by Anita Notaro
She pictured the caption and her floaty, designer dress and laughed out loud at the fantasy. Still, as daydreams went it was pretty fantastic and she speculated again on where this particular career move would take her. After a while she was desperate to tell someone so she rang her dad.
‘Hi, it’s only me.’
‘Hello love, how are you?’
‘I’m good, in fact I’m terrific really. I’ve just been offered a part in Southside.’
‘The TV drama series, you mean?’
‘That’s the one.’
‘You never mentioned anything about that. When did all this happen?’
‘It happened really quickly, actually, I only auditioned yesterday. They just rang this morning. It’s only a small part, so don’t get carried away. At the moment it’s for four episodes, but you never know, they might like me.’
‘Well, I’m delighted for you, love. What sort of part is it?’
‘Eh, not one you’ll be mad about, I’d say. She’s called Bobby and she’s a sort of . . . a good-time girl.’ That should put an end to the conversation, Annie thought ruefully, knowing her father.
‘I hope you won’t be taking your clothes off?’ He sounded slightly agitated.
‘So do I or the public are in for a shock.’ Annie laughed and her father cleared his throat, a sure sign he was embarrassed. ‘Don’t worry, it goes out early in the evening, they can’t broadcast nudity before the nine o’clock watershed.’ Annie hoped she was right.
‘Well, you deserve a bit of luck, girl. That’s all I’ll say.’
‘Thanks, Dad. I was going to call around on my way to work this evening, if that’s OK?’
‘Fine, I’ll be here, as usual. Not going anywhere.’
‘OK, I’ll see you about half-three then.’
As soon as she’d hung up, the phone rang.
‘Hello, Annie Weller speaking.’ She’d no idea why she said that. She was obviously getting notions above her station already, she chided herself, feeling foolish.
‘Oh, hi Annie, this is Isobel Ryan from Southside, we met at the audition.’
‘Yes, of course, hi, how are you?’
‘Good, thanks. Congratulations, by the way. You were terrific.’
‘Thank you, I’m really thrilled, although my father is slightly worried, no, make that very worried, that I might have to take my clothes off.’
‘Well, not in these four episodes, anyway, I’ve just finished reading them. I was wondering if I could send them to you by courier, so that you have a chance to go through them.’
‘That would be brilliant. I was wondering when I could get my hands on them.’
Annie gave her address, wishing it was a posher one and then felt guilty for being a snob. Isobel asked if she wouldn’t mind holding while she transferred her to Mike Nichols, one of the producers, who also wanted to speak to her.
‘Hi, Annie, it’s Mike Nichols here. How are you?’
‘Hi, Mike. I’m great, thanks.’ Annie was unsure what to say to the man who had helped turn her life around. ‘I really want to tell you how grateful I am to you for getting me the audition in the first place.’
‘Oh listen, I was just looking after our interests. I saw your performance in that play at the Everest Theatre a couple of months ago – can’t remember the name of it even, but you stood out, so I was delighted when this part came up. It sort of seemed right for you, not that I’m saying you look like . . . hell, I’d better stop before I dig a hole for myself.’
Annie was enjoying herself. ‘Well, I was playing a girl who had just left a religious order so my acting must have been seriously flawed if you saw me more as a prostitute.’
‘Let’s just say you looked far too good to be left to the celibate life. I had to try to broaden your horizons somehow.’
Annie blushed but was delighted. ‘Well, I’m glad you did. It’s a big break for me and I’m really happy. So thanks.’
‘Pleasure. Now, I need to talk to you about money and I hope it won’t put you right off me. TV doesn’t pay that well, as you’re about to find out.’ Annie was glad he didn’t know that she’d do it for nothing, just for the experience.
‘At the moment we’d like to contract you for four episodes, as I think Max explained. If we decide to take the character further we’d probably commit to a six-month contract, but don’t hold me to that.’ He mentioned a figure per episode that was more than Annie earned in a month at the restaurant. Not huge, but mega to her.
