‘Sure,’ she said with a sigh. ‘Come on through.’
They went into the kitchen.
‘That is some ragged seam,’ said Imelda, rooting around in her kitchen cabinets.
‘I know,’ said Nicki. ‘But you’ve been told I’m sure: I’m up against Alva for this new job. You’ve seen her already, she’s always dressed amazingly. Unfortunately you have to look the part, and it’s hard to compete with that.’
‘So you sewed your own clothes? With that little talent?’ asked Imelda. Her voice was matter of fact, there was no nastiness intended.
Nicki just shrugged. ‘I’m a single parent and this job has a pay rise we could really do with. I’d do the interview in a Basque and suspenders if I thought that it would do the job.’
‘I’m a single parent too,’ said Imelda. ‘Colin’s dad didn’t stick around long after the diagnosis – he wanted a son he could play football with and take hiking. Once that was gone, well…’
‘God, that’s so tough,’ said Nicki sympathetically. ‘I mean I find it hard enough, and my child doesn’t have the kind of needs that Colin has. On the bright side, if he was really that spineless, then it wouldn’t be good to have that kind of influence around your child.’
‘That’s true,’ said Imelda pinning up the hem. ‘That’s the way I’ve always tried to look at it, though I can’t deny that sometimes it can be logistically difficult.’
‘It’s not having anybody else to talk to about it that’s so hard,’ said Nicki sadly. ‘You know, having a cup of coffee with someone in the evening and thrashing out things about your child. You can talk it over with friends and family, and that’s great, but they don’t have the same responsibility for it that a parent does. Being a parent is scary stuff, even more so when you’re a single parent, because the buck stops with you alone.’
‘That’s exactly it,’ says Imelda, narrowing her eyes. ‘You’re not like that other woman.’
‘I know,’ sighed Nicki. ‘She’s on a fast track to big and better things in television. Our producer reckons she’ll end up fronting a national primetime show eventually.’
‘So she wants to use it as a stepping stone?’ asked Imelda.
‘Exactly. Maybe I’ll get the job when she moves on.’
‘You seem fairly sure that you’re not going to get it.’
‘I’m not really television material. I went for the researcher’s job because I love journalism, and I love people. I like finding out how people live their lives – I guess that’s a nice way of saying I’m nosy – and the difficulties that everyday people face. I also like getting the chance to expose some of the injustices in Ireland that don’t get wider coverage. At the moment I’m a junior researcher, but if I got this promotion I’d be doing this kind of stuff every day.’
‘Sure, and maybe then you could advance.’
Nicki shrugged. ‘Maybe. But to be completely honest, if I could have a job that would let me provide for my daughter and do something I love that would be more than enough for me.’
Imelda nodded, and looked at her appraisingly. ‘You know, I’ve changed my mind. I think it’s time that you met Colin.’
‘You look a million dollars,’ said Sorcha as she provided the finishing touches to her make-up.
‘Do you really think so?’ asked Nicki, doubtfully. She was wearing her charity shop find dress – she’d stuck the hem up by robbing some of Sorcha’s tit tape, there was no way she was risking another sewing related mishap – and a pair of matching shoes that the wardrobe department had managed to source for her. Her hair was caught up from her face, but most of it was left loose. Having all of it piled on top of her head would look too formal alongside the bling-bling of her dress. It was a fine line – you wanted to look attractive enough for TV, but not so much that you looked out of place. Nicki couldn’t help but search herself critically, her eye lingering on every flaw.
‘What? Are you doubting my undeniably fantastic ability with a make-up brush?’
‘I’m doubting your impartiality, seeing as you are my best friend,’ said Nicki.
‘A true friend wouldn’t send you out there looking anything else but your best,’ said Sorcha. ‘And I’m a true friend.’
