OK then, I think, taking a nice, soothing breath. This is doable. It won’t be easy, but I may just be able to keep all the balls juggling in the air at once. Having my cake and eating it is still very much on the cards. I can take this amazing, unmissable opportunity and still get to make my date tonight too. It’ll be tight, but I can do it.
So I call the one and only number I managed to wheedle out of Andy a few nights ago, during one of our long, long, lazy night-time chats. The emergency number. The only-in-case-of number. The one that he was incredibly reluctant to give me, saying there really was no need as he’d always call me anyway. But I kept on at him and on at him till I eventually got the digits and I’m now bloody glad that I had the wit to do that much, at least.
I call the number and call it and keep on calling it, time and again. But it just keeps clicking through to an annoying voicemail in an American accent saying, ‘We’re sorry, but the customer you’re trying to reach may have their unit powered off. Please try later.’
Feckfeckfeckfeckfeck.
So instead I email.
Username: lady_reporter
Hi Andy, it’s me.
Look, there’s a bit of a problem this end, but I’m hoping it’s a surmountable one. A major work thing involving the Government Budget has suddenly landed on me and I may be a little late this evening to meet you for drinks. Like about an hour late. Or thereabouts.
Will you let me know if that’s OK? Tried calling but your phone is switched off.
So sorry about this. Will explain absolutely everything to you when we’re chatting, but trust me, as excuses for lateness go, this one’s a doozie.
Holly x
So it’s just coming up to 5 p.m. now and all going to schedule. I think, hope and pray that this might – just might – work.
In the interim, I scoot home and switch on the telly so I can see the Minister for Finance reading out the Budget live. Meanwhile I’m frantically changing into a pair of low-cut jeans and a tight black cashmere sweater; a borrow from Joy which she made me promise to do her laundry for a full week in return for. Throw in the high heels I bought for our last aborted date last week and I’m all set to go. Not too overdressed for work, and yet not too shabby – I hope – for dinner somewhere fancy with Andy afterwards.
5.15 p.m.
I’m really up against the clock now and I’ve still got a scary amount of preparation work to do if I’m to be ready to work on an actual live hard-hitting TV show. So, with no choice in the matter, I splurge out on a cab to get me to Channel Six in Donnybrook where Tonight With … is shot. It’s a fifteen minute journey, so I use the time to read what the news app on my phone is saying about the Budget, trying to brief myself a little bit better on the whole thing. It’s only when that’s done I get a chance to check my emails again.
Bingo. Oh thank you, God! Andy got my message and he’s here, he’s actually here! In Ireland … we’re sharing the same land mass … finally!
From: Guy_in_the_Sky
Well Holly, aren’t you gonna welcome me to the Emerald Isle? Got here not long ago and I’m all checked into my hotel. Loving being here and looking forward to a stroll down Grafton Street later on – that’s your main shopping precinct, right?
No biggie at all about your being an hour late, honey. Your Government Budget sounds like real hot news. Still though, you’re well worth waiting for. Sorry about missing your phone calls; my cell phone died on me, so I’m just juicing it up a little right now.
Have a great day, good luck with your work thing, and I’ll see you in the Shelbourne bar later,
Ax
Major sigh of relief! He got my message and it’s all absolutely fine. Which is wonderful beyond words. Means if the delay stretches out a bit longer, the way these things sometimes do with any live show, I’m covered. I can just call or email, tell him I’m on my way and there’s no problem whatsoever. Is there? Course not.
Anyway, I finally get out to Channel Six and, I swear, my feet don’t touch the ground practically from the very minute I land. The show’s pre-production meeting is held in studio one, the station’s largest studio by far. There isn’t even time to be intimidated by the dozen or so fresh faces that I’m introduced to; instead, names just get shouted at me from all four corners of a conference table as I’m thrown in at the deep end and pretty much kept there.
‘Right then,’ says Tony, senior exec producer, who turns out to be a wiry, prematurely greying forty-something, with the ghostly pallor of a cave dweller who hasn’t seen the light of day for years.
