ABBY
Candice and Aoife are desperate for details. I remind Candice that she’s a lesbian and not remotely interested in the specifics of Callum Connolly’s anatomy. Suffice to say, I can’t wait to see it again. Her black T-shirt today reads Dyknamite in pink tiny sequins.
‘I bear gifts,’ Candice squeals, popping a bottle of Bollinger. ‘Yesterday’s show received the highest ratings of the decade. Pack your bags, girls, you’re going to New York.’
‘The competition doesn’t end for another six weeks.’ Aoife voices my exact thoughts.
‘Pah.’ Candice swats a hand in front of her face. ‘No one will be able to come close to that, trust me.’ She fills three paper coffee cups with a generous helping of bubbles. Aoife raises her eyebrows and puts hers to one side. I sink mine in three mouthfuls, celebrating my own personal achievement yesterday, wildly different to the one that Candice’s celebrating.
The tech team screen my calls carefully today. The last thing I need is another blast from the past. Now that I’m away from Callum’s reassuring side, my thoughts return to Sean. His phone call doesn’t mean he’s home, but it shook me, nonetheless. Why now? What does he want?
Today’s topic is Dating Apps & Social Media, specifically the way that social media and online dating sites influence how we approach the opposite sex nowadays.
Candice pops her head into the studio just as I’m winding up for the day. ‘Abby, come to my office before you go.’
‘Sure.’ Normally anything she had to say would have been shared in front of Aoife. After the champagne first thing, it’s hard to imagine bad news, yet a wiggling worm of worry warns it’s not good. I wonder if she’s pissed about Sean ringing? Maybe unwittingly I said something inappropriate today? I rack my brain unsuccessfully for an answer, but I can’t think of a single thing I’ve done that might have annoyed her.
I pat my hair into place and knock on her office door. Candice’s on the phone. She rolls her eyes in exasperation but motions for me to sit.
‘Abby.’ She places the receiver down.
‘Is everything ok? The plan worked yesterday. We blew Sally No Soul out of the water.’ I’m justifying myself pre-emptively.
‘It worked exceptionally well,’ she muses, kicking her feet up onto the desk. Her black biker boots rest on a pile of messy paperwork in front of her. ‘I want to offer Callum a permanent position on the show.’
‘You want him to replace me?’ Of all the possibilities, I hadn’t considered that one.
‘I want him to co-host with you. You two have the most fantastic chemistry on air. And off the air, apparently.’ She chews the tip of her biro, gauging my reaction.
Over the past eighteen months, we’ve discussed the potential for a co-host. Aoife’s turned the official role down twice. Until now, I assumed we were looking for another woman. But Callum changed everything yesterday. He’s a natural. And the frisson between us is palpable. But would it work long term? What if things don’t work out between us, and I’m forced to look at him every day of the week? It’s a brilliant idea, but I’m not sure I’m ready for him to permanently infiltrate my workspace as well as my heart and body.
‘Do I get a say in the matter?’ Shock vibrates through my shaky fingers. This is not how I envisioned things progressing.
‘Of course. It’s your show. But after yesterday, you’d be mad not to consider it.’ Her head angles to the left as she weighs up my reaction.
‘He couldn’t commit, not with the rugby.’ I’m not trying to put her off. It’s a fact.
‘Ask him how his cruciate is, and if he has any plans for his retirement.’
‘Retirement? He’s thirty-three.’
‘Take it from a rugby fan, he’s fast approaching the end of his career. Ireland Today’s offering another option, one with generous benefits. Think about it,’ she says.
I open the door to leave.
‘Abby, be careful. You know his reputation with the ladies. I’d hate to see you get hurt.’ She’s only voicing what I already know, so why does it make me so anxious?