‘Your piece is amazing,’ Sorcha continued. The two edited pieces had gone up a couple of days earlier on the internet, and viewers had started voting in their thousands. Nicki had spent hours in the editing suite trying to get the tone just right, and she’d thought that she had done a reasonable enough job. That was until she’d looked at Alva’s. She was slick, perfectly turned out, and the seductive way that she talked to the camera would give television chef Nigella Lawson a run for her money. And by the string of comments under the video, a lot of men watching the video had thought something pretty similar. A lot of them had been deleted.
‘Hi,’ said Alva behind her. She was wearing a tight blue dress with a small amount of sparkle, nothing that could be considered gaudy or in poor taste. It heightened her ice princess look, and there was nothing friendly in her eyes right now.
‘Are you nervous?’ asked Nicki, in a poor attempt at making conversation.
Alva shot her a look of disbelief. ‘Are you kidding me? I was born to do this job.’
‘Your piece was excellent,’ said Nicki, determined to be professional.
‘Thanks,’ said Alva. ‘Though, I do feel sort of bad. This wasn’t exactly a fair contest, was it? But still, you did your best. I do admire you for giving it your best shot, even if the results weren’t exactly spectacular.’
‘Hey, the new reporter hasn’t been announced yet,’ said Nicki. It was a poor shot, and Alva knew it.
‘I was talking to Kenny,’ she said, shaking a curtain of highlighted blonde hair over one shoulder. ‘I was saying that there should be no reason why the junior researchers shouldn’t do some of the research for the special reports too. I mean, it can be a big job doing all that focused work on deadline.’
Brilliant. Not only would Nicki have to suffer the indignity of losing out on the job to Alva, but she’d also be expected to do work for her too.
‘What did Kenny think of that?’ asked Nicki. She struggled to keep her voice level, but Alva could see through her.
‘He thought it was a fantastic idea,’ said Alva, with a fake smile. ‘So you needn’t worry, we’ll still be working together.’
‘Goody,’ said Nicki flatly.
‘Ok, ladies, it’s time to get on with things,’ said Terri, the stage manager pushing them towards the recording room. ‘They’re just ready for you now.’
Nicki felt butterflies in her stomach as she walked on set. There was an ad break on as they took their places. Danielle shot her a warm smile as Sorcha touched up Greg’s make-up. Honestly, he required more attention than any woman in the building.
Danielle and Greg were on one sofa, facing Alva, Nicki, and Imelda – one of the women that she had interviewed during the week. Alva picked the end of the sofa closest to the cameras and crossed her legs in a way that showed an eyeful of fake tanned thigh to the camera. Freddy the camera looked rooted to the spot.
‘Thirty seconds!’
‘Hi,’ said Nicki, sitting down beside Imelda. ‘How’s Colin?’
‘He’s doing all right; the doctor is sending him for an MRI to see how his condition is progressing.’
‘Twenty seconds!’
‘Your dress is nice,’ said Alva, across Imogen.
‘Thanks,’ said Nicki, pleased despite herself. She smoothed the skirt down over her legs.
‘Of course, it was nice seven seasons ago,’ Alva continued airily. ‘Has it been in your wardrobe all this time?’
‘Ten seconds!’
‘Give it up,’ said Alva, shaking her head at her. ‘You’re way out of your depth here.’
There was no time to come up with a reply.
‘Hi, and welcome back to Focus Hibernia,’ said Danielle, smiling at camera one. ‘Tonight we’re looking at the plight of
people who choose to care for seriously ill relatives at home, and the lack of support that they’re currently receiving from the government.’
Greg took up the narrative. ‘Tonight is an extra special edition, because instead of having one in-depth report, we have two! Now that Regina has moved on to new pastures, we decided to let you, the viewers, decide who the next lead investigative reporter is. Nicki and Alva are both seasoned researchers for the showThey both went out to talk to some of the carers, and put together a report. The one that gets the most votes from you will go on lead up the segment every week. You can vote by calling or texting the numbers on screen, through our website, or on Twitter, by naming the reporter of your choice using the hashtag #focushibernia.’
‘I think we’ll have a look at both reports, and then come back to Alva, Nicki and with carer Imogen, to discuss this. People have been voting all week long on our website, but if you have a preference you have to vote!’