‘So you’ve all met Molly?’ he adds brusquely as I mutter, ‘Ermm … it’s Holly actually,’ and wave hi to the table at large, but apart from a few muttered ‘hi’s, no one even looks up at me. There isn’t time to get names right though, everyone is just too busy staring at a bank of TV screens then frantically scribbling down notes, as yet more news unfolds live from the Government buildings.
‘OK people, it’s Budget Day,’ Tony goes on, ‘so it’s a case of all hands on deck. Let’s start with the key, salient points and work from there. So come on then, what have we got so far?’
It’s exhausting. It’s full on. It’s utterly exhilarating and the exact polar opposite of the long, meandering production meetings we have over at News FM; this is big hard core news and every pitch we make really matters. We’re all handed out copies of the Budget and there’s a constant live feed of the Minister for Finance’s speech on a TV monitor beside us and the reaction to it, so by the time we’ve worked our way through all of that, everyone is pretty well-briefed. We’ve covered cuts to the health service, income tax cuts for those on the lower tax band, and – surprise surprise – the traditional upping of duty on cigarettes and booze.
This – I remind myself, taking care to take deep, soothing, calming breaths every now and then – is the whole reason why I wanted to work as a researcher in the first place. Not to cover stories about kittens stuck up trees or else the hike in bin charges, but to work on actual hard news like this. News that matters to people. And in this country today, believe me, nothing is more important than the Budget.
6.27 p.m.
By now, research themes have all been clearly allocated. According to Tony, my own particular topic will be, ‘how this budget affects single women aged 25 – 40’.
I’m trying not to take it personally that no sooner do I walk into a roomful of total strangers it’s decreed that I’m the sole authority on single women. Instead, I get straight onto my laptop, frantically doing my job. Researching, writing, preparing.
7.25 p.m.
Sweet Mother of Divine. Half of me wants to yell at Tony that this is just way TOO BIG a topic for one little person to possibly cover in the space of the hour and a half left before we go on air. Some chance! But the other half of me reminds myself; it’s this, or else go crawling back to part-time work at News FM and pick up where I left off, researching complaints about the bus service and medical cards for the over 80s.
So I choose and get back to madly typing out how cuts in the single person’s grant will affect us all.
8.25 p.m.
Give me strength, I think, glancing down at my watch. In exactly thirty-five minutes, I’m supposed to be swanning through the doors of the Shelbourne Hotel, looking effortlessly chic and all set to meet the man of my fantasies, who’ll be there waiting for me.
Now you’re not allowed mobiles in here, there’s a big snotty sign at the studio door explicitly banning them, but when no one’s looking, I chance a sneaky, surreptitious look at mine.
And am so glad that I did.
From: Guy_in_the_Sky
All here, present and correct, Holly. I’ve had a great afternoon on Grafton Street, I’ve found out exactly where the Shelbourne Hotel is and I’m so looking forward to finally meeting you in—I make it just about thirty minutes’ time.
Till then, honey,
Ax
I get a huge buzz of excitement that this is actually fi
nally happening, then I glance around, but thank God, no one’s looking. So I frantically type out a reply.
Username: lady_reporter
Yes! 9 p.m. it is. Or at least, not long afterwards. And just in case I’m a teeny bit delayed, you’ll understand. Won’t you? Like I say, work has gone completely mental on me today. Look forward to telling you all later on over a very large gin and tonic.
Hx
Instantly heartened, I get straight back to work.
8.57 p.m.
Shit, shit, shit. The sheer amount of research I have to get through is so all-consuming that’s it’s almost like time has stood still. I’m typing up my notes fast and furious and actually forget to check just how late I am for Andy.
When I do, it’s almost nine, but I can’t possibly slip off now, when I still have so much more to do. OK, I think frantically, so I’ll be later than I thought, but Andy’s come this far, hasn’t he? After all, he’s just crossed the Atlantic, won’t he at least hold on thirty minutes longer for me? Especially since I alerted him that this could very well happen? Course he will.
