Lindsay’s eyes are wide with disbelief. This is car-crash TV and the whole studio knows it. Lindsay is pressing her finger subtly to her ear as she listens, clearly getting instructions on how to handle this mess. But no one is whispering in my ear. I have no help and no idea how to handle Tina. I never had.
‘I have money,’ Tina says. ‘It will be just like old times. We can be friends again.’
‘Thank you.’ I nod. ‘It’s a lovely offer. But we have a potential investor coming on board and . . .’
‘Who?’ Tina gasps.
Lindsay cuts in. ‘Well, thank you for your call but I’m afraid that’s all we have time for today.’
‘Who the hell is it—?’
The line goes dead as Tina is mid-screech and Lindsay’s cheery voice fills the void. ‘Thank you for watching, folks. From me and everyone in the studio all that is left to say is, good morning, Ireland. Have a great day!’
Chapter Four
DARCY
Monday 10 June 2019
Upbeat theme-tune music fills the air. Lindsay stands up and untangles herself from her mike pack and drops it into her chair as I get to my feet.
‘Who on earth was that?’ she asks.
Before I have time to answer, Luke races towards us with Jinx tucked under his arm.
‘What the hell is going on?’ Luke shouts, taking large strides as he races over. ‘Don’t you screen your goddamn calls?’
Lindsay’s smile widens. Calm and poised, she says, ‘I think we can say with some confidence that caught us all off guard this morning. But you handled yourself brilliantly, Darcy.’
My knees are shaking.
‘Are you okay?’ Lindsay asks. ‘Can I get you some water?’
I don’t have time to reply before Luke says, ‘Of course she’s not all right. How could she be?’
I run my hands through my hair. My fingers catch in the hairspray holding my perfectly styled curly blow-dry. ‘How live is this?’ I ask. ‘I mean, is there a delay?’
‘Three seconds,’ Lindsay says. ‘To be honest, it’s rarely even long enough to bleep out a swear word. But don’t worry. There’s no such thing as bad publicity. This morning’s show is guaranteed to get the country talking.’
‘You should have cut that crazy bitch off air the minute she said hello,’ Luke says. He’s animated and angry and he startles me and Jinx. Jinx barks and I grab my belly instinctively, protecting the baby as if she is somehow aware of what’s happening. And I pause, realising that these maternal moments are somehow sneaking unintentionally into my psyche more and more often.
Luke puffs out his breath. ‘We could sue, you know. That crazy cow told the whole country Darcy’s Dishes is broke. That kind of crap being broadcast to a whole nation isn’t right. It isn’t.’
Lindsay St Claire’s eyes round like two shiny pennies. She pretends to be surprised by Luke’s ridiculous outburst, but the bright studio lights emphasise the glisten of tiredness in her eyes, and I can only imagine that she wants to retreat to the sanctuary of her dressing room and forget all about this morning.
Jinx squirms and tries to wrestle his way out from under Luke’s arm. I reach over to take him and I ask, ‘Is it true? Did she really come to you for a job?’
‘Oh God, Darcy. I don’t know,’ Luke says, calming down. ‘Half the girls who follow you on Instagram want to come work for us. I can’t keep track of them all.’
‘Didn’t you recognise her?’ I ask, surprised.
Luke shrugs. ‘Should I have?’
‘Yes,’ I say. ‘It’s Tina.’
Luke stares at me blankly.
‘Tina Summers.’
He’s shaking his head.
‘From school.’
‘Oh.’ Luke pulls a face. ‘That nutter. I wonder what’s dragged her out of the woodwork after all these years.’
A shiver trickles down my spine as Luke’s words resonate. I do wonder. ‘Tina is trouble,’ I say.
Luke snorts. ‘No, she’s just weird. It must be twenty years since school and she’s still thinking about you.’
‘She was obsessed with you, actually,’ I correct.
‘Whatever.’ Luke shrugs. ‘You’ve got to feel sorry for her, really. Who doesn’t move on after school?’
I sigh, still shaky. ‘It was a disaster, wasn’t it?’
‘Darcy, I promise viewers will empathise with you,’ Lindsay cuts across me. ‘Honestly, even the best PR people can’t make this stuff up. Now, if you’ll please excuse me, I have a meeting. It was sooooooo lovely to meet you both.’ Lindsay’s sing-song voice is back as she shakes our hands, kicks off her heels and hurries away.
