Back After the Break

by Anita Notaro

  ‘Breakfast, showers and then a walk.’ They decided not to argue.

  Charlie was without doubt the liveliest one in the kitchen as they silently drank gallons of tea and coffee and, despite their earlier protests, got through a huge mound of hot, crisp, buttery toast. One by one they trooped into the shower and emerged looking no different, not having made even the slightest attempt to do anything other than make themselves feel a bit more human.

  ‘Imagine, I should be working today, except I swapped.’ Debbie felt as if she’d been run over by a train. ‘Thank you, God.’

  Debbie and Tara were throwing on some of Lindsay’s clothes – big, baggy sweatshirts and hoodies on top and anything that fitted on the bottom. Lindsay grabbed Charlie’s lead and they all piled into the car and headed for Howth, a small fishing village in North County Dublin, where they climbed the cliffs and sucked in every last bit of fresh, clean air and turned their faces towards the almost translucent sun. They looked an unlikely threesome, Lindsay striding fiercely forward, head distorted in concentration, with two grey faces and weary bodies behind, struggling to keep pace. Charlie was the only one getting any real pleasure from the outing and seemed to be egging them on, constantly running ahead and turning expectantly towards them with a big, wet, laughing face and feather-duster tail. They returned home exhausted, stopping at the supermarket, at Tara’s insistence, in spite of the other two gagging at the thought of food.

  ‘We need a Mammy’s dinner,’ she insisted.

  ‘We need a curer,’ Debbie pleaded.

  They arrived home just as the tired sun gave up on the day and each went about their tasks without speaking, in a well-practised drill. Tara lit the fire, Lindsay stuck a fat chicken smeared with butter and stuffed with garlic, lemon and black peppercorns in the oven and Debbie immediately headed for the bottle she’d persuaded them to buy. By the time the fire had caught, with just a little help from a full packet of firelighters, Debbie had made three big fat tumblers of hot port with lemon and cloves and Lindsay had peeled some potatoes for roasties. They sat around the blazing black hole, grateful for the warmth and the instant sedation of the soothing liquid, despite their earlier insistence that they’d never drink again.

  ‘I’m so glad we were able to get out of that restaurant as fast as we did, even if it meant forfeiting our dinner,’ Debbie laughed half-heartedly, ‘although my insisting on ordering those awful pizzas as soon as we got home wasn’t so clever.’

  ‘It helped soak up some of the alcohol and by the time we got round to remembering to eat we’d had so much to drink that they tasted gorgeous.’ Tara made a face. ‘How many bottles of wine did we get through, anyway?’

  ‘I’d say five, at least, and I don’t really want to be reminded.’ Lindsay managed a cynical smile. ‘God, I’ll bet his ears were burning all night.’

  ‘You haven’t really talked about it today,’ Debbie prompted. Lindsay said nothing for a few seconds, just stared at the flames, trying to think how she really felt.

  ‘I’ve just realized that it probably isn’t as bad as I thought it was going to be when I first saw them together. Yeah, I got a terrible shock. It sort of made it all seem real and not just a sick joke but I suppose I knew it was over and God knows I’d imagined them together often enough, so that when it actually came to it, well, it was never going to be as bad as the scenario I’d played out in my mind a million times. Do you know what I mean?’

  They did.

  ‘At least . . . it WAS awful . . . at first I thought I was going to faint, or throw up, or cry, or beg him to come back, but now it all seems like a dream. You know, this time yesterday if you’d asked me how I would cope if I ever met them together, I’d have said I would have handled it very differently, but when it came to it, I just went completely numb and my mind kept thinking, this is it, no reason to doubt it any more, he’s not yours any longer. It felt very odd but I don’t feel as bad today because I’ve known, deep down, that he wasn’t coming back and my mind must have been dealing with it subconsciously.’

  ‘You poor baby, come ’ere.’ Debbie was her usual affectionate self.

  ‘I guess I’ve no more excuses for not getting on with it.’ Lindsay looked pathetic.