The video started to roll, meaning that they were no longer live on air.
‘I’m going to get some water,’ said Alva, uncrossing her legs and walking off-set.
‘God, she’s horrible,’ said Imelda.
Nicki giggled. ‘Yeah, she is. She’s not usually as rude as she was just then, though.’
‘Then the vote must be close,’ said Imelda.
‘Are you kidding?’ said Nicki. ‘You must have seen the two reports, hers is amazing!’
‘It’s very slick and fancy, but it’s all about her,’ said Imelda. ‘That’s why I wouldn’t let her anywhere near my Colin; I could see from the second she walked in the door that she couldn’t believe that I live such a dreary life. You couldn’t confide in her, open up to her. She’s cold. I mean, she might be great talking to politicians, but she’s just not interested in other people. She lashed out because she’s worried.’
‘But there’s no way that she could know how the voting is going,’ said Nicki.
‘Really?’ said Imelda. ‘There’s no one who could even give her the slightest indication?’
Nicki looked at Alva as she walked towards her. She was beautiful: of course there was some guy in the backroom who could have tipped her off.
But if Imelda was right, that meant that she could actually have a chance at this? That couldn’t be right. From the second she’d heard about it, she’d dismissed her chances.
‘If you want it you’re going to have to fight for it,’ said Imelda. ‘If I’m right, and the vote is very close, she’s going to try to undermine you on air.’
The bud of elation that had begun to flower in her stomach withered and died. Verbal sparring with Alva onscreen sounded like her personal version of hell.
Sorcha was waving and smiling at her from the edge of the set. Nicki tried to relax her clenched shoulder muscles as the crew prepared to go back to the studio.
‘So, there’s obviously a lot of issues brought up in that footage,’ said Danielle. ‘What do you think, Alva, is the most important challenge facing carer’s today?’
‘Undoubtedly, it’s the lack of funds,’ says Alva. She went on to quote some statistics. As she spoke, Nicki began to see the truth in what Imelda was saying. Alva looked the part and she was a natural on camera. But her tone and register were more suited to a political or current affairs programme. Nicki looked at Danielle, and could see the slight frown on her face showing that she wasn’t the only one who thought this.
‘What about you, Nicki?’ asked Greg, moving on to her. This was her big chance, she wasn’t going to let it go.
‘Really, I think the problem is that there’s no appreciation for the kind of sacrifices that carer’s make on behalf of their family. Careers, relationships, families are put on hold indefinitely. Most of the people I talked to said that they were happy to do it – they didn’t want their family to end up in institutions and felt that keeping their loved ones at home was one of the most important things that they could do. They’re not looking for the world here. But it has to be acknowledged that, if every carer was to stop looking after their family members, most of them would end up in state funded institutions – costing the state millions. If a fraction of that was made available to provide more supports and respite for carer’s, it would make their lives so much easier, and recognise the fact that these people are providing a vital service to some of our country’s most vulnerable people, allowing them to stay within their own homes with dignity for as long as possible.
‘Nobody denies that Imelda is doing a fantastic job, making sure that her son has an enriching life. But what about her life? It’s very easy for us to admire people like this in the abstract, but it allows the state to duck its responsibility to vulnerable families. There’s already a criminally low amount of services available to carers, cutting them will put far too much strain on families. It won’t save money in the long run, because it will push those families that are just on the cusp of coping far over the edge, meaning more people are reliant on state services around the clock. It’s a ridiculous measure, and it makes no sense from either a financial or a holistic point of view.’
‘That’s what I’m saying,’ Alva cut in. ‘My report highlighted those very facts.’
‘Yes, but talking with Colin really helped me put those aspects into focus I suppose,’ said Nicki. ‘I don’t think you talked to him, did you?’
Alva’s television smile never faltered, but her eyes were ice. ‘Yes, I don’t think he was well when I was visiting.’
‘It wasn’t so much that,’ said Imelda. ‘It’s just I’m pretty fussy over who I let interact with him. You remember me mentioning that, surely?’
