Probably not as receptive to his announcement as I should have been, I quickly texted back, ‘Sorry. Who this?’ just to send him the clear message that I was most definitely over him. Knowing my style, he quickly texted back, ‘Eva. I’m not looking to play games. Can you give me a good time to talk tomorrow? It’s about Daisy.’ While I initially thought that he could be dying, and possibly thinking of leaving some money to Daisy, my imagination then started to get the better of me and flipped to terrible thoughts of genetic conditions. With images of Michael having passed something terrible to Daisy and to me running through my head, and with my heart thumping in my mouth, I somehow managed to text back, ‘8.30 a.m. pls’ with the shakiest of hands. ‘Thank you. Talk tomorrow,’ he beeped back, finishing with not one but two xes.
I lay awake the entire night, experiencing every emotion from bad to worse, my worried tears eventually easing to gentle sobs. I suspected that whatever the outcome of my phone call with my ex the following morning, my life, and the life of my precious daughter, was going to be much worse off. I had spent many angry nights during what I called my ‘former Eva years’ wanting to smash Michael’s smug face in, and until that night I had felt that I had moved on from the deep resentment I harboured for him and let go of all my abandonment issues. But this new threat my ex-husband was holding over me made all the revulsion and rage I had suppressed come flooding back.
My eyes were as sore as if they’d been attacked with wire wool by the time I got up at 7.00 a.m. And sheer exhaustion made my body feel like it had swum the English Channel overnight. Thinking the worst was inevitable, I had tried to Google on my phone possible conditions that Michael could have passed on to Daisy. Despite being a journalist, I had never been great at navigating the internet, so after several stabs at it I gave up my search for information after I keyed in ‘diseases transmittable between parent & child’, and the links showed up: ‘Why Do Teens Have Unprotected Sex?’, ‘Gum Disease Between Family Members’, and ‘Herpes From Sharing Dessert?’
Although I knew that obsessing over the possibilities wasn’t going to give me anything other than high blood pressure, no amount of counting Barbies or reciting Leaving Cert poetry could clear my mind of ominous thoughts.
I kept my head down and I rushed in and out of the kitchen as the Maguire posse went about their usual manic breakfast routine. Scared of blurting out my fears, I shared minimal chat with Maura as I explained, ‘Daisy is fine with her bottle, and she’ll be happy listening to one of her CDs.’
By 8.01 a.m. I was out the door and on my way in to Brady Reel Time Films. Just like Bradley had promised, my wages had gone through by Friday evening, but such money matters seemed meaningless compared to the issues I would have to confront today, between the dead men and – well, I couldn’t even contemplate any further illness or possible death until I’d spoken to Michael. Bang on half past eight he rang me. I was sitting on an overcrowded train, and even though I couldn’t remember the last time I had actually spoken to him, the sound of his voice immediately catapulted me back to my old life. It suddenly felt like only yesterday since I had seen, touched and held him.
‘How’r’ya doin’?’ he asked casually, out of politeness as much as anything, I suspected.
‘Shite,’ I answered grumpily. ‘I didn’t sleep a wink last night trying to work out what you were insinuating. So what’s up? How sick are you?’ We may once have been very much in love, albeit briefly, but I couldn’t allow myself to show any more emotion to the man. He had wooed me, married me, made me pregnant – and then abandoned me and our baby. Even though he had made himself another life with my former best friend, and didn’t keep in any kind of regular contact, we were always going to be connected through Daisy. But that in no way meant I needed to be sympathetic or nice to him.
Narky back, Michael snapped, ‘Nothing ever changes with you, Eva, does it?’
‘Oh, nothing changes with me, Michael, except nappies, living arrangements, general stuff like that. I’ve got responsibilities keeping me busy, but of course you’re not familiar with that term. So, tell me, Michael, what do you need to get off your chest? I’m all ears.’ At the end of my rant there was nothing but silence at the end of the phone. Curious to see if he had hung up on me, I carefully asked, ‘Hello. Anyone there?’
