‘Oh, it’s just a poker night in my house,’ says Simon.
‘We do it every month or so,’ says Nora. ‘A bunch of the regular writers. Well, most of us are staff writers now.’
There’s a squirmy feeling in my stomach, a feeling that reminds me of Monday mornings in school, hearing everyone talking about birthday parties and nights out that Roo and I would never be invited to.
It’s not like I’m dying to play poker. I’m terrible at poker. But I’m very conscious that no one mentioned this gathering to meand Art when we were all in the pub on Thursday night. It’s a reminder that theNorthsideveterans are a gang and we’re not in it yet, if we ever will be. And it’s a reminder that we definitely can’t confide in anyone about Bernard. We’re still the outsiders.
But still, when Art and I find a table, Simon and Nora immediately join us.
‘God, I’m starving,’ says Nora.
‘We need calories to fuel all this intensive scriptwriting,’ says Simon. He yawns. ‘Sorry, I didn’t sleep well last night. I had a nightmare that we had to do a live episode for the anniversary.’
‘Speaking of the anniversary, did you all see that “fifty years ofNorthside” spread in the paper at the weekend?’ says Nora. ‘I heard Bernard was pissed off they went with a big picture of Ma Cusack.’
‘Well,’ says Art, ‘she was an incredible character.’
I give him a look. ‘Oh, you really think so?’
‘Yes,’ he says. ‘I do. I watched some of her scenes on YouTube over the weekend.’
‘Seriously?’ I say. ‘You watched a Ma Cusack supercut?’
‘Don’t look so surprised,’ says Art. ‘I thought I should see what all the fuss was about. It was a story about her being held hostage in the pub. Do you remember that?’
Of course he’d never heard of the famous home-invaders story before.
‘Strangely enough I do,’ I say. ‘And?’
‘And like I said, she was incredible,’ he says. ‘Camp but grounded and, well, the word iconic is overused these days if you ask me, but she deserved it. And the script …’ He trails off, as if he can’t quite believe he’s saying such nice things aboutNorthside. ‘Well, it was brilliant.’
‘You know that Netflix black comedy about the grieving widower who travels through time?’ says Nora. ‘The guy who created it wrote the big showdown episode of the home-invaders storyline.’
‘No better scriptwriting bootcamp than a soap,’ says Simon with a grin.
‘You can say that again,’ says Art.
If Simon and Nora weren’t here, I might remind him of what he said in college when I sang the praises of that very storyline. But somehow it doesn’t feel right showing him up in front of them.
And besides, I’m weirdly moved that he not only watched some vintageNorthside, but also admitted he liked it.
‘Maybe,’ says Roo, ‘Bernard wants this doctor to declare you and Art unfit for work. Is that possible?’
I got home from work an hour ago and, over steaming cups of her new citrus tisane, Roo and I have been discussing Bernard’s evil scheme.
‘I don’t think so,’ I say. ‘I mean, surely they can’t, like, force us to take a medical exam. Not for an office job.’ I sigh. ‘I have no idea what he’s got planned.’
We sip our tisanes in silence for a moment and then Roo says, ‘You know, I think I deserve a lot of credit for being so restrained about the whole “having sex at work” aspect of this story.’
‘Hang on,’ I say, ‘you said you thought this whole … frenemies-with-benefits arrangement was a good thing!’
‘True.’ Roo raises her eyebrows. ‘But I didn’t know you were going to be reaping the benefitsin the office…’
‘The office is where I see him!’ I cry. ‘And it wasn’t like we did it on a desk in the middle of the open plan!’
‘Sorry, sorry,’ says Roo. ‘I was just surprised, that’s all. No judgement, only awe!’
I put down my teacup. ‘It’s all right,’ I say. ‘I mean, I know it was a bit much. And very out of character. Well, for me. I don’t know about him. For all I know he was shagging colleagues on his desk every day in America.’ I feel a twinge of discomfort at the thought.