‘Right,’ said Sheridan in Myra’s next pause for breath.
‘I’ve a list of people who send us contributions – household tips, beauty advice, recipes, that sort of stuff. You’ve got to make sure that Des sends in the sports reports, and keep at him to go to the girls’ and ladies’ matches – he’s a sexist bollix and wouldn’t bother otherwise, no matter that the girls all love seeing their names in the paper and their mammies buy multiple copies when there’s a report on their games. You have to write some articles – DJ will tell you about them. Sometimes he starts them and you have to finish them; to be honest I was pure shite at that, it would’ve been quicker for him to write it all himself but I think he thought I should sort of try to be a journalist person even though I’m not . . .’ She beamed at Sheridan. ‘He was very concerned that I’d be worried about a real one with experience taking over my job, but it’s not a worry at all because it’s not like you’d want to stay in Ardbawn for ever; you’re practically famous, you’ve had your byline in a proper paper.’
By now Sheridan was almost dizzy listening to Myra, but the younger girl had more to say.
‘The stuff you have to do yourself, absolutely have to, is the agony-aunt column and the horoscopes. We don’t get the horoscopes on syndicate – Paudie thinks it’s nice for them to have a kind of local flavour – and people do write in with problems, God love them, so we have to do the replies ourselves.’
‘Agony aunt!’ Sheridan looked horrified. ‘DJ never said anything about being an agony aunt. I can’t possibly do that.’
‘Of course you can,’ said Myra. ‘It’s just common sense.’
‘Well, yes, but . . .’
‘Just imagine you’re talking to your best friend who wants to do something stupid,’ Myra said. ‘Easy-peasy. The horoscopes are harder, I think. You have to make up stuff and I’m desperate at it.’
‘I told DJ I could do horoscopes, but to be honest I was spoofing,’ admitted Sheridan. ‘I don’t believe in them at all.’
‘You don’t have to.’ Myra grinned at her. ‘All you have to do is write them.’
By the time DJ and Seamus (Shimmy, Sheridan reminded herself) arrived about fifteen minutes later, Myra had introduced Sheridan to the accounting system that she used. Sheridan had never had to worry about accounts before, and she wasn’t entirely sure she’d be any good at it now – maths had never been her strong point.
‘How’re ya, sweetheart!’ DJ held out his hand and Sheridan did her best not to wince. ‘Welcome to our little hive of activity.’
‘What activity?’ demanded Myra. ‘You pair of slackers should’ve been here ages ago. Though I suppose it’s letting Sheridan know how things really are – she’ll be doing all the work and you’ll be taking all the credit.’
DJ chuckled. ‘Ah, get that bee out of your bonnet, Myra, and make us a nice cup of tea.’
‘Make it yourself,’ said Myra. ‘Last time I looked you had hands of your own.’
Sheridan’s eyes darted anxiously between the two of them, but then she realised that this was routine banter. There was no malice in their words, and when both of them guffawed, she allowed herself to relax.
‘Have you told her everything that needs doing?’ asked DJ.
‘Well we had to do something while we were waiting for you,’ said Myra. ‘We’ve gone through the accounts stuff, because the rest of it will be like falling off a log for her.’
‘I’m not all that familiar with accounts,’ said Sheridan apologetically.
‘Get yourself up to speed as quick as you can,’ DJ said. ‘We send in monthly reports to Paudie. He expects us to keep the finances under control.’
‘That’s what I told her,’ said Myra.
‘Does everything depend on Paudie O’Malley?’ My first investigative question, Sheridan told herself.
‘Not entirely,’ DJ replied. ‘But he’s the owner, and you know what it’s like, the owner is the boss.’
‘Like a football club,’ said Myra helpfully. ‘They might know jack-all, but they’re still paying the bills.’
Sheridan laughed. And so did Myra. As DJ and Shimmy joined in too, she started to think that maybe a few months with the Central News might not be the worst way of spending her time. Especially if she came out of it as a winner in the end.
