‘He swung himself right off the pull-up bars,’ says Simon. ‘And of course he crashed into the bench press and totally messed up his knee.’
‘He still has trouble with it now,’ says Nora. ‘Fucking eejit.’
‘But on the plus side,’ says Simon with a wry smile, ‘at least he didn’t empty his wife’s bank account and run off to Costa Rica.’
‘How was it finding somewhere to live?’ says Nora, when we’ve finished eating and started clearing our trays away. ‘You’re not renting someone’s shed, are you? Or a studio covered in mould?’
‘I was pretty lucky,’ I say. I tell her about Roo’s spare room and its many board-game shelving units.
‘What about you?’ Nora asks Art.
‘I’m staying with my mum in Drumcondra for the moment,’ he says, ‘which is handy for getting here.’
I haven’t seen him on the bus, but then he probably drives. Buses are probably beneath him after his Hollywood years. I do feel a surprising pang of sympathy for him, though. Moving back in with your mother in your thirties isn’t exactly ideal. Although maybe he’s less easily irritated by his parents than I am.
We all head back towards the television building. As we approach the door, I say, ‘I’ll get it!’ and reach into my bag for my pass.
It’s not there. Or in my pockets.
‘Sorry,’ I say. ‘Someone else will have to let us in.’
Art gives me a meaningful look as he places his pass against the sensor and opens the door.
‘Just this once, McDermott,’ he says, after Nora and Simon have walked through ahead of us. ‘I’ll be nice to you just this once.’
Chapter Six
INT: ANNIE AND ROO’S HOUSE / INT:NORTHSIDEOFFICES
When I arrive home after work, Roo is still all dressed up in a black 1950s day dress and pearls.
‘I thought you’d be all comfy in your yoga pants by now,’ I say. Roo basically has two fashion modes – retro witchy glamour or comfortable loungewear – and nothing in between. ‘Did the breakfast run very, very late?’
‘I was doing some online readings this afternoon,’ says Roo. ‘I can’t do that in a cardigan. They’d be disappointed.’
‘You look amazing,’ I tell her honestly. ‘How did the event go?’
‘Well, I got a good breakfast,’ says Roo. ‘And then the afternoon clients were all regulars, so that was grand.’
Roo has quite a few regular clients, living all over the world, who consult her for weekly readings. Her mother, who doesn’t approve of Roo’s career, loves to remind her that if she hadn’t dropped out of her postgrad, she could be working as a professional psychologist now.
‘You’re wasting that Trinity psychology degree!’ she wails, to which Roo always replies that she’s making great use of it as a tarot reader and charging her clients almost as much as she would if she’d finished her postgrad.
‘So you didn’t have to give anyone The Talk?’ I say.
‘Not today, thank God,’ says Roo. ‘You know, if you’d told me a few years ago that I’d have to keep telling potential clients I actually believe in vaccines and modern medicine, I’d never have believed you. Anyway, how about you? How was the scary new office?’
‘I had lunch with two of the other writers,’ I say. ‘They were really nice.’
‘So they don’t all hate you,’ says Roo. ‘And how was his highness?’
I think about this for a moment. ‘We didn’t kill each other.’
Actually, the rest of the day went pretty peacefully as far as Art was concerned. Yes, when my timer went off around half past three he growled, ‘McDermott, if that fucking chicken chirps one more time I’ll wring its neck.’ But I couldn’t blame him for that.
‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘I’m not used to working in a room with other people.’
‘That’s blatantly obvious,’ muttered Art.