Right Girl

by Ellie O'Neill

  ‘That sounds like a good idea.’

  ‘Yes, maybe, we have to try something.’ Colin smiled but he looked distant. I was sure he was thinking of the long road ahead. ‘We’ll probably need some more help with the boys.’

  Mam and I piped up full of support, exclaiming that we were dying to get our hands on those two little creatures.

  Colin smiled, attempting to hide his upset. ‘Great, thanks, it means a lot.’

  42

  The order came in for RealTime’s party: six floral displays. It wasn’t a particularly difficult order, similar to something I had already done a few times for weddings, so I was more than capable of doing a really good job here. Granddad and I went over the plan of attack one more time. It didn’t become much clearer, in fact it probably became fuzzier and even more muddled. The huge holes in our planning just seemed to get bigger. For example, how was I actually supposed to get the information off RealTime’s phone? Did I just accidentally bang into him while he was alone and away from his entourage? Maybe high-kick him, if I could manage to kick any higher than my knee, something I failed at miserably in my kickboxing classes, and wrestle him to the ground, in silence obviously, so as not to alert his security? Then did I pry his phone away like a ninja, insert the flash drive while he looked on calmly and without interrupting me, steal all his data, put the drive into my pocket, navigate my way through the massive house and casually get into my van with a ‘toodle-oo’? Seemed like pretty straight forward sleuthing to me. At no point would I be arrested, identified, or rammed into the back of a police van. Oh, this was the holiest of holey plans.

  But it was happening.

  I loaded up my van with six of the most beautiful floral displays I had ever made. I’d stuffed the flash drive into the pocket of my jeans, but it might stay there if I couldn’t find an opportunity to do anything with it.

  RealTime’s Dublin residence was a twenty-minute drive from the city. There were guards at the gate as I would have expected, and they took my hand print and ran my car registration. They knew who I was already, so this kind of security seemed like an exercise in housekeeping. The long, immaculate driveway was tree lined, and I could almost hear trumpets toot-tooting as I whirred down it. The house itself was so breathtakingly beautiful I felt like I was on the set of a movie. It looked like an old southern American plantation house, not that I had ever seen one of those in person, but you know, from movies: big white columns; imposing windows like huge eyes blinking at you; a door so large that an army could stand shoulder to shoulder and just about squeeze through. And the flowers, did I mention the flowers? Everywhere there was colour; it was like a modern art painting, no order to the blooms, yet there was a pattern. I saw lilacs, rhododendrons, hydrangeas, daisies, some flowers that were out of season, and some that I was sure did not even grow in Ireland. I opened my window to stick my nose out, and sure enough, the scent was exquisite. Patrick would love these, I thought, and then stopped myself. I couldn’t think about him now, I wouldn’t think about him now. It was too much – the very thought of him was too invasive. I slowed the van to a snail’s pace. I was kerb-crawling the flowers, I wanted to get out and examine each one. I had never seen roses bloom so largely. I wanted to tumble into a flower bed and fall asleep. I really wanted to take photographs. It was beautiful.

  There was a tapping on the bonnet of my van. A woman in a black polo neck stuck her head through my window. The scent in the air switched to something profoundly synthetic.

  ‘Flowers around the back, servants’ entrance.’

  She gave a slight grimace as she said ‘servants’ and I was left under no illusion as to my position in this grand house. She pointed to a wall with ivy creeping up it. I could see the wheels of another van there. I spun over and parked. This was the hive. Everyone was setting up for tonight’s big party. There were people buzzing around, lifting ice sculptures, moving trollies, shifting electronics; trays of food were being delivered. A bearded man, also in a black polo neck and who had the distinct look of a magician about him, approached me. He was carrying a tablet and swiping from right to left with great authority.

  ‘Good, you’re on time.’ He nodded approvingly at me as I clambered out of my seat.

  ‘Is it okay if I park here?’

  ‘Fine. Four displays are for the function room and two for the entrance hall. Do you need help unloading? Will I get a man?’ His thumb and middle finger were poised mid air, ready to click if I nodded.

