‘That’s partly what I was calling about.’
‘Oh?’ Sheridan tried to keep calm, but already she was hoping that Talia had got her something on the magazine. She pictured living in Belfast with her friend, working and socialising together like they’d done before. It was very comforting.
‘It’s a bit weird,’ warned Talia. ‘In fact, I don’t know if . . . but the thing is, it’s a job, even though it’s only for a few months and even if . . . Well, you can judge for yourself, but it seems to me that you’d be better doing something than sitting around on your arse all day.’
‘I’m not sitting on my arse all day,’ protested Sheridan with a glance at the TV screen. ‘What’s the job?’
‘It’s with a regional paper,’ Talia told her. ‘They need maternity cover. I thought perhaps that if you were working, then it would be easier to get accepted somewhere else.’
Sheridan knew her friend was right. Potential employers were much more likely to hire someone who already had a job.
‘Which paper?’ she asked.
‘The Central News,’ Talia replied.
‘The what?’
‘Central News,’ repeated Talia.
‘Is it a Belfast paper? I’ve never even heard of it.’
‘It’s a weekly paper and it covers the South Leinster area. Not huge, but not tiny either.’
Sheridan said nothing. Although she knew many regional papers, she couldn’t remember ever hearing about the Central News before. So despite Talia’s comments, it couldn’t be that big.
‘The thing is,’ continued Talia, ‘it’s owned by Paudie O’Malley.’
‘Paudie O’Malley? The shit who made me redundant? You’ve got to be kidding me!’
‘Look, I know you probably don’t think much of him right now, but—’
‘It’s his fault I’m out of work!’ cried Sheridan. ‘Him and his so-called investment in the Scope. D’you really think he’s going to employ me on his crappy local paper when he wouldn’t keep me there?’
‘I’m quite sure Paudie didn’t personally choose you for the chop,’ said Talia.
‘Did you see the quote attributed to him in the Journal?’
‘What quote?’
Sheridan gritted her teeth. She still couldn’t think of it without getting angry. ‘He said that the City Scope had been carrying passengers for too long and it was time to cut the dead wood. Dead wood! How dare he! I’m not dead wood.’ Then her voice faltered. ‘At least I wasn’t until he got his hands on me. Imagine, he stays out of the limelight for years and then his first pronouncement is one that insults me.’
‘Sher, it wasn’t aimed at you personally.’
‘Maybe not.’ Sheridan cleared her throat. ‘Maybe not, but it felt like it.’
‘He’s insensitive, I’ll admit,’ conceded Talia. ‘But you can’t let that hold you back.’
‘Given that he considers me to be a dead wood passenger, he’ll hardly welcome me on board his provincial paper, will he?’
‘He’s not the editor of the Central News, just the owner. He has nothing to do with hiring and firing.’
‘How d’you know all this?’ demanded Sheridan.
‘My aunt lives in Ardbawn, where the paper is produced. I was talking to her about the changes at the Scope and my new job and she told me about this. From what she says, I think it’s a bit of a vanity project for O’Malley, because I doubt very much it makes any money, although its website is quite good. The paper itself carries a lot of ads for his businesses – you know he started out in print and packaging before moving to media stuff. He still has big interests there. Apparently the main admin person, who also writes some of the local news, is going on maternity leave and they’re looking for a person to take her place.’
‘Are you really suggesting that I go for a temp admin job on something that sounds like a freebie newsheet?’
‘Aunt Hayley says it’s very popular in the town. And in Carlow and Kilkenny as well. There are plenty of local-interest stories.’
‘Like what – “Parking ticket issued to overdue shopper”?’ Sheridan snorted derisively. ‘Talia, I truly appreciate you telling me about this, but you’re talking about a temporary position at a paper that undoubtedly pays the bare minimum – and I’d have to move to a one-horse town in the middle of nowhere to do it.’
‘Have you got someone to share the flat with you?’ asked Talia.
‘Not yet.’