  ‘I think this may be the start of you seeing him for what he is, not what you thought he was.’ Tara, gentle as ever, not wanting to push too far too quickly.

  ‘Yeah. It still hurts, but the pain has sort of dulled over the weeks, my stomach doesn’t feel like a big open wound that I keep forgetting about and pouring salt on, which is how it used to be. And somewhere in the middle of all that turmoil in the restaurant last night, I realized he wasn’t as big or as strong as I’d thought. So, I guess I must be getting over it a bit.’

  They kissed and hugged and decided that while they didn’t have any reason to celebrate they could just about manage one glass of wine with dinner, which they ate on their laps in front of the fire – crispy, garlicky chicken with crunchy roasties and a tangy green salad. By eight o’clock they were all knackered and they left her, each feeling they’d crossed yet another major hurdle and grateful to have at least survived the trauma. Lindsay took a bath and thought once again how lucky she was to have the two of them in her life. She smiled when she remembered the three of them tucked up in her bed the previous night, eating and drinking their heads off and just letting her rant. They’d refused to leave her on her own and abandoned all their plans for the weekend in order to stay as long as was necessary.

  She felt OK as she climbed into bed at nine o’clock on a Saturday night, with only the TV for company. I can handle this, she thought, a bit subdued and a good bit wiser.

  The next day Lindsay slept late, which surprised and pleased her, and she spent the day clearing up the bomb-site, washing clothes and generally getting ready for the week ahead. She felt quiet and sad all day, like someone recovering from a bereavement – the initial awful pain gone but the sense of loss and loneliness remaining. She was very glad to have her new job and potential new career to keep her busy and she knew she needed to work twice as hard to complete the training course to the best of her ability, because her job was about the only thing keeping her sane.

  And so the weeks flew by. Autumn turned to winter but no one noticed because the weather stayed so mild, until you realized that the trees were almost naked and bird sounds were no longer a feature of mornings. It was getting harder to prise Charlie away from the Aga when she left each day and Lindsay felt sorry for him because she was working incredibly long days and most of her evenings were taken up reading or catching up on notes. She was lucky that she had a decent-sized garden and an elderly neighbour who let himself in the back gate and took Charlie for a walk each afternoon. Lindsay was so thrilled that she bought a lead and left it hanging in the garden shed for him and was always leaving packets of Werther’s Original and other sweets beside it, which she suspected Charlie shared. And this Christmas Charlie was going to buy Mr Nichols a very large bottle of brandy.

  Lindsay seemed to do nothing except work and sleep, try to eat healthily and not think too much about her life. And it almost worked. She no longer thought about him every ten seconds and had slowly cleared away the happy photos and reminders of a love that she’d lost. The girls were busy as well. Tara seemed to be in court all the time and Debbie kept ringing them both reminding them to make Christmas lists and give her a note of things they wanted her to get while she was in Milan or some other exotic shopper’s paradise. Both ignored her messages, Tara because she was already quite well organized and knew Debbie never managed to get exactly what you’d asked for and Lindsay because as far as she was concerned, Christmas was just not happening this year.

  Suddenly it was the end of November and the course was coming to an end. Everyone was stressed out, worrying about their final project, where they had to produce and direct a thirty-minute pilot programme on any topic they wanted. Lindsay and Carrie discussed this for hours over the odd glass of wine –
but mostly coffee cause they needed to stay awake. Some of the others had brilliant ideas for programmes: a documentary on transsexuals, a love story between two women, a fast-paced movie quiz and several reality TV shows. After much discussion, Carrie had decided to take a look at the gay scene in Ireland. Lindsay had a rough idea for an alternative chat show, very late-night, a bit seedy, with a studio set based on one of the new hot spots in Dublin – a show where the audience were involved and got to ask the guests questions, competitions and cookery demos were banned and new music was a feature. Every possible topic was up for discussion and the format was to be really snappy with subjects ranging from grunge to Gucci, IT girls to designer babies, masturbation to lap dancing. It was aimed at an audience aged between twenty and thirty-nine and Lindsay worked on her proposal for hours, wanting to shock yet satisfy, tease but still tantalize.