By five o’clock she was utterly exhausted. She’d never worked as hard in her life. There had been plenty of times with the City Scope when she’d had to churn out a few thousand words in a single sitting, but they had always been her own words and she’d always been in control. Now she realised that at the Central News, everything was about teamwork. She was expected to be able to answer the phone, do some filing, make tea (everyone takes turns, Myra assured her; this isn’t the last bastion of male chauvinism, I promise you, no matter how much they’d like it to be), edit pieces sent in by local contributors (or possibly rewrite them, she realised as she looked at an almost incomprehensible account of a fund-raising book sale, still not sure at the end of it what it was actually raising money for) and then read the emails and letters sent in for the Ask Sarah advice column.
‘I always thought the problems in local papers were made up,’ said Sheridan as she leafed through them.
‘No, we get loads of them,’ said Myra. ‘The thing is, everyone thinks their problem is unique, but it’s not. So you’ve buckets of advice to fall back on. Look – I have a whole folder of stuff here you can go through.’ She double-clicked on an icon on the computer screen and a window opened with a series of folders marked ‘cheating husband’, ‘jealous boyfriend’, ‘affairs’, ‘mother-in-laws’, ‘difficult children’ and a variety of other headings.
‘Wow,’ said Sheridan. ‘All these problems exist in Ardbawn?’
Myra chuckled. ‘Well they probably do, and maybe we need one big psychiatrist’s couch,’ she said. ‘But our letters come from all over – Kilkenny, Carlow, in fact anywhere in the whole world, because people who grew up in the area and moved away still look at the Central News website or the digital version. They have to subscribe to get full access,’ she added, ‘but you’d be surprised at how many do. Loads of them still log on from places like the States and Australia.’
‘No place like home,’ said Sheridan.
‘Exactly.’ Myra beamed at her. ‘And we do our best to reach out to those readers and give them what they want, which is news from the town and the surrounding area, information on how things are changing and all that sort of stuff.’
‘What if you discover that someone from Ardbawn has become famous or something?’
‘Oh, we give them lots of coverage,’ said Myra confidently. ‘We love to see people doing well.’
‘What about Sean Fallon?’
The office was suddenly silent. Sheridan could feel three pairs of eyes looking at her.
‘I’m staying with his ex-wife,’ she reminded them.
‘She’s still his wife.’ Myra corrected her. ‘They’re not divorced.’
‘Sean’s an idiot,’ DJ said. ‘Everybody in Ardbawn supported him and then he makes fool of himself by his carry-on with that tramp. You’d imagine he’d have more sense.’
‘How did you run the story?’ asked Sheridan, mentally filing away the thought that if her investigations into Paudie didn’t come to anything, perhaps Sean would be a good alternative.
‘We put up something about it,’ acknowledged DJ. ‘But we didn’t sensationalise it. Not like the City Scope did.’
Sheridan paused before speaking. ‘I don’t think it was particularly sensationalised,’ she told them. ‘It was a human-interest story. Sean is a well-known personality.’
‘And I wouldn’t give a shit about him,’ said DJ. ‘But it was horrible for poor Nina. She still hasn’t got over it.’
‘Is it true that after he left her she flung all his stuff out of their bedroom window?’ That story had been run by one of the tabloids, much to the disgust of the Scope staffers.
‘Not tha
t I know of,’ said DJ.
‘Or that she siphoned petrol out of his car to make him stay?’ asked Sheridan. ‘Having met Nina, I can’t help thinking that she’s not the sort of woman who’d do that type of thing. She’s very quiet and gentle.’
DJ grinned. ‘Don’t let that fool you. Or the fact that she’s been knocked back a bit by this business with Sean. Nina’s a strong woman. She built up that guesthouse herself. Plus she’s a contributor to the paper. She sends in recipes for Cook’s Corner.’
‘Ah.’ Now Sheridan understood why the Central News had gone easy on her.
‘She’s a great woman,’ DJ said. ‘Hopefully now that Paudie’s involved with the City Scope it’ll stop those intrusive stories about her life with Sean.’