Deep breaths, I tell myself. Relax. All will be well.
8.59 p.m.
Noel himself swans in, looking, well, there’s no other word for it … a bit orangey after the make-up department got at him. He’s got two tissues stuffed down his neck so as not to get foundation on his shirt collar and is all trussed up in a three-piece suit, ready to hit the ground running. He catches my eye and says, ‘Don’t let me down now, Holly.’
I smile weakly back at him. No pressure.
9 p.m. on the dot
Show time. The studio red light goes on and there’s a panicked hush as the Tonight With … theme blasts out, a very authoritative-sounding intro, suitably undertoned with thumping kettledrums. I’m suddenly aware that I’m clenching my knuckles, as a communal adrenaline surge seems to sweep over the whole studio. And even though it’s the worst timing ever for me, I’m absolutely revelling in it.
‘Hello, good evening and welcome,’ says Noel live to camera, sifting importantly through a mound of papers on the desk in front of him. ‘In tonight’s show, we’ll be taking an in-depth look at today’s Budget and what it means to you.’ Then tapping on his earpiece, as someone obviously hisses something in his ear, he adds, ‘But first, we’ll take you live to Leinster House, where our special finance correspondent is waiting to speak to the Minister for Finance … and now we’re over to you, Jean.’
A low hum around the studio as we all begin to breathe a little easier. This interview link is due to take up at least ten minutes of airtime, so Tony is straight over to me.
‘So Molly …’
‘Holly … it’s Holly.’
‘Yeah, whatever. Anyway, after the Minister is finished, we’ll go straight to the segment about how the Budget affects people on a personal level, socio-economic by socio-economic group. So you’re on.’
Gulp.
9.25 p.m.
I’m completely on fire here, it’s so full on that I’ve barely had time to check my watch. I forget about Andy, I blank out that I’m meant to be sitting pretty in the Shelbourne right at this moment. All I can focus on is the Minister for Finance who’s run over time warbling on about tax cuts, welfare cuts and cuts in spending. Because right after this, my piece is up.
And everything else will just have to wait.
9.32 p.m.
And now we’ve gone to an ad break. So on the pretext of nipping out to the loo, I slip out the studio door, head to the ladies’ and once I’m safely in the privacy of the cubicle, I check my emails yet again.
Nothing from Andy, but then he knows I’m delayed and will get there when I get there. I try calling him, but his phone is still bloody well switched off, so with my chest pounding, I frantically ping off another email, probably misspelling every second word and not even caring.
Username: lady_reporter
I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. Delayed, can’t escape from work. Long, long story. Please just stay where you are.
I’m doing my level best to get to you soonest,
Hxxxx
No immediate response, but then Andy’s sitting in a crowded bar, so is it likely he’ll hear an email pinging through? Don’t panic, I tell myself. He knows what’s happened. The main thing is that I will get there. Definitely. Right now, it’s far more important for me to be here.
This is the single biggest day of my professional life, I’m loving every second of it, and come hell or high water, this girl is going absolutely nowhere.
10.14 p.m.
OK, we’ve had an in-depth look at spending cuts, welfare cuts and tax hikes, and so far we haven’t even come anywhere close to how this Budget affects women aged 25 – 40. I’m hovering nervously over a screen bank of computers, keeping up to date on live reaction as it comes into us.
All the while trying to stop myself from audibly grinding my teeth.
10.35 p.m.
I wouldn’t mind, but ordinarily the show is well off air by now, only because of the Budget they’re running a special extended version.
‘Any idea when we’ll get to my section?’ I hiss at Jenny, another freelancer about my own age.
‘How long is a piece of string?’ she answers, without even lifting her red-rimmed, exhausted eyes from the computer.
11.05 p.m.
By now my nerves are so tense and frayed, I’m fit for nothing. And we still haven’t even come close to my section. There’s yet another ad break, so Jenny and I nip out to the loo together and, yet again, I check my phone.
Yes! One new message from Andy.