  It was difficult because the audience she was trying to capture were notoriously fickle and switched channels relentlessly and although the pilots would never be transmitted, the Course Director had told them that each programme would be watched by a group of representative people in the industry who would comment and criticize and assess them as they would a real programme. It was therefore essential to treat this project as if it were for broadcast and they each spent hours throwing out ideas and looking for help. They had a small budget and four hours’ recording time in studio with a real crew so the programmes would all be professionally made. This was the work on which they would ultimately be judged, although they’d been assured that their contribution and performance for the entire course would be taken into account when deciding their fate. There were twelve people on the course and only eight jobs so one in three would not make the grade, which made Lindsay very determined. She’d had enough disappointment this year to last a lifetime, so one of those jobs had her name on it.

  On the Monday morning, their two weeks’ preparation began and Lindsay was up at six, working on her laptop, making notes and preparing the running order for the show. They didn’t have to formally report to the Training Centre during this time, except to meet with the Course Executives for half an hour at the end of the first week to report progress.

  Lindsay spent a couple of hours at home and then went in to make calls and meet team leaders. It was amazing having a real crew – cameramen who knew how to frame shots, lighting directors who used their initiative. Up until now, they had crewed for each other with varying degrees of success, so having professionals really made it all come alive. Each person had access to a designer for one day and as they couldn’t build a set, because of cost, they had to design their shows from stock pieces. Lindsay realized how lucky she was as soon as she was introduced to her designer. Jonathan had bleached blond hair and was as camp as anyone she’d met but he was full of ideas and enthusiasm. She had given him a brief which explained how she wanted the show to look and they spent a morning trawling through a huge warehouse where all sets, past and present, were stored. Her look was to be steel and scaffolding, with as many levels as possible, and Jonathan had found amazing stuff. He’d also begged and borrowed some really stylish seating, all aluminium and leather, and had even found rolls of muslin to form a backdrop, which could be transformed with lighting. Lindsay started to feel really excited about her project.

  As guests she had found a sex therapist (whom Tara’s sister had attended), a young guy who was thrown out of a boy band for being gay (chatted up by Debbie on one of her flights) and a movie executive to talk about the rise of young Irish actors in Hollywood (captain of her mother’s golf club). Lindsay had phoned a couple of the radio DJs and got a list of up-and-coming bands and two of them were delighted to perform for free, so Lindsay spent a great night in some very seedy venues in town watching them perform. The audience, all under thirty-five, comprised friends of friends so Lindsay knew they would applaud with gusto and look interested.

  Halfway through the second week’s preparation Lindsay panicked and decided the whole idea was shite and rang Carrie in desperation. To her amazement her friend was having exactly the same thoughts so they immediately arranged to meet for a pint and a final talk through of ideas. Lindsay thought Carrie’s idea was fab. She was following three different homosexual men around for a day (supposedly) – all to be shot in four hours. The idea was to try and see the world through their eyes and look at the pluses and minuses of being a gay man in Ireland in the new millennium.

  Carrie made Lindsay explain her entire format for the show and asked one or two pertinent questions that Lindsay hadn’t thought of, which proved invaluable.

  Even more importantly, they gave each other much-needed reassurance and with it came a surge of confidence. After two hours’ talking shop they settled down for a gossip and a well-earned drink.

  ‘You know the thing I love most about this is that it feels like a real challenge and you put everything into it because it’s so exciting,’ Carrie enthused between mouthfuls of crisps and beer. ‘I’ve also met a few hunks, which really helps my dedication,’ she grinned.

  ‘Only you could find a hunk on a programme about gays,’ Lindsay laughed at her.

  ‘Well, I’ve had to go through a lot of straight men to get to their gay friends.’

  ‘Well, that’s something I’ve no interest in, which is just as well considering I haven’t had time to even wash my hair for four days. God, I’ll be really glad when this part is over, it’s doing my head in.’

