops and says, ‘Can I have a quick word?’
Everyone else is gone now and my stomach twists as she sits down next to me. ‘Sure.’
‘I’m sorry, I know you were promised a more … collaborative writers’ room,’ she says. ‘But that’s all on hold until these anniversary scripts are done.’
‘I get it.’ And I do. But still …