‘How does that sound?’ he asked half apologetically.
‘That’s fine.’ Annie was not going to argue.
‘There are a few perks, though they’re tiny. We’ll provide taxis to and from studio on recording days and we have a full breakfast available if your call is early. We offer vouchers for lunch and the food here is quite decent, to be honest. Also, anything we might ask for, such as, say, a change of hair, will naturally be taken care of.’
‘Are you thinking of a change of hairstyle?’ Annie was intrigued.
‘I’m not sure. I heard Max talking to design yesterday. I probably shouldn’t have said anything because wardrobe and make-up will want to meet you and discuss the part . . .’
‘That’s fine. I was just thinking that I needed a good haircut anyway.’ And good cutters charge a month’s wages, she thought.
‘Well, don’t do anything till you talk to them and don’t worry, it’s all negotiable. We’re not going to turn you into a peroxide blonde and then turf you out after four weeks.’
‘That’s a relief. My father is rather proud of my “Irishness” – at least that’s what he calls red hair and freckles.’
They laughed together and chatted for ages. Mike Nichols gave her dates and promised to send her a rehearsal schedule and all the relevant info nearer the time. She took a deep breath and risked asking a favour because he sounded so nice.
‘There’s just one thing. I don’t know what time recording finishes on the studio days, but I was wondering if there’s any way I could be free at five. I’m sorry to have to ask and if it’s a problem . . .’ She bit her lip, trying to work out what the silence meant, then rushed on anyway. ‘It’s just, I work at night and . . .’ She paused, flustered and definitely not willing to let him know how much she needed her paltry earnings.
‘I’m just looking at the schedule but I see we don’t have your episodes finalized yet. Most days, we don’t finish in studio till seven-thirty, but look, leave it with me and I’ll see what I can do.’
‘I don’t want to cause any problems.’
‘No worries. I’ll give a note to the PA and tell her you need to be finished by five. I’m sure we can accommodate you, given that it’s only for four episodes and if we can’t then it might only be on one particular day, so you should at least be able to make other arrangements. To be honest, it’s a bit of a nightmare trying to keep everyone happy and usually we say no, but I’ll tell them you’re accepting the part on the basis that you’ll be free at five.’
Annie was horrified. ‘Oh, no, please I . . .’
‘Don’t worry, we’ll work something out. Leave it with me and I’ll talk to you later in the week. Meanwhile, I’ve just been handed a note to say that wardrobe and make-up would like to meet you on Thursday, if that’s OK with you.’
‘Yes, that’s fine, I can be available any time you like.’ She was waffling again.
‘Listen, it might be a good idea if you come in and see the place. We’re recording all day on Thursday so you could spend a couple of hours in studio in the morning and see the others in the afternoon. How does that sound?’
‘Perfect.’ She had to bite her lip to stop herself offering to sleep with him to make up for the hassle she was inflicting on them at this early stage.
‘Great, that’s it then. Oh,’ he laughed. ‘I’ve just been handed another note asking what size you are, top and bottom, so I think I’ll hand you back to Isobel ’cause if I know any more about you I might have
to marry you. Here she is. Bye for now.’
Annie was smiling as the other girl came back on the line. But five minutes later she was anxious again that she’d been too demanding. They’d probably be dying to get rid of her after four episodes, and she hadn’t even signed her first contract. She considered ringing Mike Nichols back, but couldn’t decide what to say.
She got out her diary and made a few more calls to friends who had been supportive over the past few months. After talking to quite a few answering machines she finally got lucky. Angie answered immediately.
‘Hi there, it’s Annie.’ She almost said Annie Weller, because she didn’t see Angie that often, but they usually had coffee after an audition, to catch up.
‘Annie, how are you? What’s happening?’
‘I’m great, Angie, how about you?’
‘Fine, although I’ve had two auditions this week and neither has been in contact. Still, I’m in rehearsal for a small play in the Civic so I’m kept going.’