‘Are you finished?’ came his reply.
Not wanting to back down too easily I snapped back, ‘For now,’ and then held my tongue in anticipation. My heart and stomach were pounding in my throat, almost jumping out of my mouth. Panic was starting to grip me as endless medical conditions flashed through my head. Daisy had already been sicker than one little person ever deserved to be. I never wanted her to see the inside of a hospital again, other than to meet and greet a younger brother or sister. So all I could do, while armed with nothing but a mother’s natural protective instincts, was to beg. ‘Michael, just spit it out please. You’re killing me here.’
Although we could have continued sparring at greater length, he generously ended the suspense with the news: ‘I’ve got a blood-clotting disorder, Eva.’
Taken aback, I was confused. ‘What’s that? And why are you sharing this with me? I’m not the one who has to make you chicken soup any more.’
‘It’s a hereditary disease, Eva. Daisy could have hereditary thrombophilia. You’ll need to get her checked out. I’ve got some V-Factor, and Daisy has a fifty-fifty chance of having it also.’
‘You couldn’t have the X-Factor, no? All the drama there’s been in our lives and you decide to have the V-Factor. I’ve heard it all, now.’
‘It’s not a definite, Eva. I’m sorry, but she should be tested. Myself and Maddie are bringing the baby to see a specialist next week.’
‘Oh, what an inconvenience that must be for Maddie! I hope she doesn’t have to miss out on lunch with all the other husband-robbing whores who she probably hangs out with now.’
‘Anger is a normal reaction, Eva, so I’m gonna understand that you’re hurting.’
‘That’s big of you. Are you also gonna pay for the specialist, considering you’ve paid for nothing else for Daisy?’ He seemed taken aback at such a request, and I could hear him mumbling with confusion at the other end of the phone. ‘Well?’ I asked abruptly. ‘She’s your daughter, and you’re the one who gave her this. Are you going to do the right thing and pay for her tests and, God forbid, her treatment if she needs any?’ Trembling with anger, I needed to get off the phone quick before I started to lose it completely on the Tube and someone had me committed.
His answer was a weak, ‘Yes, of course,’ but at that moment it was probably the best I could expect to hear.
Not able to cope with the logistics of organizing everything, I rushed him off the phone as I approached the underground part of my journey and the reception threatened to disappear. ‘I can’t focus properly right now. I’ll call you later,’ were my final words.
As if my world wasn’t crashing down around me enough already, I ran all the way to the Brady Reel Time Films offices and went straight to the computer on that lonely desk to Google ‘blood-clotting diseases’ instead of asking directly to speak to Bradley. I didn’t get much time for my research, though. Bradley was soon out of his office and calling over. ‘Inside when you’re ready please, Alice,’ he requested.
Trying to buy more time, I shouted, ‘Five more minutes, please, Bradley …’
But he wasn’t feeling charitable. ‘Now, THANK YOU very much,’ came his sarcastic reply.
It was only as I walked through the door of his office that I remembered that his girlfriend had been extremely sick at the weekend. With all my own dramas I had completely forgotten to enquire about her wellbeing. ‘I was sorry to hear about your girlfriend. Is she OK now? Are you OK?’
‘Not really. She’s still in hospital, some problem with the mechanics of her brain. And I’m pretty shattered too,’ came his response. ‘But undercover documentaries – with associated dead bodies – aren’t going to m
ake themselves now, are they?’
Choosing to ignore his obvious pain, I thought it best to continue our discussion all businesslike and stick to the facts of the situation surrounding Sir Charlie’s. After all, up there with Daisy’s possible health concerns were my own health and safety issues. ‘So what’s the latest on the deaths? Who was killed? Were those second shootings linked? And should I go to the police about what I heard?’ With my mind already in a whirl from the morning I’d had, a barrage of uncensored questions came flooding out as soon as I opened my mouth. But although he looked shell-shocked, Bradley still managed to take it in his stride.
