‘He certainly stayed beneath our radar, Neevey,’ I yell at the telly. ‘The giant colossal arse.’
‘So!’ Phillip takes over, when they realize there’s no point mining the ‘famous connection’ seam. ‘Your YouTube channel, I can’t say the name, because it contains a naughty word!’ A little light-hearted finger-wagging. ‘Let’s just say it rhymes with “itch”. We’ve a couple of clips here.’
‘This is great for Neeve,’ Tim says, and suddenly I’m furious with him too. I know it’s great for Neeve, I understand how publicity works.
The segment finishes with Mum rolling up the sleeve of her Gucci-knock-off shirt and displaying her inking.
‘No regrets?’ Holly asks her.
‘None!’ Mum is passionate. ‘Life is for living. Never let anyone tell you you’re too old. If you want to do something, do it now because you might not get your chance again.’
‘Wise words indeed.’ Phillip is pulling the piece to a close. ‘And now over to our kitchen where …’
‘She’s an effing star,’ is Alastair’s conclusion. ‘An inspiration and a star.’
‘Who represents her?’ Mrs EverDry demands. At our blank faces she increases the volume. ‘Who? Is? Her? Agent?’
When Alastair, Tim and I remain flummoxed, Mrs EverDry narrows her eyes. ‘You mean she isn’t with a talent agency?’
‘She’s just my mum,’ I say, with a little too much attitude.
Slowly, and with contempt, Mrs EverDry spells it out. ‘Lilian O’Connell is a. Phen. Om. En. On.’
Mum? She’s a five-minute wonder that could only have happened in January.
‘Call yourselves a PR agency? Jesus Christ, as soon as I’ve the money I’m going elsewhere. You three gligeens couldn’t organize a piss-up in a drinks cabinet.’
‘Mrs Mullen –’ Alastair makes an ameliorative move towards her.
‘How continent is she?’ Mrs EverDry barks at me.
‘You mean is she incontinent? How the hell would I know?’
‘She could pretend,’ Tim says.
‘Is she short of money?’ Mrs EverDry demands. ‘Everyone could do with a few bob, right?’
I don’t reply and Alastair throws me a confused look. ‘I think,’ he says cautiously, ‘Lilian just wants to have fun.’
‘And we have our strap-line right there. “Girls just wanna have fun.” Swear to God!’ Mrs EverDry is in a fury, perhaps even worse than mine, but at least hers is justified. ‘Why the hell am I paying ye when I’m pulling this entire campaign together all by myself?’
‘What about men?’ Tim asks. ‘The incontinent men? Men won’t buy things marketed at women.’
‘Most men don’t buy anything. It’s their misfortunate wives who have to go to the shops. Anyway, I’m thinking of doing specific male-friendly packaging, a nice dark grey shade to soak up all those manly wees. Then there’s always Pierce Brosnan.’
‘P-Pierce Brosnan?’
‘I’m still holding out hope that he’ll fall on hard times and finally answer my emails.’
‘Alastair,’ I say, through gritted teeth. ‘We’re not a talent agency.’
‘We could be, though,’ he says. ‘I don’t mean full-time, but we can manage Locmof while she’s the face of EverDry. Should I say face or bladder?’
‘For the love of Christ! Are these lights ever going to change?’ We’re in my car, en route to Mum and Pop’s house. Mrs EverDry’s visit put a rocket under us and Alastair begged for the chance to work with Mum so he’s gatecrashing the O’Connell Friday dinner.
‘Amy, are you okay?’
‘Grand,’ I snap.
‘You know anger is one of the phases of grief?’
‘Oh, shut up, would you? I’m just tired!’
‘Okay. Tired. Fine. So who’s going to be there this evening?’
‘Derry’s night, so everyone.’
‘Jesus … Locmof, your hot sister, the saucy sister-in-law, Siena – is that her name?’
‘You behave yourself out there.’
‘Course I will.’ He flips down the sun visor, opens the mirror and tweaks his hair. I itch to slap him.
Neeve has the front door open before we’ve even got out of the car. ‘Whooah!’ she exclaims, at the sight of Alastair. ‘Silver fox!’