‘So you were thinking of moving out anyway?’
‘Clearly I’ve been looking for somewhere smaller . . .’
‘I understand if you don’t want this job,’ Talia said. ‘I know it’s a bit of a stopgap. I know you probably feel terrible because you haven’t been snapped up by the competition. I know you! I bet you’re sitting in playing video games and feeling crap. That’s what you do when you’re frustrated.’
‘I’m not frustrated. I’ll get something!’ Sheridan turned her back on the TV monitor, where her Wii World Cup squad was still waiting for her next instruction.
‘You’re impatient, though,’ said Talia. ‘If something doesn’t work straight away, you don’t give it a chance. And you’re probably feeling lonely and down.’
‘Give me a break! You’re making me sound like a total basket case.’
‘You said it yourself before I left – you’ve lost your job and your boyfriend and your flatmate. I’d be feeling a bit shell-shocked if I was you. So all I’m doing is giving you the opportunity to cut loose for a few months, get your head together.’
‘On a rubbish paper owned by Paudie O’Malley!’
‘Hey, come on, think of the irony. He’ll be paying your salary again despite everything.’
‘I’m not big into irony.’
‘I know this isn’t what you wanted, but it’s better than nothing.’
‘I’m sure they’d rather give the job to a local person,’ said Sheridan. ‘They probably don’t want someone like me anyhow.’
‘Why not?’ demanded Talia.
‘I’d be a blow-in. They’d resent me.’
‘They should be grateful to get you. Give them a call. Set up an interview at least.’
‘I’ll think about it,’ said Sheridan.
‘The editor’s name is DJ Hart. According to Aunt Hayley, he’s a sweetheart.’
‘I’ve never yet met an editor who was a sweetheart.’
‘Call him.’
‘All right, all right, I will.’
‘Attagirl! Bring a touch of the Sheridan Gray magic to the sleepy local rag.’
‘Rag?’
‘You know what I mean.’
‘Yes, I do. And . . . well, thanks, Talia, for thinking about me.’
‘What are friends for?’
‘You’re a good friend,’ said Sheridan. ‘I hope it’s going brilliantly for you in Belfast.’
‘Ah, it’s not the Scope. But it’s grand. I’m grand. And you will be too.’
‘Sure I will,’ said Sheridan. ‘I’ll keep in touch.’
They chatted for a few more minutes and then finished the call. Sheridan picked up the Wii remote and pointed it at the television. She wasn’t sure if she’d bother to ring this DJ Hart guy. The idea of working with anything associated with Paudie O’Malley set her teeth on edge. No matter what Talia said, his remark about dead wood had hurt. Besides, she truly did believe that someone local would get the job. She’d be putting herself through the mill for nothing. She waved the remote at the screen. Fernando Torres made a searing run up the wing and scored a goal. The crowd went wild with excitement.
Sheridan started another game and then threw the remote to one side. She opened her laptop and googled Paudie O’Malley. Not surprisingly, there were a lot of hits, many referring to his recent stake in the City Scope and his demand to the management team that it radically cut costs. An article quoted him as saying that people were a necessary part of doing business, but a very unreliable part because they mixed up emotion and bus
iness sense far too much. Typical, she thought, of a man who considered decent journalists to be nothing but dead wood!
As she dug a bit deeper and delved further into his past, she learned that Paudie’s business success had taken off after the death of his wife sixteen years previously. It seemed that he’d immersed himself in his work after Elva had been found dead at the family home in Ardbawn. Sheridan surfed through the hits, her curiosity piqued. She’d known that Paudie was a widower, but she hadn’t realised that his wife had died after apparently falling from an upstairs window at what was described as their ‘gracious period home’. Paudie had been interviewed by the police after the body had been discovered, but her death had been eventually described as ‘a tragic accident’. While some reports said that Paudie was ‘devastated’, others seemed to insinuate that the O’Malley marriage wasn’t happy and that Elva’s death had been something of a release for him. One, in particular, noted that he hadn’t shed any tears at his wife’s funeral. Another (from a now defunct newspaper) seemed to imply that he had been treated by the police as a prime suspect in Elva’s death and that there was a distinct possibility that he’d tried to cover up what had happened.