‘OK, it’s like this. As far as we can work out, the person shot at Sir Charlie’s was not an employee. Our intelligence has told us it was a private feud, yes, drugs-related, but nothing, it seems, to do with our guys. It was just a coincidence.’
‘Really? Pretty extreme sort of coincidence, don’t you think? It might not have been a staff member who died. But who’s to know it wasn’t one of those bouncer guys I heard in the toilets? There’s a smoking gun in the picture, and I don’t want it to be pointed at my head. Do you hear where I’m coming from on this?’
‘Don’t start, Eva—’
‘ALICE, please.’
‘Sorry, Alice. Yes, I do understand, and let me reassure you, I don’t want any more blood on my shirt this week. My heart’s not able for it. Now, do you believe me when I say that? I would not, and will not, put you in jeopardy. But I do need you to go back to work this week.’
‘With my body camera?’
‘Very much so. You’re gonna need it all the time, so I suggest you organize some sort of decorative hairpiece or headband to put it in, since that dress of yours is too revealing. Busy up that blonde mop of yours, and keep the camera phone charged twenty-four seven.’ Stressed at the thought of having to recreate some sort of Amy Winehouse beehive, and smuggle a camera into it into the bargain, all I could do was sigh heavily, which didn’t seem to be appreciated by Bradley. ‘What’s the problem here?’ His eyes burrowed into mine in a menacing fashion. ‘Scared of a bit of work? This is the job, Alice. You are not standing in a cosy studio somewhere reading a fucking autocue, and that’s reflected in your high salary. It’s called danger money, honey. That’s why you’re on the big bucks. Capiche?’
With nothing to keep me in the office that afternoon, I cheekily texted Rory to see if he was about. I desperately needed something – or better yet someone – to distract me from my dire situation. Michael had graciously texted me again to say that the tests that Daisy needed didn’t have to be done immediately as it wasn’t an urgent threat. But, much as it shamed me to admit it, my heart couldn’t deal with going home to look at my little girl’s trusting face now I had learned what might be in store for her further down the line. The new man in my life was at least one area where something positive might be just around the corner.
Rory’s reply was mercifully speedy. ‘I’m about – R U?’ Within an hour we had met up, and within another we were sitting cuddling at some art-house movie off Shaftesbury Avenue. He had had an afternoon of diving planned, seemingly his favourite activity when he had a break from work, but he cleared his diary, ‘Immediately – if not before!’ to spend a few hours with yours truly.
Since this was our first official – if last-minute – date, Rory wouldn’t allow me to even buy the popcorn: ‘I’d look like a cheapskate! If word got out I’d never get laid again!’
Although I laughed, I wasn’t sure if he was treating our fledgling relationship seriously. I was sure I felt a connection on my side, I just hoped he was feeling something, too. I would have to take things slowly and not rush the situation too much. OK, so secretly what I wanted in the long term was a daddy for Daisy, and possibly another child also, but as far as Rory was concerned we were just two singles out on a spontaneous date, having a laugh. Getting serious too fast could be my downfall. It had been before. If only I was a better liar! I was useless at keeping secrets. And yet a big part of me hated myself for being as good at it as I had been up to now.
Trying not to over-analyse things, I ignored some of his frivolous comments about his pet hates, deciding that most of them were born out of nervous chitter-chatter. His remark that, ‘All kids are brats under the age of twenty-four,’ was, I felt, a little harsh. Not to mention his description of, ‘Single mothers who drop off their sprogs to cinemas thinking it’s a babysitting service, without any regard for people like us, who might like to do some canoodling in private.’ Not wanting him to put me off any further, I planted a big kiss on his lips in order to shut him up. Unsurprisingly enough, it worked a treat, and before I realized it we were snogging extremely passionately, as if we were alone in the dark on our own.
