‘What’s this all about anyway? I thought we’d agreed you were giving up this idea about getting a “proper” job. You’ve already got a job you’re ideally suited to and qualified for, and that you’re bloody good at.’
Sive sighed. ‘Right now I have. But I really think I need something more reliable if I’m going to be a parent. Acting is too unpredictable. I mean, looking for work all the time is literally part of the job.’
‘You’re not out of work much. And there’ll always be a part for you at Halfpenny Lane.’
‘But what about when I’m on maternity leave?’
‘You’ll have benefit.’
‘Or if my child is sick? Or needs to be picked up from school? I can’t afford childcare. I need something with more regular hours.’
‘And you think magician is more of a steady, nine-to-five job?’ Mimi pointed to another item on the list.
‘I could be Barbara Cadabra again.’ Sive had briefly earned a little extra money doing close-up magic in restaurants.
‘Oh, I loved Barbara Cadabra,’ Mimi grinned.
‘But I was just spit-balling. I know that’s not really a goer.’ She crossed it out.
‘You’re not freaking out about money again, are you?’
‘I can’t help it!’ Sive gripped her head in her hands.
‘Sive,’ Mimi said, sternly. ‘Look at me.’
Sive sat up straight and turned to her sister.
‘You know you’re not in this alone, right?’ Mimi put a hand on her arm. ‘There are three of us. We’ll figure all this out.’ Shewaved vaguely to the list. ‘Just promise me you’re not going to become a fishmonger.’
Sive sighed, feeling some of the tension leave her body. ‘Promise.’ She smiled. ‘Thank you. I really didn’t fancy being a fishmonger anyway.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘It’s cold and smelly. Honestly, that one was bottom of my list.’
‘Well, you’re not going to be a… children’s party clown either.’ Mimi’s eyes bugged out as they landed on that item.
‘That one would be kind of fun,’ Sive said. ‘And I think I’d be good at it too. I can juggle and make balloon animals. And I know a few magic tricks, thanks to Babs Cadabs.’
‘And your pratfalls are excellent,’ Mimi said, patting her arm. ‘But you can save all that for your own kid. They’ll have the most fun mum in the business. Besides, if you’re looking for job stability, I don’t thinkclownreally fits the bill. No offence to the clowning community.’ She took a sip of water. ‘So,’ she said firmly, ‘no more talk of fish mongering and office work, okay? Just stick to what you’re bloody brilliant at.’
‘Okay.’
‘Have you made a doctor’s appointment yet?’
Sive nodded, her mouth full of spanakopita. ‘I’m going tomorrow,’ she said when she’d swallowed. ‘I’m not needed for rehearsal in the afternoon anyway.’
‘I’ll go over to yours for dinner, then, so I’ll get all the news hot off the presses.’
‘Well, it’s official!’ Sive told her sisters, sailing into the kitchen the following evening. ‘I’m pregnant!’ Aoife and Mimi were sitting at the table. There was a pot of something that smelled delicious bubbling on the stove and the room exuded warmth and comfort. The windows were fogged up, obscuring the dreary grey day outside.
She flopped down beside Aoife. ‘It’s nothing I didn’t know already, but it’s nice to have it confirmed – especially before I see Ben.’
‘You’re seeing Ben?’
Sive nodded. ‘He’s here at the weekend.’ She’d spent some time trawling his social media over the last couple of days to find out if he was coming to Dublin anytime soon and had discovered that he’d be back at the weekend for his cousin Harry’s stag do. She’d messaged him while she was in the waiting room at the doctor’s surgery. She’d just typed a quick text saying there was something she needed to talk to him about and asking if she could see him whenever he was home next – not admitting that she already knew because she’d been stalking him online – and hit send before she lost her nerve.
Then she’d spent the rest of the wait staring at her phone and dreading his reply, her heart pounding whenever there was a message alert. He’d taken an agonisingly long time to answer, even though she knew he’d seen her message almost immediately thanks to the two blue ticks – the curse of modern technology. Then he’d started replying, but obviously thought better of it, the three dots and the message ‘Ben is typing’ disappearing and reappearing several times. She’d started to worry that he wouldn’t admit he’d be home this weekend and count on her not finding out.
She was relieved when the doctor called her name, and she shoved her phone into her bag as she followed him into the examination room. It wasn’t until she was back out on the street that she looked at it again and saw that there was a message from Ben. She had to steel herself to open it. When she did it was short and to the point:
I’ll be home at the weekend for Harry’s stag. Call over anytime before 12.00 on Saturday.