Annie wasn’t sure about dumping good news on her, so, but she couldn’t help herself.
‘Well, guess what, I’ve just been offered a part in Southside.’
‘Oh my God, that’s fantastic. I knew they were casting at the moment and my agent’s been in touch with them. Tell me everything.’
Annie did.
‘That sounds brilliant. You deserve it. It’s just a pity there are so few good parts for women our age, at the moment. And it’ll probably get worse. It’s so much easier for men, it’s just not fair.’ They moaned for ages. Annie felt great to be part of it all and able to contribute properly.
She was delighted when Angie suggested they meet up for a few pints the following week to celebrate. Angie was the kind of girl who had a million close friends and Annie always felt good to even be considered part of her circle. She hung up, delighted with herself, knowing her news would be all around Dublin by this evening. Brushing her hair and grabbing a jacket, she left to visit her father happier than she’d been in years.
Chapter Ten
‘ANNIE, COME IN, love. You look well.’
‘Thanks, Dad. How are you? How’s the leg?’
‘A bit better today. No use complaining.’ Joe Weller was a tall, handsome, weatherbeaten man of seventy-four who always wore cardigans. Although he suffered badly with arthritis and his daughter knew it got him down at times, he never moaned. She noticed he was using a stick more often, even around the house. Still, he’d been a doer all his life so now he simply got on with things and accepted that life was tough. It always had been.
‘The kettle’s on. Would you like a sandwich?’
‘No thanks. I brought you a fruit brack. Your favourite.’
‘What did I do to deserve this?’ He was pleased.
‘You know I’m celebrating my first TV part.’ Annie grinned at him. ‘But I can’t afford champagne just yet.’
He left her to make tea and Annie looked around the room that had been home to her for ever. It was spotless and tidy, but cluttered, and she knew better than to suggest a bit of feng shui. Piles of newspapers were neatly stacked in a corner beside the gas fire that was always on. Annie sat down on a heap of pink velour in the corner, and felt the spongy seat give way underneath her. Did they still make pouffes any more? Did they still call them by that ridiculous name?
The room smelt of pipe tobacco and mothballs and the faded pictures and fussy smoke-stained wallpaper added an air of gloom. All the furniture was too big and too dark and an oversized ancient TV didn’t help, nor did the dog hairs and feeding bowls littered about, but it was still her father’s favourite place to be of an evening. Especially in the winter.
‘I tried calling the boys,’ she shouted towards the kitchen.
‘Any luck?’
‘Well, in Australia it was the middle of the night. I only realized after I’d dialled, so I hung up again quickly. In London Donal’s machine was on so I left a message. I have no idea where Jim is at the moment and I tried four different numbers for Greg and no-one had seen him.’
‘Don’t worry, they’ll ring from Australia on Sunday week like they always do. Jim was in Mexico last time I heard. And Greg rang last night and said he’d call round tomorrow, so I’ll tell him then.’
‘Where’s he staying at the moment?’
‘In Kilkenny with some other struggling artist.’ Her father emerged from the kitchen, tea towel in hand. ‘I dunno about him at all sometimes.’
‘He’ll be fine, he’s a survivor.’ Annie only ever kept in touch with her brothers through her dad, so she wasn’t worried that she hadn’t managed to speak to even one of them.
‘You don’t want to be getting too fond of that stuff, now.’
‘What stuff?’
‘Champagne. And mind yourself in that TV place. I hear they’re nearly all alcoholics and everybody is supposed to be sleeping with someone else’s wife.’
‘Chance would be a fine thing, Dad. Anyway, it’s only for a couple of weeks.’
‘Well, I wish you luck, you know that. Now, come into the kitchen and we’ll test this cake out for freshness and you can tell me all about the audition.’
An hour later Annie left, feeling glad that she’d called. Home was a great leveller. Her father was terrific and she owed him a lot. He waved her off and she promised to call over and help him cut the front hedge at the weekend.