For some reason, though, my brain wouldn’t allow me to enjoy the moment for long. Yes, his manly tongue did taste sweet, and had the power to delight in places that probably shouldn’t be delighted of a Monday afternoon, but images of my daughter playing with Maura kept flashing through my head, as did the gruesome faces of those bouncers standing outside Sir Charlie’s. And then, for some reason, I started visualizing my mother giving out to me, complaining that I was once again letting myself down by not playing the game: the make-men-wait dating game. The sight of my mother, real or imaginary, was just too much to take, and I quickly pulled back from our marathon snog to ask, ‘How much do you like me?’ I immediately knew I had said the wrong thing. How stupid could I be? Did I never learn from previous mistakes? As a confused, pained look shot across his face, I made the decision to stop him in his tracks for fear he’d say something unbearable like, ‘I like ya, but I don’t like you that much when you come on all heavy.’
Quickly, I whispered, ‘Do you like me enough to take me out again on the town, I mean? I’m working Tuesday, Wednesday and Saturday nights, but maybe we could have a little fun afterwards?’
Visibly relieved, his face lit up, and he said, ‘I think I like you that much all right. In fact, I might even like you enough to take you out every night this week. If you let me?’
Doing my best to be non-committal, a tip Lisa always urged me to use, I seductively licked my lips, and after wiggling the tip of my tongue for a few seconds like an anaconda smelling its prey, I chuckled. ‘Oh, I’m not sure I like you that much.’ Then I smacked another kiss on his lips and teased, ‘But maybe if you try a little harder you might win me over.’
Just as our kissing turned more serious, an usher came down and started shining her torch in our direction. ‘If you don’t keep it down, you’ll have to leave,’ she demanded. ‘If you want to see a skin flick, take it down the road.’ Apologizing through fits of giddy laughter, we eventually managed to make her leave with promises of good behaviour. Although Rory playfully teased that he had the expertise to film his own skin flick with just his trusty Nokia, while waving his mobile around in a very masterful fashion to show off his capabilities, we actually did end up watching the rest of the movie and snuggled throughout in a very loving way.
After pizza slices and full-fat Cokes, Rory walked me to the Tube, and the last thing he said to me as he left lifted my heart. ‘This was the best afternoon delight I’ve had in years. Just being with you has made me so happy.’ Although I tried not to read too much into his words, I must have sat on the train with a broad smile across my face the entire way home. I focused on his positive attributes – like his ability to kiss and make me laugh – and chose to ignore his dislike for children and his suggestion about making Paris-Hilton-style home movies; those issues were for another, less fraught, day.
Sure, I would have to return to reality as soon as I arrived home, and tomorrow would bring its own challenges with my first night-shift at Sir Charlie’s, but for now I was happy. The bright lights seemed brighter, the big city no longer as cold. I was no longer just a lost little Irish girl, fading away into the background. My idle fantasies deemed me an attractive woman making her way in the big city, a woman who had a handsom
e suitor willing to drop his friends in order to spend an afternoon of quality time with her. OK, so I would have to cheat the crooks and hide a camera in my hair tomorrow night, but I laughed quietly to myself as I thought of the famous song: ‘Bright Lights, Big City’. That would indeed have to become my theme tune …
* * *
Looking like a cross between Gary Glitter and Marge Simpson, I stepped out on to the floor of Sir Charlie’s with a strange sense of confidence. I wasn’t sure where it came from – it sure as hell wasn’t from my appearance – but I somehow reasoned that this was a dog-eat-dog place, and unless I chose to embrace my task I would just be over-whelmed by it.
Unlike daytime, Sir Charlie’s by night was a much noisier hangout. Although it still functioned as a restaurant, it was mainly a nightclub – with more people just drinking at the tables, and, of course, the occasional reveller dancing around them. Despite it being just an ordinary Tuesday, the place was full and showed no signs of being affected by the recession.
Although it was hard not to get caught up in the fun of simply working in a hip restaurant, I bounced back into reporter mode after overhearing two blokes walking to the toilets, one of them saying, ‘I’ve picked up an 8 bomb.’ Watching them return, I discreetly followed them back to their table to discover that my old pal Tanya Cruze was sitting among their group of friends.
Champagne Secrets Page 11