  ‘I’m all set, I have a trolley,’ I said tightening the ties of my apron.

  I loaded up, surveying the other suppliers, their company names on the side of their vans, some familiar to me. There was an air of expectancy about the place, a shortness of breath, an excitement. Everyone was moving a little too fast, a little too jerkily. There were wide smiles and frenzied good manners; we were all being perfect citizens, aware that we were being watched, that there were cameras everywhere and that the review process had already begun. We were part of an elite group, we had been chosen. This event could change every one of our lives. I could feel the hiss of pressure.

  I wheeled my well-stocked trolley to the back door. There were two armed guards shouldering the doorway. They didn’t look at me, they didn’t seem concerned, but I automatically stopped in front of them, and one of them wagged his chin at me and I took that as a sign to enter. Amazingly, security didn’t seem nearly as tight as it did that day at BBest. I was in a hallway and there were people weaving in and around me, sliding up against my trolley, apologising.

  I kept walking, assuming if I followed the crowd I would come to the function room. The hallway curved left, revealing a large corridor with doors mirroring each other on either side. I followed the marbled floor, plastering a relaxed smile on my face. Then I spotted a golden light streaming from a double doorway: the function room. There were people ducking and diving all around. It was a giant ballroom like something out of the Palace of Versailles – again I’ve only seen that in the movies. The ceiling was at least fifty feet high, and everything was gold: the walls, the floor, the ceiling; well, everything except the artwork, which looked like Leonardo da Vinci had been exhumed to do a little overtime. There were pink-cheeked cherubs pointing at fluffy white clouds, angry Greek gods waving forks, a celestial scene, stars, storms, the garden of Eden, it looked like; the Bible’s story of creation was painted onto these walls. I had to remind myself that this was a house, not a museum. I looked down at my flowers, which I had been so proud of just a few hours ago, and realised that they were support material only. Nobody would leave here tonight talking about the flowers. No one would even notice the flowers.

  A woman in a black V-neck pounced on me. ‘Flowers, good, there, there and two there. Got it?’

  I moved around the room to there, there and there, positioning the flowers as best I could, but honestly it was hard to concentrate on anything other than the artwork. It depicted the beginning of time, the blossoming of the universe. A bare-chested, ebony-skinned man held the planet in his hands and blew on it, like he was shaping glass: he was the creator. He had short white hair and a bulbous nose and his head was turned at such an angle that I could see his eyes. I recognised them. I could never forget those eyes. Black, soulless eyes. RealTime’s eyes. I got the shivers. He held the earth in his hands – he was the creator.

  There was a double clap behind me as V-neck Sweater appeared, breathing on my shoulder. ‘Come on, move, move, two for the entrance hall. Chop, chop.’

  I dropped my chin to my chest, duly chastised for loitering. ‘Entrance hall?’

  ‘Out the way you came, take a left then another left. Can’t miss it. No, no not there.’ She spun around, waving her hands in annoyance at a man carrying two statues of black cats under his arms.

  I stepped out of the ballroom, taking a lingering look, trying to remember as much as possible. I hurried down the corridor and took a left then another left. It was much quieter here, the hum of activity noticeably
behind me. I pushed through another corridor that looked just like the previous one, but this one curved to the right and opened up like the mouth of a river to what had to be the entrance hall. And no, you couldn’t miss it.

  A gigantic circular room with a marble floor with the BBest green infinity symbol emblazoned on it. A chandelier that looked like it had been modelled to scale from Niagara Falls, jagged diamond-shaped crystals cascading down one on top of the other. At the far end of the hallway there was a staircase that crept around itself, and looked to have been built specifically to hold the weight of women making entrances in magnificent ballgowns. Everything wasn’t just large, everything was supersized.

  ‘Flowers. Great. There and there.’ The magician had reappeared and he pointed to two tables. I scooted over and started to unload.

  ‘Freya Flannigan? What are you doing here?’