Luke and I see ourselves out of the studio. We sit in our car in silence, both a little shell-shocked. Jinx is quiet too, as he lies on the back seat. He’s never usually this content in the car. It’s as if he can sense something is wrong. As if he, too, can’t believe that Tina is in touch after all these years. It was never going to be easy to hear from her again. I guess part of me thought, or hoped at least, that we never would. But on live television, of all the bloody ways. It’s just so typically her. To be honest, I’m even more shocked that Luke seems to barely remember her. Or at least that’s what he’s saying.
Luke tries to strike up a conversation on the drive home but my mind is elsewhere. Friends text to tell me I looked great, or that the show was really interesting. Unsurprisingly they avoid any mention of the crazy call. The rest of the country is not so considerate. Lindsay was right when she said that everyone would be talking about us. We’ve barely left the studio car park when #DarcysDishes is trending on Twitter. And not in a good way. My phone is hopping as notification after notification lights up the screen.
‘Listen to this,’ I say, reading a tweet with hundreds of likes already. ‘@LoudMouth says, Something fishy about that Darcy woman.’
I glance at Luke but his eyes are on the road.
‘Oh brilliant.’ I cringe, scrolling on. ‘They’ve tagged Lindsay too.’
‘Ignore it,’ Luke says. ‘They’re just trolls.’
‘Someone else has replied,’ I add. I scrunch my nose and mimic, ‘Something fishy going on? Isn’t she a vegan!’
Replies are coming in as fast as I can read them. There is a string of tasteless memes. And finally, I read a comment I was expecting – a mirror of my own thoughts. ‘Car crash interview. Is perfect Darcy really walking away from that one?’
A car horn honks and startles me. The irony pinches.
‘Keep in your own lane! White lines are there for a reason, mate!’ Luke shouts, honking the horn again. ‘Look at this guy,’ he says. ‘He’s all over the road.’
I look up. A stream of traffic stretches out in front of me. I sigh, accustomed to city mornings, and look back to my phone.
‘They think they’re hilarious adding a million laughing emojis,’ I say. ‘Oh God this is bad, isn’t it?’
‘Honey, don’t let it upset you,’ Luke says.
‘Yeah.’ I lift my head to look out of the window as we sit in the bumper-to-bumper chaos.
I feel Luke’s hand on my knee. ‘Darcy’s Dishes is today’s news. Some other poor sod will be on the receiving end of their hate tomorrow. That’s the internet for you.’
‘Mmm. You’re right,’ I say, wishing I found it as easy as my husband to zone out.
I close my eyes and try not to think about how much of a spectacular fail this morning was. I’m napping when my ringing phone wakes me.
‘It’s Mildred,’ I say, jolting.
‘Leave it.’ Luke shakes his head. But he knows a call from the production manager at the factory isn’t something I can ignore.
‘Hello,’ I say, flicking my phone on to loudspeaker.
‘Hi. Hello, Darcy. Can you talk?’ Mildred’s voice fills the car.
Familiar cherry-blossom trees come into view as Luke turns on to our road. But the feeling of relief at almost being home is marred by the sense of urgency in Mildred’s tone.
‘Yeah, of course,’ I say. ‘Is everything okay?’
‘Erm, someone has found a photo online of you in a fur coat and . . .’
‘Bloody Instagram,’ I cut across Mildred immediately, knowing the photo she’s talking about. Darcy’s Dishes donated some goodies for the bands playing at a charity rock concert in the Phoenix Park last year. It was one of the last PR events I attended before I became pregnant. I got as many photos as I could of various artistes munching on a Darcy’s Dishes brownie or muffin and bombarded social media with them. People went crazy for them all. But the stand-out shot, with countless comments and likes, was me with all four members of the headline act backstage.
‘It’s the photo of me with The Polar Kings, isn’t it?’ I say.
‘Yeah,’ Mildred says.
‘It’s not real fur,’ I say. ‘I checked with their manager. You know how I feel about fur.’
‘Of course, I know. But I don’t think the general public gets that.’
‘I don’t even know whose coat it was,’ I say, becoming teary. ‘The bass guitarist’s, I think.’
‘I don’t think it matters,’ Mildred says. ‘Some goody two-shoes has printed the photo off and stuck it to a placard. A small group have been marching outside the factory for twenty minutes now.’