Sheridan’s eyes widened as she read. She tried googling Paudie O’Malley+wife+murder, but there were no links that specifically accused him of pushing Elva out of the window. Nevertheless, it was an intriguing thought. What if his marriage had been totally miserable and he’d decided to end it; not by divorcing his wife (Sheridan frowned, thinking that sixteen years previously he wouldn’t have been able to anyway), but by finding a more permanent solution. After all, she thought, if a man believed – as Paudie did – that people were generally unreliable, perhaps getting rid of his wife for good was a better option for him than separating from her and knowing she was in the background all the time. It wouldn’t be out of character for someone with his ruthless reputation. Would it?
She exhaled slowly as she closed the laptop and told herself that she was probably letting her imagination run away with her. After all, there had been a proper garda investigation and Paudie hadn’t been charged with anything. But what if it hadn’t been as thorough as it could’ve been? What if there was another story there? What if Paudie, at the start of his business success, had somehow managed to influence the gardai? Finding out could be the opportunity she’d been looking for. It would give her the chance to submit something radically different to the editors who’d already told her that they didn’t need sports journalists. She could make a name for herself as a fearless investigator instead. And she’d show Mr Slash-and-Burn that, whatever else she was, she certainly wasn’t dead wood!
The investigative task would be a lot easier if she was based in Ardbawn, a mole in his nearly freebie newspaper.
She picked up the phone and dialled DJ Hart’s number.
Chapter 9
Nina tried to maintain a determined front when Sean left, even though she was no longer determined inside. She told herself that this wasn’t the time to forgive and forget, and that she’d behaved like a strong, independent woman. The only problem was that she didn’t feel strong at all.
She felt even less strong when the children called, as they did regularly, although she tried to sound positive and upbeat for their sakes. Chrissie had considered putting off her backpacking trip to be with her, but Nina had insisted on her not changing her plans, promising that she’d be perfectly fine on her own. So she absolutely had to sound cheerful whenever her daughter called. When she’d told Alan about it, her son had muttered something about punching his father’s lights out. Nina reminded him that he was on a peacekeeping mission and that he shouldn’t be thinking about reacting with violence. Alan retorted that sometimes violence was a solution, no matter what people thought.
Nina was comforted by the fact that her children were supportive, even though she didn’t want them to feel that they had to take sides. It was probably a good thing that both of them were out of the country for an extended period. She didn’t think she could cope with listening to their opinions as well as spending nights debating with herself.
Sean’s affair with Lulu Adams was a hot topic of conversation in Ardbawn too. Although most people believed that Nina had been right to show him the door, there were a certain number who thought that the affair had been almost inevitable and that Nina should have accepted it for what it was, forgiven him and moved on. As it was, though, speculation continued about whether Sean and Lulu were still an item. They hadn’t been seen in any further paparazzi-style photos, but they were together on Chandler’s Park every single night. The programme’s ratings were higher than ever, and a current subplot was indicating that Sean’s character, Christopher, wasn’t actually Fiona’s natural uncle at all – that he’d been taken in as a child by the family, who’d kept his origins secret. The lack of a genetic bond between them (only in a bloody soap, thought Nina despairingly) meant that the way would be cleared for a sizzling affair, if that was what the producers thought would keep the ratings high. All the indications so far were that it would. Such an affair would be par for the course for Fiona anyhow, most people said. Sure, there was no one in Chandler’s Park that she hadn’t gone to bed with.
