‘Oh, yeah?’ Róisín hands me the mug. ‘I’ll let you do your own milk and sugar.’
‘Thanks,’ I say. ‘Yeah, I was wondering if you could introduce me to that sound guy you mentioned the other day – was it Derek Smyth?’
‘Des,’ says Róisín. ‘And sure, I’d be happy to. He should be finishing up in the lot around lunchtime – I can take you to meet him if you like?’
‘That would be brilliant.’ I smile at her. ‘Thanks, Róisín.’
When I return to our office Art is sitting hunched over on the couch chewing a pen. He’s wearing his French fisherman outfit again.
‘Bonjour,’ I say.
‘Bonjour to you too,’ says Art, running a hand through his messy hair.
‘So,’ I say, ‘I’ve thought of something. Well, my friend Roo did.’
‘Did she read it in her tarot cards?’
‘No, she did not,’ I say. ‘She said we should talk to the crew about Bernard rather than the other writers. Everyone else has been in this weird abusive relationship with Bernard apart from them. They’ve been permanent staffers at IBC since before Bernard’s era, so they haven’t had to please him to keep their jobs. They might be able to help us.’
‘Hmm, not a bad idea,’ says Art. ‘How do we find them? Aren’t they shooting the previous block to ours right now?’
‘Don’t worry, Monsieur Sullivan,’ I say. ‘I’ve already sorted that out.’
True to her word, Róisín knocks on our door shortly before one o’clock and a few minutes later we’re on the edge of the shop set, where filming is still taking place.
‘Sorry,’ she whispers, as the crew adjust the lights. ‘I thought they’d have finished by now.’
But I don’t care. This is the first time I’ve seenNorthsidebeing filmed and I’m utterly entranced. There’s Mozzer McCaul chatting to her bestie, Indira! An iconicNorthsideduo, bantering a few metres away from me.
‘Wow,’ says Art, as the crew finish setting up. ‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look this happy before.’ I look at him, expecting mockery, but he actually seems weirdly pleased for me.
Eventually someone calls ‘Cut!’ and a few minutes later a burlyolder man with a friendly face mostly covered by a majestic white beard walks over to us.
‘So you’re the newcomers!’ says Des Smyth, after Róisín introduces us and heads off to the canteen. ‘I hear the tinpot tyrant’s been giving you a hard time.’
This feels promising.
‘He has,’ I say. ‘Could we have a quiet word with you?’
‘Sounds mysterious,’ says Des. He looks at his watch. ‘I’ve only got a short break today but I can give you five minutes, if that’s okay.’
Des leads us to the Donnelly’s beer garden on the far side of the lot and I try to contain my excitement about sitting down in the very spot where, back in the noughties, Paddy Cusack’s wife famously demanded a divorce on Christmas Day.
‘So,’ says Des, ‘what’s Bernard done now?’
‘Do you think,’ I say, ‘it’s possible he would ever sabotage the show to prove a point? Like, deliberately?’
Des ponders the question for a moment, his expression thoughtful. ‘Yes, it’s possible. Since Triona Clancy brought in this new regime he’s lost his bleeding mind. So it’s more than possible. I’d say it’s pretty likely. I’ve been here for almost forty years and I’ve never met a control freak like that man.’
I feel my shoulders sag with relief. Someone actually believes us!
‘We overheard him talking about sabotaging the anniversary episode,’ says Art. ‘And he wants to blame us.’
After we tell Des what we heard, he lets out a low whistle.
‘Jaysus,’ he says. ‘I knew that prick would never go quietly but I didn’t think he’d try to take everyone down with him. I don’t suppose you recorded this conversation, did you?’
‘No, we did not,’ says Art, meeting my eye for a second.