Sheridan wished DJ had told her all this before she’d turned up on Nina’s doorstep. It would’ve been helpful to know in advance that her ex-paper had apparently made the woman’s life a misery. But the big lump probably hadn’t even thought about it. Or maybe he had and didn’t care.
‘You’ve got to print the truth,’ she reminded him, thinking that she sounded a bit sanctimonious.
‘Yeah, we did.’ It was Shimmy who spoke this time. ‘We said that there were rumours about Sean and Lulu Adams, and then when he left Nina we printed that too. But we didn’t splash it all across the front page with a picture of him making a grab for Lulu’s assets.’
Shimmy’s words had heightened the atmosphere and Sheridan could feel herself growing tense. She didn’t want to argue with everyone on her very first day.
‘Ah, now, none of that was Sheridan’s fault,’ said DJ, giving Shimmy a warning look. ‘She was a sports reporter on the City Scope, after all. The day they printed that stuff about Sean, she was writing about Arsenal v Chelsea.’
‘Really?’ She looked at him quizzically.
‘Probably.’ He grinned at her. ‘You always did good reports on the footie. And since I’m an Arsenal fan and young Shimmy here supports Chelsea, we always read them with great interest.’
Sheridan smiled. ‘Thanks.’
‘So what d’you think about the Gunners’ chances in our next Champions League match?’ DJ asked. ‘Any chance of us finally showing our worth and leaving the rest of them eating dust?’
Sheridan happily talked football with DJ for a while, and then Myra reminded them both that working at the Central News wasn’t all about jabbering on and that they had a paper to get out by the end of the week and it was time to get cracking.
‘The real boss has spoken,’ said DJ. ‘We’d better do as she says.’
He turned back to his computer and Sheridan returned to her desk. She wondered if she’d manage to gain the same sort of respect Myra clearly had. She certainly hoped so.
Chapter 14
Nina was sitting in the residents’ lounge. When there was nobody else in the house she often sat there instead of in her own private living room because of its stunning views towards the river. Sean had occasionally joined the guests there in the evenings but she only sat in it when it was empty. It had been a family room when she was a child, but when the renovations were being done, Sean had decided that it would be more suitable for the guests. He’d been right, but she still liked to sit in it and remember how it once was. She wasn’t trawling through her memories right now, though, simply revelling in the stillness of the house. Two couples who’d come down for a wedding were now at the reception in the Riverside Hotel and the fisherman who was staying in the studio was in Ardbawn town. She wasn’t sure where Sheridan Gray was tonight; she didn’t know what she did in the evenings because since the journalist’s arrival a week earlier she simply hadn’t seen her.
She’d gone into Sheridan’s studio that morning with fresh bedlinen, and had been surprised at how impersonal it looked. Given that the girl was staying for an extended period, she’d expected to see more of her possessions there, but apart from cosmetics in the bathroom, a few books in the living area and a pink teddy bear on the bed there was very little to show that someone was staying there at all. (By contrast the other studio was a mess of angling gear, magazines and clothes. Paul Proctor, the fisherman, was only staying for a week, but, unlike Sheridan, he’d made the place his own.)
Nina was taken aback at the neatness of Sheridan’s studio. She’d always imagined that journalists were untidy creatures, who’d have papers and overflowing ashtrays all over the place. She realised that her expectations had been based solely on a few movies she’d seen, but the fact that Sheridan specialised in sports had coloured her views too. Nina had never met a tidy sportsperson in her entire life. Her son, Alan, who’d played soccer when he was younger, had always driven her crazy whenever he marched into the house with muddy boots and then proceeded to leave shin pads and the rest of his gear in the middle of his bedroom floor. Chrissie, who didn’t play any sport competitively but who liked to swim, was notorious for leaving her wet things in her bag so that Nina would often be confronted by damp, mouldy towels and togs. But Sheridan didn’t leave anything around. Of course writing about sport didn’t have to mean she participated herself, but the array of trainers lined up beside the chest of drawers had led Nina to assume that she was a fitness freak. Though clearly a tidy fitness freak.
