‘I know you wouldn’t,’ I say. ‘It’s grand.’
‘I’m sorry too,’ says Lainey. Then she adds, ‘Though hehasaged like a fine wine.’
I laugh. ‘If you say so.’
The doors of the lift open and we walk out.
‘Oh my God,’ says Róisín. ‘It’s just hit me. Your sister’s Laura McDermott. She’s written songs for, like, everyone!’
‘The first album she did with Tadhg made me cry,’ says Lainey. ‘In a good way,’ she adds hastily. ‘She’s so cool.’
‘Eh, she’s all right.’ I’m actually extremely proud of Laura, but I would never tell anyone that. Including her. ‘And she’s my much, much older sister.’ Then honesty compels me to say, ‘Well, five years older. Almost. Four and three-quarters.’
‘What’s Tadhg Hennessy actually like?’ says Lainey. ‘As a person, I mean. He seems pretty sound in interviews.’
I can’t count how many times I’ve heard this question over the last few years, ever since Laura finally got together with her former college bandmate who happens to be one of the biggest musicians in the world. People are never satisfied with my usual answer, which is that Tadhg Hennessy is a very nice, tall and, yes, good-looking bloke with glasses who happens to be sickeningly in love with my big sister. And besides, I always feel weird talking about Laura and her husband with people I don’t know well.
So now I say, perfectly honestly, ‘Heispretty sound.’ Then I decide to change the subject and say, ‘I’m going to get some tea before I tackle that script. Anyone want some?’
When I arrive in our office with my cup of tea, Art is already at his desk, wearing a faded button-down shirt and corduroy trousers. He turns around as I come in.
‘Morning,’ he says, gesturing towards my yellow coat and orange and turquoise dress. ‘I see it’s “dress like a sunset” day today.’
‘It is,’ I say. ‘So why did you come dressed like an eighties geography teacher?’
‘An homage to my dad,’ says Art. ‘He was an eighties geography teacher.’
‘Was he really?’ I say.
‘Well, he was a maths teacher,’ says Art. ‘But, you know. That’s geography adjacent.’
‘Isit?’
‘Anyway,’ says Art, ‘I hope that chicken thing of yours will be on silent today.’
I take a pair of noise-cancelling wireless headphones out of my bag. Roo gave them to me last night. ‘They’re Justin’s,’ she said. ‘But if he wants them, he can come back from Sligo and collect them.’
‘You won’t hear a peep,’ I tell Art.
Maybe it’s because of the headphones blocking out any noise Art might be making, but the morning doesn’t go too badly. I decide to focus on the storyline about Sarah and Sam, two friends who are forced to become housemates while Sam’s flat is being redecorated, and when my chicken timer pings I take off my headphones and turn to face Art.
‘Did you hear that?’ I say. ‘Of course you didn’t!’
Art sighs. ‘McDermott,’ he says, ‘if you’re going to make an announcement every time your timer thing goes off, that kind of defeats the purpose of the noise-cancelling headphones.’
He has a point there. ‘Fine. I won’t say a word next time.’
He lets out what almost sounds like a snort and turns back to his laptop. I stand up and stretch my arms above my head.
‘Are you going to keep doing yoga all day?’ he says.
‘What difference does it make to you?’ I say indignantly. ‘I’m not making any noise. And you can’t see me unless you turn around!’
‘I’ll know you’re doing it,’ says Art. ‘It’s distracting.’
‘I thought you worked in Hollywood writers’ rooms,’ I say. ‘You should be used to writing in the same space as other people.’
‘Yes, but the other people in those offices were glued to theirdesks for hours. They didn’t start dancing around every ten minutes.’