‘Fine,’ I say. ‘Fine! I should probably drink some water and go to bed. But I still think you should tell your potential suitors you dress up like a sexy witch.’
‘Absolutely not,’ says Roo.
The following evening I go for dinner at my parents’ house. They were delighted when they heard about my new job, mostly because I would be moving home to Dublin, but also because I’d have a staff job at IBC. Until my parents retired they had permanent public sector jobs with incredible pension plans, and the fact that my sister and I both chose to work in relatively unstable industries has always been a source of slight anxiety for them. Even now that Laura has left the world of advertising and released two platinum-selling albums, I know that a part of them would still like her to get a civil service job.
Well, working for the national broadcaster is the next best thing to the civil service. Of course, I had hoped I’d be able to turn up for dinner this evening full of tales of how wonderful my new job is. But I can keep it vague.
Laura’s already there when I arrive, having cycled up from her Georgian townhouse in Fairview.
‘You look quite sweaty after that cycle,’ I say, when I find her laying out plates in the kitchen. ‘Where’s your handsome angel of a husband?’
This is how our aunt Mary referred to Tadhg the first time she saw Laura after the wedding and I’ve used it to torment Laura ever since.
Laura gives me the finger and says, ‘He’s over in London recording that duet. He’s back tomorrow. I told you this last week.’
‘Oh yeah, you did,’ I say. ‘Sorry, I’ve had a mad few days.’
Laura looks at me. ‘Is everything okay?’
I sigh. ‘Not really.’ But then my mother comes in with a bottle of wine and we both shut up. Laura knows even better than I do how our parents can be when they start worrying about us.
Over dinner Mam and Dad ask loads of questions about what working onNorthsideis like.
‘Have you met Mozzer McCaul?’ says Dad. ‘I always loved Mozzer.’
‘I haven’t met most of the actors yet.’ I tell them how fun it is to write for Mozzer, which is true. I don’t tell them about all the other drama – of course, I know they won’t go to the press, and Lord knows they’ve learned to be discreet since Laura and Tadhg got together, but they mightn’t understand how serious this all is and I can’t risk a word about the runaway actors leaking out now. That would really give Bernard a reason to hate me.
My parents clearly don’t suspect anything is wrong, because at the end of the night, after Laura and I have loaded the dishwasher and are putting on our jackets, my mam says, ‘I’m delighted your new job is going so well.’ Then she hugs me. ‘It’s so good to have you home, Annie.’
There’s a lump in my throat as I hug her back and say, ‘It’s good to be home.’
And in that moment, despite all the stupid work stuff, I mean it.
But as Laura and I leave the house and set off along the road, Laura pushing her bike, she says, ‘So go on. Tell me what’s wrong.’
My sister and I weren’t always close growing up. By the timeshe was a teenager, the almost-five-year age gap was too big. She had no idea what a miserable time I had in school; our paths only crossed there for one year, and I think she assumed my constant bad mood was just me being a typical thirteen-year-old. I found her patronising and she found me irritating. Then she went to college and I basically only saw her at weekends. By the time I was in college myself and doing much better, she’d moved out. But we’ve got much closer over the years. The age gap is irrelevant now.
So as we walk through the housing estate where we grew up, I tell her pretty much everything.
‘And before you say it,’ I say, ‘I can’t quit. I mean, I know Ican, but I don’t want to. This job … this job means something to me. I don’t want to let Bernard drive me out. And’ – it’s only as I’m saying this that I realise how true it is – ‘I want to stay in Dublin.’
‘Really?’ says Laura. ‘I mean, I’m very happy you’re home, but youcouldgo back to London if you don’t want to live in Newcastle.’
‘I know, but …’ I step on some dry leaves with a satisfying crunch. ‘London was great but it never felt likehome. I mean, I only moved there in the first place because I did that work placement.’
‘But you had good friends there,’ says Laura. ‘Didn’t you?’
‘Yeah, of course I did.’ A couple of pals had moved over a year before me, so I arrived to find a readymade circle of friends. I made a proper life there. But three years ago my then-boyfriend was offered a job in Newcastle around the time my lease ended and my flatmate moved in with her girlfriend, and I couldn’t face London flat-hunting again. So I moved with him to Northumberland.
And while I settled in to Newcastle surprisingly well, and madefriends there throughOur Toon, back in London all my friends kept living their lives. Some of them had kids, some of them moved out of the city to cool seaside towns, some did both. The London group chats have been very quiet lately. It hits me that they’re probably all on their equivalent of the Frog Boyfriend Gang now.
‘I can’t afford to live in London,’ I say. Which is true. That was why I didn’t move back there after my relationship with my ex fizzled out amicably. ‘And even if Icouldafford it, I couldn’t pick things up where I left off. Besides,’ I add, ‘Iwantto stay here. If I’m going to live in a city where everyone has moved on without me, it might as well be home.’
It’s becoming more and more clear to me that this is true. I’m getting older. I want to be near my family. And I realise how little trace my three years in Newcastle have left on my life. I’ve barely been in touch with anyone from there since I got back to Dublin. I don’t want to keep moving around. I want to settle down, in whatever form that takes. And I want to do that close to my roots.
‘Well, maybe once this script emergency is over and things calm down, Bernard won’t be so bad,’ says Laura.
‘It’s possible,’ I admit.