From: Guy_in_the_Sky
Hey there,
Don’t you worry one bit. I’ve been sitting here nursing a pint of your world-famous Guinness and got chatting with some of our Delta crew who were at a loose end this evening and who I bumped into here. Seems the Shelbourne is quite the Dublin hotspot. And don’t worry, it’s absolutely cool you’re being held up. Hey, these things happen, right?
Hopefully see you shortly,
Ax
I ping back two words, ‘Very shortly’, before Jenny hammers on the door of my cubicle and says, ‘Hurry up! We’re back on air in thirty seconds and they’re screaming for us!’
11.25 p.m.
Finally, finally, finally, we get to my segment, the one I’ve spent well over six hours now painstakingly researching and writing up. Noel goes live to air from behind his desk, as I feed into the computer in front of him all the viewer comments coming into us via Twitter, not to mention all the questions and insights I’ve sent directly to his screen, so he can just read them off and then ask effortlessly.
Half eleven, I think. If I can get out of here in the next five minutes, is there half a chance I’d make it? Would Andy and the crew he’s fallen in with even still be there?
11.50 p.m.
OK, our segment is finally done and dusted and I think it went well. I’m exhausted and exhilarated all at the same time, on a complete high that I appear to have managed it without messing up. Noel gives me a surreptitious wink and even Tony says, ‘Not a bad night’s work, Molly,’ as he whisks by me. Harsh, overhead studio lights are suddenly snapped back on and a bleary-looking crew all pack up and make to leave.
All except for me that is. I swear, the very second Noel says, ‘And that’s all we have time for tonight. Live from studio, we wish you goodnight,’ I thank everyone with a huge beam on my face, then am outta there so fast, there’s almost a cloud of dust trailing in my wake.
12.10 a.m.
Lashing rain. And after frantically flagging down three taxis that just splash right on past me, I finally manage to grab an empty one and hop in. My hair and make-up are now effectively ruined, but I’m beyond caring.
‘Shelbourne Hotel,’ I pant breathlessly at the driver, then filch my phone from out of the depths of my handbag to check my messages.
One new one from Andy. Fingers trembling, heart palpitating, I click on
it, thinking, pleasepleaseplease still be there, please have waited …
From: Guy_in_the_Sky
Me again Holly,
Guess your work thing kinda took over your evening, huh? Look, don’t worry a bit about it. I totally get it and I suppose this is the downside to having a high-powered job like yours.
Thing is, it’s closing in on midnight now and the crew here are all reminding me we got a 5 a.m. call-out at the airport tomorrow, as we’re all scheduled to fly the 777 back to Atlanta. Forgive me, Holly, but it’s just that they all wanna get back out to the airport hotel and part of me feels that if you’re gonna be delayed much longer, then maybe I really oughta join them. Also, just to let you know they already called last orders in here a while ago and the bar is completely closed up now.
Let me know where you’re at. I’m still right here for you though and I’ll keep right on waiting till I get thrown out.
Axxx
‘I’ll give you a ten euro tip if you can drive any faster!’ I half shriek at the taxi driver, who nods at me in the rear-view mirror, while making absolutely no attempt to speed up in the slightest. In fact if anything, the wanker is deliberately taking the scenic route.
12.35 a.m.
In a state of panic, finally, finally, finally I arrive at the Shelbourne. Which by now is locked, barred and bolted from the outside. I wallop frantically on the door till a night porter comes over and mouths at me a curt, ‘Sorry, we’re closed,’ through reinforced glass.
Walking back onto the street again, rain pelting down all over my borrowed outfit, I peek through the huge vaulted windows right inside to the bar area. And it’s so empty, it might as well have tumbleweed rolling right through it.
It’s only when I’m back in yet another taxi dejectedly making my way home that I notice yet another email, which somehow I must have missed.
From: Guy_in_the_Sky
PS I meant to say that even though tonight didn’t work out for us, don’t worry, we’ll do it again real soon. Sure felt good to be in the same city as you though. See? You and I are getting closer to finally meeting all the time.
Meet Me In Manhattan Page 8