As she walked along the neat, littered street, its row of identical council cottages all with their brightly painted front doors and windowboxes and hanging baskets of fading winter pansies, Annie remembered her childhood spent skipping along these streets, playing beds and kick the can and relievie-i-o. Days when the only pain was tiredness and your worst fear was being called in early. Until her mother’s death it had been a happy time, with long sunshiny days spent in the grass-scented air and evenings curled up in someone else’s house, scoffing Kimberley and Mikado biscuits and drinking diluted Mi Wadi orange. They were always hungry and always craving an adventure, preferably Enid Blyton style.
All that had changed overnight for Annie when her mother passed away but she didn’t resent it. It was simply what was meant for her. Maybe all that’s happened has been preparing me for what’s about to happen now, she was fantasizing as she sat on the bus from Dun Laoghaire, smelling the faintly stinky sea breeze and recalling the long walks along the pier with her mother and brothers, licking HB ripple ice-cream wafers. Or Neapolitan if you were really lucky. She felt a faint trace of regret that life hadn’t stayed that simple.
It was five minutes to six as Annie approached the restaurant, still dressed in casual clothes and swinging the bag containing her suit and white blouse. She planned to change when she got there and was hoping she’d remembered her shoes when she noticed the sign over the main door wasn’t lit, the inkwell-blue streak not casting its usual chilly evening glow.
The front door was locked, which was also strange. Annie rang the bell and a hassled Owen opened up. ‘Oh Annie, I’m sorry, I meant to ring you but with all that’s been happening it completely slipped my mind.’
‘That’s OK. What’s wrong? The sign isn’t on.’
‘We’re not opening tonight. Last night, after you left, David English collapsed. It was terrible. We had to call an ambulance. There was chaos.’
‘That’s awful. Is he OK?’ She still didn’t understand why they were closed.
‘You didn’t hear any news bulletins then? He was dead on arrival at the hospital.’
‘No.’ Annie was shocked.
‘I’m afraid so. The police called round this morning. Just routine. They wanted to take a statement, check what happened.’
‘What did happen?’
‘Heart attack. He was unconscious when he left here and died shortly afterwards. Obviously, by the time his wife got to him it was too late. Must have been an awful shock for her.’
Annie felt numb. ‘I saw her yesterday, when I went for the audition, she looked so sexy and aloof and carefre
e, every inch the star. I wanted to be her.’ She felt guilty just saying the words. ‘Who’d want to be in her shoes today?’ Annie felt as sad as if it had been one of her own family.
‘You were talking to him when he arrived. Notice anything unusual?’ Owen asked, leading the way to a table and removing a full ashtray before pouring two coffees from the half-full cafetière.
‘No, he was charming as always. Although, come to think of it,’ she was remembering his slightly grey tinge, ‘I did think he looked tired and sort of ashen faced.’
Owen filled her in on what had happened after she’d left.
The party had been drinking till well after midnight, although Owen had noticed that David English himself was drinking relatively little and had passed on the after-dinner brandies that his guests were downing like water. He’d got up, presumably to go to the bathroom, then suddenly slumped over and fell to the ground. Owen had been on his own, having sent the last of the staff home at twelve-thirty.
No-one really knew what to do. They didn’t try to move him, simply loosened his clothing and dialled 999 for the gardaí and an ambulance. He was still breathing when the ambulance arrived, within two or three minutes of the call.
Owen persuaded the rest of the party to return to their hotel and took their number. The gardaí promised to make enquiries at the hospital and let the businessmen know the outcome. No-one had believed it would be so gruesome.
‘I didn’t know what to do after they’d gone. I went home and couldn’t sleep, ended up drinking brandy myself at 4 a.m.’ Owen was still upset. ‘When I heard he’d died, it didn’t seem right to open tonight. Anyway the police were here and the place is still a mess. There wasn’t much clearing up done after what happened. I called all our customers and explained.’
Annie and Owen cleaned up upstairs, tidied stuff away, and answered the phone. At eight-thirty he suggested they call it a day.
