‘Eh, would you like to come in?’ I groan sarcastically, as I close the door behind us.
‘Don’t pull that crap with me,’ he says. ‘I still own this place.’
I watch as he paces around the tiny living space. His eyes sweep over every piece of furniture. His body language is tense and jumpy. ‘Right. Where is it?’ he asks.
‘Where is what?’
‘The money?’
My throat tightens. ‘What money?’
Vinny shakes his head. ‘I’ve no time for games, Tina. I know you’ve gotten yourself mixed up in something. Drugs most likely, eh? You’ve always been a bit odd but I’ve tried to give you the benefit of the doubt. I thought you were just lonely, if I’m honest.’
I am lonely.
‘I’m not doing anything illegal,’ I say. ‘I promise.’
‘Well that’s not what your neighbours say. Apparently, you’ve a stack of cash hiding in here somewhere. They’ve seen it through the window.’
‘My neighbours said this? Ironic since they’re the ones up to no good.’
Vinny jams his hands on his hips and puffs out. ‘That lovely elderly couple. I don’t think so.’
I shake my head. ‘Hang on. Mr and Mrs Simmons? I’ve been nothing but nice to them.’
‘Oh I know,’ Vinny says. ‘I’ve had them in my ear plenty about you.’
I shake my head and look at Vinny with an expression that asks, What have they said?
‘You can’t keep turning up on their doorstep unannounced.’
‘But I just want to help,’ I say.
‘They have grown-up children of their own. They don’t need you. It’s bad enough that you call me at all hours of the day and night but now you’re pestering the neighbours too. It’s not on.’
I try not to let Vinny see how much his words hurt, but my eyes are glossing over.
‘Look, Tina,’ he says, clearly losing patience. ‘You’re not a bad kid. Maybe you got dealt a lousy hand in life or whatever but I can’t have trouble. You’re going to have to move out. I’m sorry.’
‘No, please,’ I say. ‘I’ve just been let go from work. That’s why I’ve so much free time. It’s where the money came from too. It’s a redundancy payment.’
‘Oh.’ Vinny sighs, and his stiff shoulders relax.
‘I’m going to set up my own business,’ I say. ‘I just need a little time.’
‘Good for you.’
‘Thank you,’ I say, smiling. ‘Here, let me show you.’ I hurry over to the countertop next to the cooker and fetch my scrapbook. I flick through the pages excitedly showing him pictures of elaborate cakes and muffins that I’ve cut out from baking magazines to create beautiful collages. ‘This one is lemon drizzle.’ I point. ‘Oh, and my favourite, a chocolate biscuit here. See?’
Vinny exhales and pulls a face. ‘These are all very nice, love, but there’s more to running a successful business than sticking pictures in some old scrapbook.’
‘I know. I know.’ I can’t curb my enthusiasm. ‘This is just the start. I have loads more ideas.’
‘Do you want my advice?’ he asks.
‘Sure.’ I shrug, closing my scrapbook, deflated that he’s not showing an interest.
‘Use the cash to buy yourself some decent clothes.’ He glances at my pyjamas where the seam on one side of my top is unravelling up to my ribcage and a long thread hangs loose. ‘Find a new job. And a new flat.’
‘A new flat?’ I echo.
‘In a better area, eh?’ he says.
‘You want me to move out?’ I say.
Vinny nods and his eyes are focused on the ground. ‘You have until the end of the month. Good luck, love.’
I watch as Vinny walks himself to the door. He doesn’t turn around, not even to say goodbye. I wait until he’s turned the corner at the end of the road before I slam the door behind him. I don’t realise I’ve been holding my breath until I press my back against the door and breathe out, exhausted. Bending my knees, I slide slowly to the floor, my eyes staring into the distance. I don’t even notice I’m staring at the TV – not until her face comes on.
Her!
It’s really her.
After all these years it’s Darcy Hogan. I don’t believe it.
Chapter Three
DARCY
Monday 10 June 2019
Luke kisses the top of my head. ‘I’d say good luck, but you don’t need it, honey.’
I raise my head to meet my husband’s loving gaze. I don’t tell him that my stomach is heaving and my palms are sticky. ‘Thank you,’ I say.