‘What does it say?’ I ask.
‘Oh Darcy.’
‘What does the placard say, Mildred?’
Mildred takes a breath and pauses before she says, ‘It says THE ONLY FAKE THING IS DARCY.’
My heart aches. I can’t count the number of interviews I’ve given over the years condemning fur and begging people not to buy or wear it. How can people not believe me?
Mildred sighs. ‘If it helps, passers-by aren’t paying them much attention. And if we keep the windows and doors closed, we can’t hear the chanting inside.’
‘There’s chanting too?’ I gasp.
‘It’s stupid, Darcy. They’re shouting that you’re a fraud. Shows what they know.’
‘I’m sorry, Mildred,’ I say. ‘You shouldn’t have to deal with this.’
‘Don’t be daft.’ Mildred laughs. ‘I’m sure they’ll get bored soon and bugger off.’
‘Do you want me to come down? Luke and I are nearly home but we can turn around and swing by the factory.’
‘Absolutely not. It’s nothing to worry about. I just wanted to give you the heads up, that’s all,’ Mildred says, and realising she’s on loudspeaker she raises her voice and adds, ‘Luke, you take care of her. I’ll take care of everything here.’
‘Thanks, Mildred. Speak soon.’ I flop my phone on to my knees and look at Luke as we pull into our driveway.
‘Right. Let’s get you inside,’ he says.
‘Inside?’ I say as Luke turns off the engine, ready to get out. ‘You heard Mildred. This is a mess. We need to go into work.’
Luke exhales slowly. ‘No. We need to get you inside. You need some rest.’
I shake my head.
‘C’mon, honey. Lindsay is right. People who had never even heard of Darcy’s Dishes before are talking about us now.’
‘But they’re saying terrible things.’
Luke smiles. ‘But they are talking.’
‘What if Andrew Buckley saw the show? He’ll know we’re in trouble. We told him we need his backing to expand, not to save us from going under.’
‘I think someone like Mr Buckley is a little too busy to sit around watching morning telly.’ Luke chuckles.
‘What if he doesn’t want to invest any more? We’re screwed without that money.’
‘Look,’ Luke says, becoming serious. ‘I have that Buckley & Co meeting this weekend. I am going to charm the pants off Andrew Buckley. He’ll be throwing money at us.’
‘I wish I could go with you,’ I say.
‘I know.’ Luke sighs. ‘I wish you could too. But you’re going to have to trust me. I can do this.’
Exhausted, I open my door and swing my legs out. The rest of me takes a lot more effort to follow. I feel like such a blob. Luke appears at my door with Jinx under his arm, and when he reaches out to me I grab his hand tight.
‘I trust you,’ I say. ‘It’s Tina I don’t trust. I never have.’
Chapter Five
TINA
Tuesday 11 June 2019
I carry a loaf of bread tucked under one arm and a carton of milk under the other. The milk is uncomfortable as the cold bites into my bare skin. I regret my decisions to wear a sleeveless summer dress and to not pick up a basket, but I don’t move the milk. I need my hands free to reach into the floor-to-ceiling fridge at the back of the shop. The shelf is marked ‘Lasagne – Darcy’s Dishes’ but the space is bare.
‘They’re sold out,’ a voice behind me says.
‘Oh.’ I turn around expecting to find a helpful staff member.
‘There’s only shepherd’s pie left and I don’t fancy that,’ says a lady in a bright, loose-fitting tracksuit, who clearly isn’t staff. ‘Have you tried them before?’
I shake my head.
‘Me neither,’ she says. ‘But I saw that pregnant woman on the television, and I thought, if eating this stuff makes her look that great even when she’s about to pop a baby, I’m going to give it a go, what harm can it do?’
I don’t know what to say.
‘I’m just not sure if it tastes all that nice, you know?’ she continues. ‘I’m telling myself it mustn’t be too bad if the lasagne is sold out, eh?’
‘I guess not,’ I say.
She laughs. ‘Ah, I can see you’re as disappointed as I am.’
I don’t reply. I can’t tell if she’s being sarcastic, but I think not.
She reaches across me and picks up a small rectangular tray of shepherd’s pie. The packaging is minimal: a pale-brown, egg-carton-type box and a small yellowish label with green writing. Earthy colours. Unsurprising. Ugly, but no doubt biodegradable. I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Darcy has really thought of the best way to market her product. And I must admit it’s impressive, if not a little clichéd.
