it happens, I reckon I should be finished with you not that long after nine-ish,’ Tony sighs. ‘So I suppose you could slip off then, as long as nothing else comes up. But with live TV, you never know. It tends to be a bit of a roller coaster.’
OK then, I think, taking a nice, soothing breath. This is doable. It won’t be easy, but I may just be able to keep all the balls juggling in the air at once. Having my cake and eating it is still very much on the cards. I can take this amazing, unmissable opportunity and still get to make my date tonight too. It’ll be tight, but I can do it.
So I call the one and only number I managed to wheedle out of Andy a few nights ago, during one of our long, long, lazy night-time chats. The emergency number. The only-in-case-of number. The one that he was incredibly reluctant to give me, saying there really was no need as he’d always call me anyway. But I kept on at him and on at him till I eventually got the digits and I’m now bloody glad that I had the wit to do that much, at least.
I call the number and call it and keep on calling it, time and again. But it just keeps clicking through to an annoying voicemail in an American accent saying, ‘We’re sorry, but the customer you’re trying to reach may have their unit powered off. Please try later.’
Feckfeckfeckfeckfeck.
So instead I email.
Username: lady_reporter
Hi Andy, it’s me.
Look, there’s a bit of a problem this end, but I’m hoping it’s a surmountable one. A major work thing involving the Government Budget has suddenly landed on me and I may be a little late this evening to meet you for drinks. Like about an hour late. Or thereabouts.
Will you let me know if that’s OK? Tried calling but your phone is switched off.
So sorry about this. Will explain absolutely everything to you when we’re chatting, but trust me, as excuses for lateness go, this one’s a doozie.
Holly x
So it’s just coming up to 5 p.m. now and all going to schedule. I think, hope and pray that this might – just might – work.
In the interim, I scoot home and switch on the telly so I can see the Minister for Finance reading out the Budget live. Meanwhile I’m frantically changing into a pair of low-cut jeans and a tight black cashmere sweater; a borrow from Joy which she made me promise to do her laundry for a full week in return for. Throw in the high heels I bought for our last aborted date last week and I’m all set to go. Not too overdressed for work, and yet not too shabby – I hope – for dinner somewhere fancy with Andy afterwards.
5.15 p.m.
I’m really up against the clock now and I’ve still got a scary amount of preparation work to do if I’m to be ready to work on an actual live hard-hitting TV show. So, with no choice in the matter, I splurge out on a cab to get me to Channel Six in Donnybrook where Tonight With … is shot. It’s a fifteen minute journey, so I use the time to read what the news app on my phone is saying about the Budget, trying to brief myself a little bit better on the whole thing. It’s only when that’s done I get a chance to check my emails again.
Bingo. Oh thank you, God! Andy got my message and he’s here, he’s actually here! In Ireland … we’re sharing the same land mass … finally!
From: Guy_in_the_Sky
Well Holly, aren’t you gonna welcome me to the Emerald Isle? Got here not long ago and I’m all checked into my hotel. Loving being here and looking forward to a stroll down Grafton Street later on – that’s your main shopping precinct, right?
No biggie at all about your being an hour late, honey. Your Government Budget sounds like real hot news. Still though, you’re well worth waiting for. Sorry about missing your phone calls; my cell phone died on me, so I’m just juicing it up a little right now.
Have a great day, good luck with your work thing, and I’ll see you in the Shelbourne bar later,
Ax
Major sigh of relief! He got my message and it’s all absolutely fine. Which is wonderful beyond words. Means if the delay stretches out a bit longer, the way these things sometimes do with any live show, I’m covered. I can just call or email, tell him I’m on my way and there’s no problem whatsoever. Is there? Course not.
Anyway, I finally get out to Channel Six and, I swear, my feet don’t touch the ground practically from the very minute I land. The show’s pre-production meeting is held in studio one, the station’s largest studio by far. There isn’t even time to be intimidated by the dozen or so fresh faces that I’m introduced to; instead, names just get shouted at me from all four corners of a conference table as I’m thrown in at the deep end and pretty much kept there.
‘Right then,’ says Tony, senior exec producer, who turns out to be a wiry, prematurely greying forty-something, with the ghostly pallor of a cave dweller who hasn’t seen the light of day for years.
‘So you’ve all met Molly?’ he adds brusquely as I mutter, ‘Ermm … it’s Holly actually,’ and wave hi to the table at large, but apart from a few muttered ‘hi’s, no one even looks up at me. There isn’t time to get names right though, everyone is just too busy staring at a bank of TV screens then frantically scribbling down notes, as yet more news unfolds live from the Government buildings.
‘OK people, it’s Budget Day,’ Tony goes on, ‘so it’s a case of all hands on deck. Let’s start with the key, salient points and work from there. So come on then, what have we got so far?’
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