Better Together (12 page)

‘That’s the spirit,’ said Pat. ‘That’s a Gray speaking. And I bet you’ll find a great story to catapult you to the top.’

‘I’ll do my best. Now, can we stop talking about me and my lack of work and concentrate on something else instead?’

‘Of course,’ agreed Alice. ‘But just one more thing – what does Griff have to say about your situation?’

Sheridan kept her voice as even as possible as she told her parents about her split with him. Alice frowned and Pat’s eyes darkened.

‘Well, I know things are different these days, but I’m glad he didn’t move in with you if he’d no intention of marrying you,’ said her mother. ‘Girls are so foolish now. They let men have what they want and then the man gets bored with them and moves on. The rules of the game have never changed as far as fellas are concerned.’

‘Mam!’ Sheridan felt herself blush. Alice was outspoken and didn’t care what she said in front of Pat. But Sheridan really didn’t want her dissecting her love life as well as her career in front of her father.

‘It has to be said.’ Alice ignored her daughter’s pained expression. ‘Eventually most women want to settle down with a decent guy. But all this moving in together, drifting along doesn’t help things. Because there’s always a time when he gets itchy feet, and unless there’s something to fight for, he can just walk away.’

‘Did you get itchy feet, Dad?’ Sheridan turned to Pat, sudden amusement in her eyes.

‘In fairness, I was very lucky with your father,’ Alice conceded, while her husband grinned. ‘But men can be foolish, and there were always potential opportunities for him to make a holy show of himself. Fortunately for him, I was at his back. His team manager, keeping him on the straight and narrow.’

Pat guffawed and Sheridan couldn’t help laughing.

‘Is she right?’ she asked her father.

‘Ah, look, I like to let her think so,’ Pat replied. ‘The manager likes to think she’s in charge. But she’d be nothing without the talent.’

Alice threw a cushion at her husband, who ducked so that it bounced harmlessly on to the floor. Alice was smiling as she picked it up. And Sheridan knew that her parents had a unique relationship. She doubted hers and Griff’s would ever have been as strong. But, dammit, she would’ve liked him to have wanted to try.

The apartment seemed very empty when she got back from Kerry. Other times when she’d been away and returned, she’d have come back to the lingering aroma of the Indian food that Talia loved but she didn’t, and which her friend always had when she wasn’t around. Talia would’ve left clothes or papers or various bits and pieces around the place, which would have given the apartment the feeling of being lived in. But now, as Sheridan stood in the living room and thought about the possibility of becoming a crime reporter, she felt very alone.

The next few days were difficult. She tried to tell herself to make the most of her days of freedom, but she was worried that her career was over and that people considered her a has-been. The
Irish Journal
had contacted her to say that they had nothing at the moment but that they’d keep her information on file. She’d got a similar response from other places to which she’d sent her CV (although most of them hadn’t bothered to reply at all, which was very disheartening). She constantly reminded herself that it was important to be motivated and enthusiastic and to scan the newswires and
the internet for possible stories to chase down, yet she was finding it difficult even to wake up. There didn’t seem to be any urgency to her life any more. She wanted to be out there and doing something. But couldn’t summon up the energy. And there was nobody to pester her about it either.

She was running out of money and allowing herself to fall apart, and she had to do something about it, she thought as she lay in bed a few mornings later. Her mother would be right in thinking that she was a loser. She was allowing the loser mentality to catch hold of her. Just because things weren’t going to plan right now didn’t mean that they wouldn’t in the future.

Today, she told herself as she pulled on a T-shirt and jogging pants, today will be the day that something brilliant comes up. Or something quite good. Or even something adequate. Or, she thought, as she tugged a brush through her wiry hair, anything at all that would make her feel like a useful human being again.

It had been a while since she’d gone for a run, and the exercise calmed her. When she got back to the apartment she sat down and edited her CV, making herself sound like the sports-writing equivalent of Carl Bernstein. By the time she’d finished, she reckoned that only a fool wouldn’t employ her. For the first time since she’d been made redundant, she felt as though she’d done something useful with her day. She saved all her files as PDFs and then sent them as emails to the sports editors of every newspaper she could think of. Then she sat back and waited for the phone to ring.

She was playing World Cup football on her Wii when finally it did. Her heart jumped with excitement, and then she
realised it was Talia. She took a deep breath and switched on her bright, optimistic voice.