  I turned around, not sure who to expect. Standing in front of me was the rather portly figure of Gordon Ryan, Dad’s friend and the new Garda commissioner. He was wearing a navy suit that was pulling around the middle, the buttons straining to stay fastened, and black shoes with toes curling up to the ceiling.

  ‘Gordon, hello.’ I was surprised to see him. It was strange meeting my dad’s friends out of context, and now, as an adult, I was their peer, I supposed, even though it didn’t really feel that way. Did I shake his hand, give him a kiss on the cheek, a quick embrace? I did none of those things, I just smiled and waved the secateurs I was holding.

  He looked at my apron, the floral display behind me and quickly put two and two together. ‘The flowers, of course. They’re lovely, lovely.’

  I smiled my gratitude.

  ‘You’ve done very well for yourself, haven’t you?’ His eyes narrowed slightly accusingly.

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Your father was very worried about you for a long time, but look at you now.’ He surveyed me with pride, as if he was responsible for me doing very well for myself. Mam is going to laugh when I tell her who I bumped into, I thought.

  I smiled at him. ‘Are you here for the party? You’re a bit early. Or maybe you’ve come to admire the house?’

  ‘I’ve a little meeting with RealTime before the party tonight.’

  ‘You’ve done very well for yourself, too,’ I blurted, but thankfully he laughed. He threw his head back and I watched as his pink tongue flapped around in the back of his mouth.

  ‘I suppose, I suppose. The only way is up, hey?’ He pointed his index finger to the sky.

  ‘For some people,’ I said quietly.

  He shook his head. ‘Oh no, for everyone. It’s only the beginning, Freya, BBest are only starting. He’s announcing tonight, sure it’ll be on the news in a few hours – RealTime is going to run as a member of the Irish Parliament. You know he’s an Irish citizen now. From here he can eventually move onto Europe and one day soon sit on the European Council. It’s his first step into the political forum. It’s a great day.’

  ‘Politics? Wow,’ I exhaled. ‘The European Council . . . if he’s there, he can–’

  ‘Yes, yes.’ And Gordon shook his head, making the wattle on his neck tremble. ‘It’s the only way. There are far too many restrictions on businesses; you have to make the change from the top down. That’s part of why I’m meeting with RealTime today, I will be forming a council to advise on BBest’s involvement in social governance.’

  Total domination. He could change the laws to do exactly what he wanted, to choose our lives for us.

  ‘Your father hasn’t mentioned it to you?’

  ‘What’s Dad got to do with BBest?’

  His eyes widened. ‘He’ll be sitting on the council too. I’m surprised he hasn’t mentioned it. It will be public knowledge very soon, and your father is a revered public figure, he will hold a prominent position.’

  ‘What? But Dad has never had anything to do with BBest, he . . .’ I trailed off, confused. Why was Dad in bed with the enemy? ‘What’s he doing working with them?’

  Scarlet slowly crept up Gordon’s neck and exploded onto his face like a patchy fireworks display. He shook his head and glanced at his feet. He seemed embarrassed. ‘Maybe you should talk to your father, it’s really nothing to do with me. It’s a family matter.’

  ‘I suppose.’ Granddad was going to have a field day on this one.

  ‘I have to go, I have a meeting.’ He looked flustered as he started to walk away. ‘Beautiful flowers, Freya, beautiful.’

  43

  I fiddled around with my flowers some more, trying to distract myself, blinking back the tears that kept pooling in my eyes. Why would Dad’s involvement in BBest upset me so much? How could Dad be involved with this? BBest were the enemy, did he not know what they were capable of? The flash drive was burning in my pocket. I looked around the hallway. The crowd had thinned out, there were only four people here, all busy with their own jobs. No one was looking at me. No one would notice if I just slipped off down the corridor, if I went in the direction that Gordon Ryan had gone. It was a starting point in this huge house. There were so many people milling around. If I just followed him, there was the slightest possibility that I might see something. I picked up a spray gun and angled it in my hand, then put a distracted look on my face. I would say I needed a tap, that I was looking for water.

  I turned away from my flowers and pushed my trolley to the side so it didn’t stand out too much. I marched off, full of purpose, striding confidently down the corridor. I was just looking for water. This was perfectly innocent.