Anyway, she thought now as she watched the large TV from the comfort of one of the wide armchairs, if the rest of Sheridan’s stay turned out like the first week, she wouldn’t regret having her here. In fact she was feeling a little guilty at having been somewhat distant towards the younger woman when she’d first arrived. She’d been totally taken aback by Sheridan’s disclosure that she’d worked for that awful rag the City Scope and had been utterly unable to look the girl in the eye because of it.
She’d googled Sheridan’s name afterwards and realised that she’d only reported on sporting stories and not on Sean’s affair. She wondered if Sheridan knew Elise Comerford, whose name had appeared under most of the stories about him. She was the entertainment correspondent, apparently. Nina supposed she’d been well entertained by Sean and Lulu’s behaviour.
She pressed the button on the TV’s remote control. Chandler’s Park was just starting. She hadn’t watched it in weeks. When Sean had first got the part she watched it every single day, even though seeing him in the soap was like looking at a different person. Sean was able to do that, Nina realised, become someone else completely. He spoke differently, walked differently, everything about him screamed that he was someone else. It was only occasionally, in the way he turned his head or shrugged his shoulders, that she could see her Sean.
Is he still my Sean? she asked herself now. Was he ever? Didn’t I learn before that he was good at acting a part? So what does this reconciliation request mean? That he really wants to come home? Or is it all about his share in the guesthouse? The guesthouse that his father helped me to modernise because I was going out with his son. Does Sean think I owe him? Doesn’t he know that I already paid him back a hundredfold?
She didn’t want to think that Sean could be so mercenary about the house. He’d never been, in the past. In that respect he was very unlike his father, who’d been known as a shrewd money-manager. But the solicitor’s letter had made it clear. If he wasn’t going to get his marriage back, he felt entitled to something from his life with her.
She could understand his motives but she found it hard to accept them. He’d been the one to mess it up, after all. She was the one picking up the pieces. All over again. She closed her eyes and tried not to think of how loving Sean made her want to forgive him. How she was always so ready to forgive him, no matter what the situation.
She opened her eyes again. Sean, as Christopher Hart, was currently dating a glamorous businesswoman. Nina watched him put his arm around her and draw her close to him for a kiss. She picked up the paper to consult the summary of the plot. He was kissing Melanie Blake, the actress playing Carmella Boyd, the businesswoman.
It must be difficult to live like that, thought Nina. Being more than on
e person at a time. Blurring the lines between reality and make-believe. But he was good at it. Just as he was good at being a fool. ‘A damn stupid cheating fool!’ she shouted at the character in front of her. ‘And I hate you!’
She felt better for having shouted. She’d kept herself too quiet, too tight for too long. Shouting was a release. ‘Fool!’ she yelled again, and then whirled around as she heard the sound of someone shifting uncomfortably in the doorway behind her.
‘Sorry if I’m disturbing you.’ Sheridan looked apologetically at Nina. ‘The front door was open. I wanted to use my laptop so I had to come to the house to get the Wi-Fi connection.’
‘Of course, that’s fine.’ Nina tried to sound composed, but she knew her voice was shaky.
‘If you’re sure . . .’
‘Absolutely.’
‘Great.’ Sheridan hesitated, then sat down in the armchair nearest the screen.
‘How was your first week?’ asked Nina while Sheridan waited for her laptop to connect to the network.
‘Not bad,’ she replied, still looking at the computer. ‘More to learn than I expected, but they seem like a nice bunch.’
‘Better than the City Scope?’ asked Nina.
‘Different.’
‘I suppose it seems very tame by comparison.’
‘To be honest, I think I’m going to be run off my feet.’ Although she was now logged on to the guesthouse network, Sheridan wanted to break the ice with Nina, so she didn’t open her email program. She looked up at the other woman. ‘Myra seems to do everything! She’s an expert multitasker and I’m woefully underskilled in terms of replacing her.’
Better Together Page 14