‘How’s it going?’ asked her friend.

‘Grand. How are you?’

‘Och, fine.’ Talia had already developed a bit of a northern twang to her voice. ‘It’s very different, but I like it. Miss the
Scope
– and Dublin, of course – but it’s not too bad here.’

‘I’m glad to hear it. We miss you in the big smoke too.’

‘How’s the job-hunting coming along?’

‘Still looking,’ Sheridan said lightly. ‘I’m putting together some new material and I’m going to pitch some possible stories to editors. I think I’ll end up freelancing, it’s the way the whole industry is going. Nobody seems to be hiring right now.’

‘That’s partly what I was calling about.’

‘Oh?’ Sheridan tried to keep calm, but already she was hoping that Talia had got her something on the magazine. She pictured living in Belfast with her friend, working and socialising together like they’d done before. It was very comforting.

‘It’s a bit weird,’ warned Talia. ‘In fact, I don’t know if . . . but the thing is, it’s a job, even though it’s only for a few months and even if . . . Well, you can judge for yourself, but it seems to me that you’d be better doing something than sitting around on your arse all day.’

‘I’m not sitting on my arse all day,’ protested Sheridan with a glance at the TV screen. ‘What’s the job?’

‘It’s with a regional paper,’ Talia told her. ‘They need maternity cover. I thought perhaps that if you were working, then it would be easier to get accepted somewhere else.’

Sheridan knew her friend was right. Potential employers
were much more likely to hire someone who already had a job.

‘Which paper?’ she asked.

‘The
Central News
,’ Talia replied.

‘The what?’

‘
Central News
,’ repeated Talia.

‘Is it a Belfast paper? I’ve never even heard of it.’

‘It’s a weekly paper and it covers the South Leinster area. Not huge, but not tiny either.’

Sheridan said nothing. Although she knew many regional papers, she couldn’t remember ever hearing about the
Central News
before. So despite Talia’s comments, it couldn’t be that big.

‘The thing is,’ continued Talia, ‘it’s owned by Paudie O’Malley.’

‘Paudie O’Malley? The shit who made me redundant? You’ve got to be kidding me!’

‘Look, I know you probably don’t think much of him right now, but—’

‘It’s his fault I’m out of work!’ cried Sheridan. ‘Him and his so-called investment in the
Scope
. D’you really think he’s going to employ me on his crappy local paper when he wouldn’t keep me there?’

‘I’m quite sure Paudie didn’t personally choose you for the chop,’ said Talia.

‘Did you see the quote attributed to him in the
Journal
?’

‘What quote?’

Sheridan gritted her teeth. She still couldn’t think of it without getting angry. ‘He said that the
City Scope
had been carrying passengers for too long and it was time to cut the dead wood. Dead wood! How dare he! I’m not dead
wood.’ Then her voice faltered. ‘At least I wasn’t until he got his hands on me. Imagine, he stays out of the limelight for years and then his first pronouncement is one that insults me.’

‘Sher, it wasn’t aimed at you personally.’

‘Maybe not.’ Sheridan cleared her throat. ‘Maybe not, but it felt like it.’

‘He’s insensitive, I’ll admit,’ conceded Talia. ‘But you can’t let that hold you back.’

‘Given that he considers me to be a dead wood passenger, he’ll hardly welcome me on board his provincial paper, will he?’

‘He’s not the editor of the
Central News
, just the owner. He has nothing to do with hiring and firing.’

‘How d’you know all this?’ demanded Sheridan.

‘My aunt lives in Ardbawn, where the paper is produced. I was talking to her about the changes at the
Scope
and my new job and she told me about this. From what she says, I think it’s a bit of a vanity project for O’Malley, because I doubt very much it makes any money, although its website is quite good. The paper itself carries a lot of ads for his businesses – you know he started out in print and packaging before moving to media stuff. He still has big interests there. Apparently the main admin person, who also writes some of the local news, is going on maternity leave and they’re looking for a person to take her place.’

‘Are you really suggesting that I go for a temp admin job on something that sounds like a freebie newsheet?’

‘Aunt Hayley says it’s very popular in the town. And in Carlow and Kilkenny as well. There are plenty of local-interest stories.’

‘Like what – “Parking ticket issued to overdue shopper”?’
Sheridan snorted derisively. ‘Talia, I truly appreciate you telling me about this, but you’re talking about a temporary position at a paper that undoubtedly pays the bare minimum – and I’d have to move to a one-horse town in the middle of nowhere to do it.’