Luke takes a step back, drinking me in with his eyes the way he always does when he wants to make me feel special. The way he has done since we were just a couple of kids.
‘Can you watch?’ I ask. ‘Does the waiting room have a live stream or anything . . .’ I trail off.
‘I’m not going anywhere.’ Luke is grinning and his excitement is palpable. ‘I’ll be at the side of the set. Out of camera shot, of course,’ he adds.
‘Oh.’
‘I mean, I had to ask,’ Luke says, running his hand through his dark hair that’s greying at the sides. ‘But they didn’t seem to mind, and I thought you’d like the support.’
It’s uncomfortable to fold my arms above my large bump but I do it anyway as I nod and say, ‘I’m glad you’re here.’
‘Me too.’ Luke smiles. ‘Do you think many people will be watching? I really think it’s going to be so good for business.’
‘Yeah. Everyone watches the show, don’t they? Parents before the school run. Us when we’re getting ready for work. And it’s on the telly in every waiting room in the country. Every single appointment I’ve had at the maternity hospital has Good Morning, Ireland playing in the background.’ I take a moment to realise the enormity of what I’ve just said. ‘Oh God, Luke. So many people will be watching.’
Before Luke has a chance to reply, the girl with the clipboard comes to find us.
‘Ready?’ she asks, peeking her head around the door.
I wince, twitching nervously. I wish she’d introduced herself, or I had thought to ask her name earlier. It all feels awkward not knowing what to call her.
‘Oh God,’ I say, freaking out.
‘C’mon, honey. You can do this,’ Luke says. ‘I’m so proud of you.’
I feel Luke’s hand on my knee, squeezing gently. Jinx barks loudly and suddenly, clearly objecting to Luke’s arm reaching across him.
‘Bloody dog,’ Luke grunts. ‘I swear he thinks no one should touch you except him.’
‘He’s just a puppy,’ I say, rubbing under Jinx’s ear to calm him. ‘Shh. Shh, boy.’
‘I know you don’t want to hear it, Darcy, but we might have to get rid of him once the baby arrives. If he’s this snappy around me if I get too close to you, can you imagine what he’ll be like around the baby?’
I pull a face. ‘Take him, please. I gotta go.’
I pass Jinx over, and after his initial silly protest he snuggles against Luke’s chest.
‘Can we leave the dog here, please?’ the clipboard lady asks. ‘It’s just, we can’t have barking in the background while we’re rolling.’
I look at Luke with a pleading expression.
‘Fine,’ he sighs, rolling his eyes. ‘I’ll wait here with him.’
‘Thank you,’ I mouth as I’m ushered away.
Reaching the set, I’m surprised at how different it seems now to what you see on TV. The area is sparse and overly bright. There’s a single armchair for Lindsay on one side and a couch for her guests opposite. Cameras seem to take up the bulk of the area in front. And people in dark clothing and headsets far outnumber those in front of the camera.
Lindsay totters into position effortlessly in high, spindly heels. Her hair bounces on her shoulders and her make-up is subtle yet flattering. She notices me out of the corner of her eye and turns to beckon me, smiling.
Slowly, I take my seat opposite her on a couch b
ig enough to fit four adults comfortably. I feel a little lost, all alone in the middle. My hair is equally as perfect as Lindsay’s, my make-up flawless, and I’m glad I wore my suit and not that horrible polka-dot dress. I look professional and calm – for now, at least.
Silence descends suddenly and my palms sweat as I realise we’re rolling.
‘Gooooood morning, Ireland,’ Lindsay chirps in the familiar sing-song voice she uses every morning to introduce the show.
I watch as she announces yesterday’s competition winner and reads today’s newspaper headlines with enthusiasm and vigour. And her toothy smile never falters. Finally, she turns away from the camera and towards me.
‘Good morning, Darcy,’ she says. ‘I’m so happy you’re here.’
‘I’m delighted to be here,’ I reply as we repeat the pleasantries from the dressing room, almost word for word.
It isn’t long before I begin to relax, almost forgetting that there is a nation of viewers on the far side of the camera, watching. Lindsay introduces me and my business with ease. She talks up Darcy’s Dishes’ savoury line first before moving on to the desserts, chatting with the vocabulary of an experienced chef. All I need to do is nod and smile. Luke was so right, I think, grinning as I stare into the camera. This interview will be so good for business.