  The corridor was an exact replica of the previous ones I had strolled down: white marble floor, pristine white walls, closed doors mirroring each other. I listened for voices, straining to hear if there were people behind these doors. I felt my senses heighten – there was a lingering scent of fresh lavender. Near the end of the corridor I saw a white light: a door was ajar. I focused on it and moved towards it.

  I heard Gordon’s big, booming voice and saw his figure move into the doorway. He kicked it open with the sole of his shoe. The door swung, and I braced myself as I got ready to walk by; I would be visible to whoever was in there in two seconds. I held my spray gun like a weapon of protection. Two, one.

  ‘Freya, you again?’ Gordon had sensed my presence. He twisted the top half of his body towards me then looked back into the airy bright boardroom, filled with a giant mahogany table.

  I followed his stare and stopped short. RealTime was there alone. Gordon looked back at me, his eyes narrowed. Was he suspicious? I gently shook the spray gun in my hand, and turned to keep on walking. RealTime was up off his seat, approaching Gordon. He was dressed in his signature black, a diamond earring sparkled in his left ear, he wore slides on his feet. They were leaving the room, not entering it.

  ‘This way, Gordon, I’ll show you around.’ RealTime flashed a dazzling smile at me, but those frightening eyes were not smiling. They were surveying, calculating, chilling. He addressed me. ‘The florist, right?’

  I swallowed hard and nodded.

  ‘I just love flowers. Have you seen my display out front?’ He didn’t wait for a response. ‘Thank you for doing such a good job today, and being a part of our team.’

  He walked out past me and Gordon followed, dwarfing him. Their backs were to me, their shadows marching in procession ahead of them. I looked into the room. And there, like a fattened calf, placed on the table where RealTime had been sitting were a notepad, a pencil and a phone. He’d left it behind. This was it. I would only have seconds until he realised he’d left it. I stepped into the room, the plush carpet swallowing up my shoes. I could still hear their voices echoing down the corridor. I approached the phone carefully and looked down at my hands – they were trembling. I forced myself to make a fist, to get myself together. I shoved two fingers into my pocket and pulled out the flash drive.

  I had to move fast, they could be back at any moment. All of a sudden I started thinking about fingerprints – I mean, I shouldn’t leave a trail,
should I? I covered my hand with my apron and picked the phone up with it and in the same movement inserted the drive. It made a clicking sound that was so loud I paused, waiting for everybody in the house to invade the room to find out what the commotion was. The phone made a little whirring sound that caused my heart to leap out of my body and bounce around the room, then its light flickered on and off suddenly, as the main screen appeared then disappeared and a black bar flashed across: ‘Backup phone data’. I clicked okay and a small wheel popped up. It was loading, and I had stopped breathing.

  What was I doing? I was stealing information from one of the most powerful men in the world. How did this happen? Move wheel, move. I looked over my shoulder, waiting for someone to storm in, for the shadowed claw of the law to force me to the ground. Caught red-handed, they would say, and I would have no defence. Seventy-five per cent – hurry up, wheel. I was so dizzy, if I hadn’t been so terrified and stiff with fear I would have needed to sit down. Was I imagining it? Could I hear footsteps? Or was it just my heart flip-flapping its final beats?

  It was done. The wheel was complete. The drive made a clicking noise that to me sounded like a truck reversing and popped out. I grabbed it with my fingertips and slid it into my pocket. I repositioned the phone on the table. I wasn’t sure if it was slightly more to the left of the notepad. I didn’t know. But I didn’t have time, I had to move. I walked out of the room backwards, frantically checking that I hadn’t upset anything. I turned as I reached the doorway. I would stride confidently back to my flowers. How long had I been gone? Two minutes, maximum. I could do this. I cautiously poked my head through the doorway. The corridor was empty. I stepped out in a giant leap and, still clutching my spray gun, walked as casually as I could back towards the entrance hall. Gordon Ryan appeared and brushed past me. He was red faced, flustered and he raced down the corridor with pounding steps.