‘Have you got someone to share the flat with you?’ asked Talia.

‘Not yet.’

‘So you were thinking of moving out anyway?’

‘Clearly I’ve been looking for somewhere smaller . . .’

‘I understand if you don’t want this job,’ Talia said. ‘I know it’s a bit of a stopgap. I know you probably feel terrible because you haven’t been snapped up by the competition. I know you! I bet you’re sitting in playing video games and feeling crap. That’s what you do when you’re frustrated.’

‘I’m not frustrated. I’ll get something!’ Sheridan turned her back on the TV monitor, where her Wii World Cup squad was still waiting for her next instruction.

‘You’re impatient, though,’ said Talia. ‘If something doesn’t work straight away, you don’t give it a chance. And you’re probably feeling lonely and down.’

‘Give me a break! You’re making me sound like a total basket case.’

‘You said it yourself before I left – you’ve lost your job and your boyfriend and your flatmate. I’d be feeling a bit shell-shocked if I was you. So all I’m doing is giving you the opportunity to cut loose for a few months, get your head together.’

‘On a rubbish paper owned by Paudie O’Malley!’

‘Hey, come on, think of the irony. He’ll be paying your salary again despite everything.’

‘I’m not big into irony.’

‘I know this isn’t what you wanted, but it’s better than nothing.’

‘I’m sure they’d rather give the job to a local person,’ said Sheridan. ‘They probably don’t want someone like me anyhow.’

‘Why not?’ demanded Talia.

‘I’d be a blow-in. They’d resent me.’

‘They should be grateful to get you. Give them a call. Set up an interview at least.’

‘I’ll think about it,’ said Sheridan.

‘The editor’s name is DJ Hart. According to Aunt Hayley, he’s a sweetheart.’

‘I’ve never yet met an editor who was a sweetheart.’

‘Call him.’

‘All right, all right, I will.’

‘Attagirl! Bring a touch of the Sheridan Gray magic to the sleepy local rag.’

‘Rag?’

‘You know what I mean.’

‘Yes, I do. And . . . well, thanks, Talia, for thinking about me.’

‘What are friends for?’

‘You’re a good friend,’ said Sheridan. ‘I hope it’s going brilliantly for you in Belfast.’

‘Ah, it’s not the
Scope
. But it’s grand. I’m grand. And you will be too.’

‘Sure I will,’ said Sheridan. ‘I’ll keep in touch.’

They chatted for a few more minutes and then finished the call. Sheridan picked up the Wii remote and pointed it at the television. She wasn’t sure if she’d bother to ring this
DJ Hart guy. The idea of working with anything associated with Paudie O’Malley set her teeth on edge. No matter what Talia said, his remark about dead wood had hurt. Besides, she truly did believe that someone local would get the job. She’d be putting herself through the mill for nothing. She waved the remote at the screen. Fernando Torres made a searing run up the wing and scored a goal. The crowd went wild with excitement.

Sheridan started another game and then threw the remote to one side. She opened her laptop and googled Paudie O’Malley. Not surprisingly, there were a lot of hits, many referring to his recent stake in the
City Scope
and his demand to the management team that it radically cut costs. An article quoted him as saying that people were a necessary part of doing business, but a very unreliable part because they mixed up emotion and business sense far too much. Typical, she thought, of a man who considered decent journalists to be nothing but dead wood!

As she dug a bit deeper and delved further into his past, she learned that Paudie’s business success had taken off after the death of his wife sixteen years previously. It seemed that he’d immersed himself in his work after Elva had been found dead at the family home in Ardbawn. Sheridan surfed through the hits, her curiosity piqued. She’d known that Paudie was a widower, but she hadn’t realised that his wife had died after apparently falling from an upstairs window at what was described as their ‘gracious period home’. Paudie had been interviewed by the police after the body had been discovered, but her death had been eventually described as ‘a tragic accident’. While some reports said that Paudie was ‘devastated’, others seemed to insinuate that the O’Malley marriage
wasn’t happy and that Elva’s death had been something of a release for him. One, in particular, noted that he hadn’t shed any tears at his wife’s funeral. Another (from a now defunct newspaper) seemed to imply that he had been treated by the police as a prime suspect in Elva’s death and that there was a distinct possibility that he’d tried to cover up what had happened.