‘And now, moving on to more serious matters,’ Lindsay says, sliding to the edge of her seat so she can reach me and take my hands in hers. ‘Have you heard of Hyperemesis Gravidarum, ladies and gentlemen? Probably not. And that’s because although the condition is estimated to affect point five to two per cent of pregnant women, it is very rarely talked about. Darcy is currently experiencing this serious condition and she is here to tell us all about it in her own words.’ Lindsay squeezes my hand gently. ‘Whenever you’re ready, Darcy, tell us . . . how are you feeling?’
I take a deep breath. I knew this question was coming. It’s the whole reason I’m on the show, but somehow forcing the words I’m struggling to pass my lips is incredibly difficult.
‘It’s been hard,’ I finally say.
‘I can imagine,’ Lindsay says, sympathetically.
I straighten my back and with confidence I say, ‘People think they understand. I’ve had countless women tell me about their pregnancies and their experience with morning sickness. They mean well, I don’t doubt. But comparing Hyperemesis to morning sickness is like comparing a summer breeze to a tropical hurricane.’
‘So, tea and dry crackers aren’t going to help?’ Lindsay jokes.
I laugh. ‘Unfortunately not. I’ve been hospitalised several times over the last seven months. Sometimes the condition eases in the second trimester. And sometimes it doesn’t.’
‘And for you it didn’t?’ Lindsay says.
‘No. No, it didn’t,’ I say.
Lindsay’s lips curl into a sympathetic smile as she nods with her head slightly cocked to one side. ‘And it’s taken a massive toll on your business too, hasn’t it?’
I wince, unsure how to answer. I am the face of Darcy’s Dishes. The vibrant, healthy vegan. My body is my brand. I’ve spent as many years honing my image as I have perfecting my products. And being ill and gaunt is bad for business. No one wants to buy a vegan cheesecake from Dracula’s first cousin. Luke has done his best, taking the reins of the company, but my absence has cost us a couple of huge clients in recent months and we are heading into the red.
‘It’s fair to say this condition has turned your life upside down,’ Lindsay says.
I smile, grateful that Lindsay has sensed my distress and changed direction.
‘Yes.’ I swallow. ‘It has really been very, very hard.’
‘Okay,’ Lindsay chirps, letting go of my hand and sitting up straight. ‘It’s time for a break, but when we come back we’ll be taking some of your calls.’ Lindsay waits for the cue from the director and says, ‘The lines are open now.’
Someone dressed all in black rushes over with a coffee for Lindsay. They ask me if I need water or anything, but I raise my hand and shake my head. The smell wafting from Lindsay’s flask is already making me queasy.
‘You’re doing great,’ Lindsay says between mouthfuls. ‘The calls should be a fabulous way to talk about your product line. Is there anything in particular you’d like us to plug?’
‘Oh.’ I smile, delighted. ‘The lasagne would be great? It’s all meat free, of course, but impossible to tell. And maybe the cheesecake, that’s new.’
‘Super,’ Lindsay says, passing the flask back to the assistant who then quickly touches up Lindsay’s lipstick before dashing away.
‘And we’re back in three . . . two . . . one . . .’ someone announces.
‘Hello, and welcome back,’ Lindsay says, her enthusiasm punctuated with a single clap of her hands and a beaming grin.
I follow her lead and smile too, but my nerves are back to square one after the short repose off air and I find myself fidgeting with a button on my blazer.
Lindsay presses her finger subtly to her ear and says, ‘I think we have our first caller. Good morning, who do we have on the line?’
‘Eh . . . hi . . . hello,’ a nervous voice replies. ‘I’m Sarah.’
‘Hi Sarah, what is your question for Darcy please?’
‘Um . . .’ Sarah gulps and it sounds oddly loud as it echoes around the studio. ‘I love Darcy’s Dishes’ ready meals, but um . . . eh . . . my local supermarket has stopped stocking them and they said there’s a problem with the supplier. Erm, I’m just wondering if you know when they’ll be back in stock.’
