And I’ll probably feel a whole lot better when he’s gone. So I know I should be counting them too.
Chapter Twenty-Six
INT:NORTHSIDEOFFICES / EXT: CHARLEMONT STREET
I don’t sleep well that night. I keep thinking of Art’s face after I told him what I used to call him. It wasn’t just what I said, it was that I said it like I hated him. And he didn’t look cocky or confident when he heard it. He looked hurt. Really hurt.
Ihurt him.
I wake up feeling almost more tired than I did when I went to bed. I heard Roo come in at around two, and although a part of me longs to wake her up now and talk through the mess I’ve made of everything, I can’t do that to her today.
And besides, this is something I’ve got to sort out on my own.
By the time I arrive at the IBC campus, I know what I’ve got to do. I’ve got to apologise to Art. I’ve got to give him my blessing to go to America, not that he needs it. Or will want it. I just have to make sure I stay calm when I do it. If I’m going to say goodbye to him forever, I want to keep my dignity. I want to keep my feelings in check. Hedgehog mode without the prickles.
As usual, he’s in the office before me, sitting on the couch with his laptop. And like me, he doesn’t look like he’s slept particularly well. He’s wearing the navy shirt he was wearing on our first day here and there are shadows under his eyes. Neither of us says anything.
I clear my throat. ‘Hey.’
He looks up at me. ‘Hey.’
‘Look,’ I say. ‘About last night, I need to—’
‘Can we talk about that later?’ says Art. ‘I want to get this script sent off.’
‘Oh,’ I say. ‘Sure. Yeah. Of course. Um, how’s it looking to you?’
‘Good,’ he says. ‘There’s just one line I think needs tweaking.’
I gingerly sit on the couch, keeping as much distance between us as possible, and look at the screen.
‘That bit where she mentions Ritchie,’ says Art, pointing towards a line. ‘Should it be “favourite grandson” instead of “favourite grandchild”?’
‘Oh yeah,’ I say. ‘That’s better. Um, I think I should read the whole thing myself one last time before we send it.’
Art snaps his laptop shut and stands up. ‘Fine. Can you send it to Des and Honoria when you’re done? I’m going to get a coffee.’
‘Sure,’ I say. ‘But … do you not want to stay here? In case I spot something?’
‘There’s no need,’ says Art. ‘I trust your judgement.’
And before I can say anything to that, he’s picked up his bag and walked out, shutting the door behind him.
I stare after him for a moment and then take out my own laptop and open the shared script document. I can’t think about me and Art right now. I can apologise when he comes back. I need to get this script sent to Des and Honoria. I read through it and to my relief it really is as good as I’d hoped it was yesterday. It’s one of the best things I’ve ever worked on. Art and I made something really good together.
Well, we won’t be doing that again.
But that’s not the most important thing right now. Theimportant thing is that we’ve done our best to write something that will, if it airs, makeNorthsidea talking point again, for all the right reasons. And if Triona refuses to air the Ma Cusack scenes, if we lose our jobs, well, Art’s leaving anyway. And I’ll be able to walk away knowing that at least I tried to stop Bernard sabotaging my belovedNorthside. Yes, it would be the end of my dream job. But that job is never going to be a dream as long as Bernard is in total control.
I’m hitting save on the script when I scroll back to the title page to check for any typos and that’s when I notice something.
I can’t remember the last time I looked at the title page of the secret script. Did I ever look at it? Maybe I didn’t.
Because I’m pretty sure I’d have noticed that it’s not credited to Annie McDermott and Arthur T. Ó Súilleabháin, the name Art’s been writing under here atNorthside.
It’s credited to Annie McDermott and Art Sullivan.
He’s written under his own name at last.