There was an awkward silence.
‘Ok,’ said Danielle. ‘It’s time to take a final ad break, if you have a preference you have to vote soon because lines will be closing after the break.’
The adverts started to roll.
‘What was that?’ asked Alva angrily.
Nicki just shrugged. ‘If you have this job so sewn up, then it shouldn’t really bother you, should it?’
‘Thank you,’ she said to Imelda.
‘No problem,’ she said. ‘And thank you, you hit the nail on the head; it’s good to get that kind of exposure for what carers do.’
She walked off set. Free of the extra presence, Alva turned to Nicki. ‘This isn’t over, bitch.’
‘It kind of almost is,’ said Nicki. ‘Bitch.’
‘You don’t seriously think you have a hope do you?’
Nicki shrugged. ‘Guess we’ll see, won’t we?’
Kenny ran across the set. ‘Girls, I cannot have a catfight on the set! Plaster on a smile, and pretend you’re the best of friends, understand?’
They nodded, sullenly.
‘However,’ said Kenny. ‘If you positively need to get physical, try to wait until the after show party, ok? Preferably in front of a columnist from one of the leading newspapers or blogs. Good for publicity.’
‘Twenty seconds!’
Kenny scuttled off set, Sorcha piled yet more face powder onto Greg’s oily visage and followed suit.
‘Well, the votes are in, and we can reveal that the new presenter is!’ Dramatic music played, the set darkened and a spotlight roamed around the set occasionally landing on Alva and Nicki. It was probably meant to heighten anticipation in an X Factor/ Dancing with The Stars kind of way but it seemed more like a gestapo searchlight.
‘Nicki!’
Yes! She couldn’t believe it. Judging by the fake smile and angry eyes of Alva, either could she. She must have hit more of a chord than she’d thought.
‘Is there anything you’d like to say?’ asked Greg.
She was so dumbfounded that she could hardly find the words to say anything. ‘I’d just like to thank Brenda who runs a charity shop on Dunvale’s main street in aid of cystic fibrosis, my dress is from there.’
As soon as they were off air Sorcha ran over and threw her arms around her friend. ‘I knew you’d get it.’
&nbs
p; ‘Oh, Alva? I’ll let you know what I need researched tomorrow,’ said Nicki sweetly. ‘It’s nice that I still get to work with you.’
Nicki savoured the sour look that Alva shot her, and went off to enjoy the after show party. She might as well enjoy herself while she could – there’d be work to do tomorrow after all.
THE END
Read On For the First Chapter of Christine’s Bestselling Novel
Storms in Teacups
CHAPTER ONE
As the second hand of the clock moved ever closer to a brand new year, Rose knew Daniel was going to ask her to marry him. The moment Daniel turned to her, his eyes soft and beseeching, and told her that he had something to ask her, she knew. She was going start the New Year as an engaged woman, a grown up, like her sister Charlotte. On second thoughts, maybe not like her sister Charlotte, because if being married to a man like her brother-in-law was the benchmark for fully fledged adulthood then quite frankly, Rose could do without it.
Rose didn’t like New Year’s Eve. The history teacher in her new that the date was arbitrary, when the New Year started depended entirely on which calendar you used. She knew that the date held great symbolism for some people, but she also knew that when many people woke up on January 1st the only thing different about them was a colossal hangover and a swollen wrist from some maniac pumping their hand up and down too vigorously to the tune of Auld Lang Syne. She’d only come to this party because Daniel had insisted that it would be fun.
But maybe this year would be different. After all, getting engaged was a big deal, a life changing event. Tomorrow she would be different from the person she was right now.
She wondered if he had already picked out the ring. In one way she hoped that he hadn’t, choosing a ring meant he was one hundred per cent sure that she was going to say yes. On the other hand, when she’d dreamed about this moment as a little girl, she’d imagined the man in question getting down on one knee, opening one of those unmistakeable ring boxes and gazing up at her with an expression of complete adoration on his face.
Darn It! Page 3