‘Hi Sarah,’ I say, smiling brightly as I pretend to be calm and not completely shocked by Sarah’s revelation that there are blank shelves in supermarkets where my product line should be. ‘I’m sorry you haven’t been able to get Darcy’s Dishes for a while. But I’ll personally see to it that they are back in stock very soon.’
I mean it. I’m already itching to call the office to see what on earth is going on. I wonder if Luke knew about this.
‘Great. Thank you,’ Sarah says.
‘Thanks so much for your call. Bye-bye,’ Lindsay says, before adding, ‘and who do we have on the next line?’
‘Hello, Darcy.’ A low hum rattles down the line.
‘Hello,’ I reply, squinting as I stare into the camera. As if I might find the owner of the strange voice hiding inside.
‘Hello there. You’re live on Good Morning, Ireland. What’s your name, caller?’ Lindsay asks, facing the camera.
There’s silence.
Lindsay tilts her head to one side, waiting, and the cameraman rolls his eyes.
‘Don’t be shy,’ Lindsay says.
Still nothing. I wonder if the line has dropped. I find myself hoping it has.
‘Hello. Are you still with us?’ Lindsay probes, gently.
‘Yeah,’ says a voice.
Lindsay smiles. It’s the same way she smiled at me when I joined her on set still wearing my suit and not a polka-dot dress.
More silence. This is torture. It may be silent on set but inside my head it’s blaring.
‘I’m afraid I really am going to have to push you for your question,’ Lindsay says, firmly.
Finally, sound ripples around the studio. It’s coughing at first followed by a raspy voice. ‘I have a question.’
‘Yes,’ Lindsay nods. ‘Go ahead.’
‘My question is . . .’ There’s a deep inhale on the end of the line, and my heart is racing. ‘Does Darcy remember me?’
It’s my turn to inhale sharply as the fine hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. I’m petrified that the answer, a resounding yes, is etched in the corners of my fake smile. My eyes flick to the side of the set, wishing I could find Luke standing there. And when I look back, Lindsay is watching me with a measured expression that seems to ask, Well, do you know her?
‘I’m afraid we didn’t catch your name,’ Lindsay says.
‘Darcy knows it,’ the voice says. ‘Don’t you, Darcy?’
Tina. Her name is Tina.
The floor manager holds up his hand with his fingers spaced wide apart. I’m not sure if he’s trying to sign five seconds or five minutes. God, I hope it’s the former.
‘Do you have a question?’ Lindsay asks.
‘I need a job,’ Tina says.
‘Oh.’ Lindsay smirks, choking back a snort. ‘Well this is certainly a unique approach. While I love a good interview, I don’t think I’m qualified to do any hiring, I’m afraid.’
Lindsey laughs and she looks at me to follow. I do, but it’s hard to find anything funny about Tina’s call.
‘I’m sure if you look up Darcy’s Dishes’ website you’ll find all the job application info you need there. Am I right, Darcy?’ Lindsay says.
I nod.
‘I applied but I was told there was a hiring freeze,’ Tina says. ‘Cost-cutting, they told me.’
Lindsay looks at me sympathetically. She didn’t know, I realise. She truly had no idea that Darcy’s Dishes is struggling so badly at the moment. I suspect she wouldn’t have pestered me so hard to come on the show had she known.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say.
‘Bullshit.’
Lindsay gasps and the cameraman’s eyes widen.
‘This is a family show,’ she says sternly with her eyes suddenly narrow. ‘I am going to have to ask you to refrain from using such language.’
Tina’s voice cracks and her desperation is palpable. ‘I went to your husband. I begged him for work. He told me he couldn’t afford to take me on.’
My stomach somersaults.
Tina sighs. ‘He didn’t tell you, did he?’
‘I . . . I . . .’
‘Don’t bothering answering,’ Tina says. ‘It’s written all over your face.’
I suddenly feel so exposed, sitting here all alone in the centre of this too-big couch as a ghost from my past reappears to haunt me.
‘As I said at the start of this interview, I have been very ill and the company has had to adapt,’ I say, a tremor creeping into my words. ‘We’re currently in uncharted waters and we won’t be hiring any new staff until I am back to work full-time.’
‘Okay,’ Tina says, dramatically calm all of a sudden. ‘Then I’d like to invest.’
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