  Lindsay marvelled at Carrie’s calm, easy-going manner. They had a great couple of hours and Lindsay went to bed that night excited and exhilarated for the first time in ages.

  Chapter Eight

  THE DAY OF Lindsay’s final project came at last and she felt physically sick with nerves. She’d tossed and turned all night, convinced she’d make a complete mess of it and lose her precious new job. When she did sleep she dreamt that Paul turned up in the audience and each time the camera focused on him he was kissing a different woman. She woke at six, having set three different alarms in case she overslept. Some chance. She forced herself to have tea and toast and squeezed some red grapefruit to make a rather lurid-looking juice, showered quickly and put on her favourite Ghost black dress. It was long, fitted and simple, and with a white T-shirt underneath and her huge black Lainey Keogh cardigan and boots she looked kind of funky and relaxed. She’d forced herself to make time to have her hair cut the day before, so she left it loose to reveal her new, shiny, conker-brown mop.

  She went straight to the studio at eight-thirty, to check on progress, even though recording wasn’t till two. The set took her by complete surprise. Jonathan, true to his word, had made it look just like a nightclub and Lindsay smiled as she watched him scurrying around yelling instructions at the staging crew.

  When she tried to help he whispered, ‘Want to cause a strike, darling?’

  ‘Sorry, it’s just I’m so used to doing everything myself. On the training course we have no help.’

  ‘Welcome to the real world, although I’m not sure it’s any better.’ He smiled knowingly but failed to put her off even slightly. This was where she wanted to be more than anywhere else on the planet.

  ‘For fuck’s sake, be careful with that, you’re ruining my perfect floor,’ Jonathan tore into one of the sound crew who was dragging mike stands across the flawless white, shiny floor. Tempers flared for a minute or two and she was surprised to find that no one took any notice.

  ‘It’s drama everyday here, worse than a soap opera’, the floor manager, Steve, winked at her. Lindsay watched as everyone went about their business, marvelling that this was all for her. Several of the senior crew members came to talk to her, urging her to ask them anything she didn’t understand. She couldn’t believe how willing they all were, despite the fact that this was a simple training programme. Everyone seemed to want her to do well and she basked in the warmth of the goodwill around her. Peter Jenkins, a shy, smiling cameraman came to introduce himself and wish her luck.

 
‘I hope we get to work together for real some day,’ he grinned and she was scared to realize how very much she wanted this job.

  Lindsay’s heart was in her mouth as she walked into the control room later to begin rehearsals. She was in charge, this was it and her future career might be decided in the next couple of hours. She couldn’t ever remember feeling so nervous, even at the famous interview.

  She was met by one of the technical people, who explained that they had a problem getting pictures from one of the cameras. Her heart sank but she forced herself to stay calm.

  ‘Tell me the problem exactly and how long you think it will take.’ He explained in detail, some of which she didn’t fully understand.

  ‘It could take ten minutes but then again it could take half an hour.’

  ‘I have to be finished at six, no matter what,’ she explained calmly. The agreement was that every person had exactly four hours’ studio time and had to finish regardless.

  ‘We’re doing our best, honestly,’ the older man smiled kindly, ‘and I’m sorry but you can’t rehearse until we have pictures.’

  ‘OK.’ Lindsay took a deep breath and put on her headset so that she could talk to everyone. Briefly and as clearly as she could she explained the problem while wondering frantically what she could do to use the time. ‘As we can’t rehearse I’d like to have a meeting of all crew on the studio floor to talk through the running order,’ she decided, thinking quickly.

  It proved to be a very good move as it was the first time all the crew were together and only the seniors knew anything about her programme. She quickly went through the plan and the script and asked for questions. There were lots, some of which brought up some difficulties she hadn’t anticipated but to her surprise everyone tried to row in. Sound had a problem getting a mike to some of the audience and the senior cameraman came to her rescue. ‘We can move camera one during the music number to let sound in for the next discussion.’