‘Hey there, Neevey.’ He struts – yes, actually struts – into the hall and treats her to The Smile. ‘You were awesome on the tellybox this morning.’
‘I’m made of awesome.’
She colours and I think, Oh, get a grip, he’s just a preening man-boy.
Now he’s moved on to Mum. ‘Lilian O’Connell, mother of five,’ he murmurs. ‘It’s an honour.’ He kisses her hand.
‘Wh-who are you?’ Mum seems overwhelmed. ‘Amy’s new boyfriend?’
‘Hardly!’ I bark.
‘No need to take my head off!’ Mum says. ‘You could do worse.’
‘I’m Alastair Donovan. I work with Amy.’
‘Your suit is nice.’
‘Alastair!’ Maura’s got wind of his presence and rounds on me, Mum and Neeve. ‘Don’t keep him standing in the hall! Come in, Alastair, come in!’
Alastair is dragged into the jam-packed sitting room, where his glamorous presence electrifies all present. Pip and Finn are frozen with awe, Dominik assumes a suspicious crouching aspect, as though he might have to tackle someone, and Pop yells, ‘WHO THE HELL IS THE FILLUM STAR?’
‘This is Alastair,’ Maura introduces him to the room. ‘He’s Amy’s boss.’
‘He’s not my boss!’
Then something unimaginable happens – The Poor Bastard speaks. ‘Hello.’ His voice is scratchy, as though it hasn’t been used in some time, but he’s definitely made a noise.
Only Derry hangs back, wearing a cool, not-exactly-pleasant smile. Well, well, well. She’s going to cop off with Alastair …
If Neeve doesn’t get there first.
They’re welcome to each other. All of them. Whatever I mean.
Without pleasantries, I hoosh Neeve, Mum and Alastair up to the bedroom and the Floods’ Wi-Fi, then listen with a sour expression as Alastair lovebombs Mum, telling her how great she is at everything and how much money she’d make. But Mum isn’t keen on being the EverDry ambassador. ‘I like doing the vlogs with Neevey. We have fun.’
‘You can still do Neeve’s vlogs, Lilian. The EverDry campaign wouldn’t be a full-time job.’
‘But incontinence … It’s embarrassing. And wouldn’t I be a bit young?’
‘I take your point, Lilian,’ Alastair says. ‘Absolutely, of course, but all ads use younger models to sell to their older target market.’
‘I can’t imagine that people often say no to you,’ Mum says. ‘But I think I have to.’
Once again, for the billionth time in my life, she breaks my heart. ‘Okay, Alastair.’ I stand up. ‘We’re done here.’
‘Are you leaving?’ Mum asks. ‘But it’s Derry’s night.’
‘Yep. Leaving.’
‘But your special bread?’
‘Fuck the bread. Come on, Alastair.’
‘He can stay and have your dinner,’ Neeve says.
‘Yeah,’ I say unpleasantly. ‘Fill your boots, Alastair. But I’m off.’
‘Amy?’ Mum sounds anxious. ‘Would it help you, professionally, like, if I did the incontinent thing?’
‘Oh, don’t worry your pretty little head about that.’
‘Ehhhhh, on second thoughts,’ she stumbles over the words, ‘I’ve decided to do it. You got a raw deal from me when you were growing up, you all did.’ She watches me intently, hoping I’ll play nice. ‘And maybe with the extra money coming in, we could ask Dominik if he’d be exclusive with us.’
‘Exclusive.’ Neeve nudges Mum and they topple around the place, laughing at the thought of being exclusive with Dominik.
Christ, they’re pathetic.
104
Saturday, 28 January
I’m way down in the bliss of sleep when the doorbell rings. I’ll ignore it. Even though it’s Saturday, I’d spent the morning working on the paperwork to fast-track Mum’s ambassadorship and then I hit a wall, suddenly so knackered that I got into bed and fell asleep.
These days, I’m always exhausted. Everything is a monumental effort and there are days when it literally feels as if lead weights are strapped to my legs. The only time I feel positive about life is when I’m with Josh – or thinking about being with him.