The blurring of the characters and the real people hurt Nina more than she could have imagined. She would open the paper and see a story about the soap talking about the searing chemistry between Fiona and Christopher, and she would think about the relationship between Lulu and Sean and wonder where it was heading. Her initial response of anger and betrayal was now being replaced by sadness and nagging worry that she was handling things the wrong way. She’d made a decision to ignore his phone calls and delete his emails without opening them, even though it was very hard. She knew that he was able to manipulate her and she didn’t want it to happen this time. But as time went on and the phone calls and emails stopped, she felt alone and adrift and uncertain about her future.
She checked her horoscope on a regular basis to see if it could give her any pointers. She felt that the astrologer, Phaedra, was talking directly to her, because almost every week forgiveness and understanding were mentioned. Yet she didn’t want to forgive Sean, no matter how much she understood him. However, with every passing day her anger was abating and her loneliness was increasing, and she became more and more unsure of herself and the decisions she’d made.
It seemed to Nina that her life was a succession of choices, none of which were necessarily working out the way she’d expected. She kept asking herself how things would have turned out if she’d made different choices in the past. Would she still be in Ardbawn now? Would her life with Sean have taken a very different path? Would she still be happy with him? Or would she be much, much happier without him? Would he have ended up on a TV show anyway? Or would his life have been just as humdrum as he apparently thought it was?
And then she got the solicitor’s letter and almost fell to pieces.
Sean wanted a reconciliation. He wanted to meet her to work things out, either at home or at a neutral venue. He was prepared, according to the letter, to consider counselling. But if Nina refused what was a perfectly reasonable request and continued to bar him from the family home, then he would have no option but to consider a formal separation and divorce. In that case they would have to look at their joint assets, the biggest of which was the guesthouse. The solicitor’s letter reminded Nina of how much work Sean had put in to bring it up to its present level of business. And how it was his livelihood as much as hers. His time on Chandler’s Park was limited. He had reasonable expectations that his role in the guesthouse would have been for life. The entire letter seemed like blackmail to Nina, whose hands shook as she read it. If she didn’t take Sean back, he’d take her home from her. She realised that he had rights too, but the way she looked at it, he was the one who’d messed things up. She didn’t see why she should have to suffer for it. Especially when she was suffering already.
She was completely wiped out by the letter. Sh
e felt that she’d used up all of her emotional strength in telling Sean to leave and she didn’t know how to cope with reconciliation talks. She knew she missed him more than she’d ever imagined and she couldn’t help thinking that if she saw him she’d simply cave in and take him back, but if she did that, she’d lose the outer shell she was building up around herself. He’d be able to hurt her again. And she couldn’t cope with being hurt. Not any more. But, she would tell herself as she tossed and turned and tried to figure out what was best, she wasn’t coping very well being without him either. He was part of the fabric of her life. They were bound together more tightly than anyone else she knew. Maybe that was why he wanted to come home. Maybe that was why, deep down, she wanted him home too.
She was disgusted by her own neediness. She reminded herself of the promises he’d made, the ones he’d now broken. He’d known what would happen. He’d walked into it with his eyes wide open. And her problem, she thought, was that she’d kept her own eyes shut. She’d ignored the signs. She was good at that. She always had been.
She didn’t know what to do. She wished someone else could tell her. That someone else would make the decision for her. These days she was finding it hard to decide on whether to wear a black or a white T-shirt under her jumper each day. So how could she possibly be clear about what she wanted for the rest of her life?
Despite the teeming rain outside the window, she needed to go for a walk. Walking had always helped to clear her mind and order her thoughts. Being out in the elements, she thought, as she pulled on a coat and her practical but very unstylish wellington boots, was exhilarating. She would walk as far as Ardbawn and back, and perhaps by then she would know how to react to Sean’s letter. It was better not to rush into anything stupid; she should reflect on what she wanted, on what was important to her. She’d made decisions in the past on impulse, with a desire to protect herself and her family, and now she wondered how right they’d been. For sure, she murmured to herself as she opened her umbrella and set off down the road, her life would have turned out differently. She certainly wouldn’t have been walking in the Ardbawn rain, worrying about Sean.
Better Together Page 10
