reckless offer to put up his flat as extra collateral.
She’d had a bit of a tearful rant at him – she couldn’t help it, she’d wanted more support.
Gently he’d said, ‘It’s your idea. It’s brilliant. You deserve any reward. I’ll help in every way I can. And if it doesn’t work out, I’ll take care of you.’
‘And if it does work out?’ She’d been suddenly uplifted by confidence. ‘I’ll take care of you!’
TWENTY-TWO
‘Too low,’ Nell called, from the aisle of the empty theatre. ‘If the actor misses her mark by a few centimetres, she’ll be brained by a giant clock landing on her head. Take it up a bit.’
High above, on the ceiling walkway, Lorelei shouted down, ‘How much?’
‘I’ll know when I see it. Wind it back up, go on, wind – right, stop! There, yeah! Shout me down the measurements.’
Nell stepped back to check that all thirteen of the MDF clocks still hung in aesthetically pleasing proportion to each other. Moving one had a knock-on effect on everything else.
‘Is it okay?’ Lorelei sounded impatient, which made Nell glance at her phone.
‘Jesus, is that really the time?’
‘Ten past twelve? Yeah.’
They’d been working since eight that morning, which made it – Nell counted – sixteen hours. But she’d been totally immersed. This was a small project with a tiny budget but it was hers. Okay, she was doing all the literal construction but she was the actual designer. And she was getting paid – if she didn’t blow the entire budget on the props, that was.
Even after all these years, this work still seemed magical.
Neither of her parents had known the first thing about art, but as a kid she’d been the only pupil in her class of twelve-year-olds who hadn’t sniggered her way through a visit to the museum of modern art.
Off her own bat, she’d begun taking out library books about Damien Hirst, Picasso and Frida Kahlo. Articles about architecture, couture or furniture design caught her interest – and all of this caused ripples at home.
Petey and Angie were proud but slightly baffled.
At the age of fourteen, Nell had found her true calling. Her mum had got a part in the Raheny Players’ production of Tenko. Nell’s dad, a joiner, was enlisted to build the set with Nell’s brother, Brendan.
One Saturday morning when Brendan was too ‘sick’ to get out of bed, Nell was roped in to paint the jungle setting. She was vocally indignant – she had better things to be doing on the weekend.
But she was immediately intrigued by how the panels of ‘bamboo’ and ‘palms’ slid on and off stage on silent castors, how the scene could be changed in seconds from a forest to a concentration camp. ‘Did you invent this?’ she quizzed her dad.
‘We built it. Stephanie designed it.’
‘Right. I want to be a Stephanie.’
‘Grand so.’ Petey had a twinkle in his eye. ‘You can be a Stephanie.’
They’d always encouraged her to be her own person. ‘We might as well give you confidence,’ was her dad’s good-humoured refrain. ‘We’ve nothing else to give you.’
Once again, Liam checked the time. Twelve thirty. She’d been at work for a very long time. He wasn’t worried: he just really wanted to see her. Today was their six-month wedding anniversary. Barely a year ago, they hadn’t even met.
That very first night, Liam had said, ‘Come home with me.’ He still wasn’t sure about her, but he was curious.
‘No.’
That wasn’t the answer he was used to getting.
‘Haukart,’ she said.
‘Excuse me?’
‘Couple of years ago I was in Iceland. They have a dish called Hákarl, pronounced “Haukart”. It’s shark pickled in urine. Tastes disgusting. I knew it wouldn’t be for me, but I still wanted to know what it was like …’
Her voice trailed off and he felt shame rise in his face. ‘I’m a person,’ she said. ‘Not some novelty.’
‘But –’
‘Don’t.’ She put a warning hand on his arm.
He was confused. He’d thought millennials were down with hook-up culture. ‘Have you a boyfriend?’
She seemed amused. ‘No.’
‘Bad break-up?’
‘Please. Stop.’
‘There was a bad break-up!’
‘There was a guy …’ She shrugged. ‘I got breadcrumbed for months. He’d give me a little attention, just enough to seem like he cared. Then … nothing. Then a booty call. So I blocked him.’
‘Harsh.’
‘I’m gonna be thirty this year. Time to get serious about life. I’ve given up on Tinder.’
‘Why’s that?’ Because he found it very handy.
‘It turns people into disposable collateral.’ Her earnestness was touching. ‘Something about meeting a person on screen makes them too easy