Liam had doctored his value system to present himself in the best light in their early days. But one flaw didn’t turn him into a terrible person.
‘Right!’ Her dad swept his hand around. ‘We’ll start here in the living room, sugar-soap the whole gaff, give us a nice clean canvas.’
‘So, Dad.’ Nell couldn’t dampen down her fizzing excitement one moment longer. ‘What did you think of my play last night?’ Petey and Angie had been to the opening night.
‘Didn’t understand one blind word of it. Time can’t go backwards! They’re just misleading people.’
‘It’s a metaphor.’
‘So your mother kept telling me, if I only knew what one of those is. But!’ He held up a hand to forestall any objections. ‘You did a good job, Nell. Everything flush, although I’d need to get up closer to see the edges. I was proud of you. Tell me, did you use a mitre box to do those curves on the clocks?’
‘Joking me! Got me a circular saw.’
‘Ah, here, that’s cheating … And what’s up?’
Nell’s phone had beeped with a text, which was taking all her attention.
‘What is it?’ Petey asked. From the expression on her face, he couldn’t decide if it was good news or bad.
‘A screen shot. From Garr. Oh, Dad! It’s a review in the Irish Times. Of the play. And they’re nice about my set!’
‘Show us.’
Petey read it. Then he read it again. ‘In the Irish Times? The paper? The paper-paper, I mean, not just this online bit? That’s …’ He paused. ‘D’you know something? This might be the proudest moment of my life. It’s a pity none of the neighbours ever read the Irish Times. Muck savages, the lot of them. Ring your mother.’
‘Can I ring my husband first?’
‘That’s right, you’ve a husband. I keep forgetting. Because you didn’t let me walk you up the aisle, the memories never got a chance to embed … You ring Liam and I’m going down to buy twenty copies of the paper. The paper-paper.’
Liam didn’t pick up, so she rang her mum, who was tearfully proud.
When Petey returned with a thick bundle under his arm, he grabbed the phone. ‘Didn’t I teach her well, Angie?’ After he’d got her to agree that it was all thanks to his excellent joinery tuition, he passed the phone back to Nell.
When she eventually hung up, she’d had three missed calls. All from the same number, one she didn’t recognize, but the congratulations in the air made her reckless.
‘This is Nell McDermott.’
‘Nell. Right. Iseult Figgis from Ship of Fools here.’
Oh. Nell was struck mute. Ship of Fools was one of the most successful theatre production companies in Ireland.
‘We’re putting together a production of Trainspotting for the Dublin Theatre Festival in September. We’d like you to pitch for the design.’
Adrenalin coursed through Nell, turning her mouth woolly.
‘Can you come and see us? Now? I know it’s early.’
‘Sure,’ she choked out. ‘Of course.’
‘We’re in Dawson Street.’
‘I know. I’ll be with you in ten. Unless you need my portfolio? No?’ Nell ended the call and, clutching her phone to her chest, ‘Da-ad?’
‘You’re leaving me here on my own to paint this flat?’
‘Ship of Fools want to see me now. They’re a production company – like, Dad, they’re the production company, they’re doing Trainspotting.’
‘That Scottish yoke? The disgusting one? I’ll never be right again after I saw that bit about the –’
‘I’ve to go. Dad, this is a big deal.’
‘Fair play. G’wan then. I’ll carry on here.’
Nell hopped onto her bike and cycled five minutes across town. Ship of Fools was housed in a suite of offices six floors above ground. Exiting the lift into the lobby, seeing the walls hung with posters from past productions, Nell thought she might pass out. They even had a Nespresso machine!
Iseult herself was there to meet her, and took her into an office to meet Prentiss Siffton, the other powerhouse in the company. Both were probably in their mid-to-late forties and dressed in trainers, jeans and T-shirts. They looked casual but expensive. Neither was exactly friendly.
Business people, Nell realized. That’s why she felt so uncomfortable with them.