‘Are you going to buy that?’ I ask, as the lady reads the label, probably checking out the ingredients.
‘Ah sure, ’tis worth a try, isn’t it?’ she says. ‘Although I think I need more than fake meat to work a miracle on my thunder thighs.’
The woman isn’t overweight. She looks perfectly healthy, actually. But compared to Darcy she is unattractive. Compared to Darcy most women are. I’ve felt it. And now, a stranger who has only seen Darcy through a television screen feels it. Typical Darcy, making other people feel inferior without even trying.
‘But, don’t you think she’s completely full of herself?’ I want to put my hands on my hips, but the ever-warming milk under my arm makes it too tricky.
She looks at me as if I have ten heads and she points to the vegan logo printed clearly on the bottom of the label. ‘She’s a vegan concerned about her carbon footprint. I can’t say I’m as selfless. Can you?’
‘She was horrible to her friend in that phone-in,’ I say. ‘The woman just needed some work.’
‘Oh gosh yes, that was awful,’ she says, dropping the shepherd’s pie into her shopping basket. ‘What a crazy woman.’
I exhale. ‘But you’re still going to buy her shepherd’s pie?’
‘Oh no, love,’ she shakes her head as she reaches into the fridge and ironically takes out some pork sausages. ‘I don’t think Darcy is the problem. It’s that other woman. Clearly looking for her five minutes of fame. Who on earth rings up a morning show looking for a job? Madness. I thought Darcy handled the situation so well. What a lady. It must be so hard living in the public eye and have all these people wanting favours all the time. To be honest, I blame Lindsay St Claire. That crazy woman should never have made it on air.’
‘It wasn’t Lindsay’s fault,’ I say, snapping the fridge closed.
I follow Ms Bright Tracksuit to the counter. She chats to the girl on the till as if
they are old friends as she checks out.
‘So, I said to my husband, I’m not a vegan but I’ll give it a go,’ she says as the cashier scans Darcy’s Dishes shepherd’s pie.
‘Oh, I saw that Darcy woman on TV,’ the cashier says, pointing at the label. ‘God, she’s gorgeous, isn’t she?’
‘And so down to earth,’ tracksuit lady says.
‘Did you hear that weird caller?’ the cashier asks, hovering a tin of beans over the scanner.
Tracksuit lady sighs as if talking about this for a second time exhausts her. ‘Crazy. Just crazy.’
The cashier pauses before reaching for the next item. ‘You have to wonder what is wrong with those kinds of people, don’t you? Just apply for a job like a normal person does.’ She points to a sign above the till that reads ‘Staff Wanted’ in large bold font.
My back teeth snap.
‘Ugh yeah,’ tracksuit lady says. ‘Hopefully she’ll crawl back under her rock and never be heard of again.’
The back of my neck is hot and it’s hard to even draw breath. I want to drop my milk and bread and wrap my hands around this woman’s thick neck. But, of course I don’t. I’m in public. I follow her into the car park instead.
Fortunately for her a tall man steps out of a nearby car to meet her. He kisses her on the cheek and helps her put the shopping into the boot. Lucky lady – today!
Chapter Six
DARCY
Friday 14 June 2019
I sit at my dressing table and stare at my reflection. My face is brighter than usual as the street light across the road shines through the window, casting an orangey hue over everything while dusk falls. I don’t remember opening the curtains this morning, but they’re wide open now exposing me in my underwear to the row of tall and thin red-brick houses across the street. Blushing, I slip my arms into my dressing gown waiting on the back of my chair and shake my head as the dark circles under my eyes in the mirror remind me that I’m exhausted and not thinking straight.
It’s been a strange week. The social-media storm blew itself out almost as quickly as it began. On Tuesday I was so distressed and ill that Luke called the doctor. On Wednesday Luke reluctantly left me alone to go into work for a couple of hours. And by Thursday people were bored, as if it had never happened. For everyone except me, that is, because I can’t seem to get Tina out of my head. I can’t understand why she called in to the show. She purposely embarrassed me and it was almost as if she enjoyed it. But why? I was only ever nice to her. I felt sorry for her. People warned me to stay away from her. God, I wish I’d listened.
Keep Your Friends Close Page 3