*
Mary’shopes that we might get knocked off the news by a flood or an armed robbery didn’t come to pass. It was, unfortunately a slow news day. Clodagh texted just before 6pm:
Watch the Six, you’ve made it. Fame at last. Just remember I am a puppet in the hands of evil producer Lucinda.
It was such an occasion that Rosie left her bedroom to come and watch that night’s news. I wasn’t sure if I wantedher to see me being bamboozled by a child journalist.
She was looking better. Maybe ithadjust been a lack of breakfast and a sleepless night that had caused her panic attack at Celia’s party. She was even chatty and had brought down her varnish to paint her nails while watching TV, I noted with approval. She used to do that kind of thing all the time. Whatever stress she had been under hadpassed, I was sure of it.
On screen, Clodagh was, as always, dressed impeccably in a crisp white shirt and statement necklace, hair smoothed into a perfect bob, as she went through all the news, the national, the international, effortlessly interviewing trade unionists and politicians. Then we had sport, long and detailed accounts of big matches and small.
‘They’ve put you at the end,’ saidRosie. ‘You’re the And Finally.’
‘That’s a good thing,’ I decided. ‘They won’t give much time to it, then. If they do it at all.’ I was still hopeful.
‘The things is, Mum,’ she said. ‘You’re not going to win this.’
‘What do you mean I’m not going to win this? I don’t want to win. I don’t see it as a competition.’ But it was, and I wanted to win. As, I supposed my mother did too.
‘I know that,’she said. ‘But from an outside perspective, you represent the corporate fat cats, the developers. Granny is standing up for trees.’
‘Really? That’s what people would think?’ Nobody liked fat cats, that was for sure. ‘I’m just trying to do the right thing for the pupils,’ I insisted. ‘Anyway, just because she’s for the trees doesn’t mean she’s right.’
‘I’m not saying that,’ she said, ‘but it’sabout the popular vote, isn’t it? She’s going to win that easily.’ See, a politician’s child always thinks about things like this.
‘Sometimes you have to make difficult decisions,’ I said. ‘It would be much easier to spend one’s life at protests and saying no to everything. Try doing a nine-to-five job and have two hundred parents breathing down your neck every day. I know I’m the Dalkey equivalentof Amazonian loggers destroying the rainforest. I wouldn’t be surprised if your grandmother invited Sting down to sing about trees and squirrels.’
Rosie laughed.
‘You’re onherside,’ I teased, pleased to hear her lovely laugh again. ‘Oh, I see where your loyalties lie.’
‘I’m on yours, obviously,’ she insisted. ‘But I can also see Granny’s point.’
I thought back to Red and Mary’s duet earlier.‘Or Johnny Logan. He might be cheaper than Sting. Although I don’t think Johnny sings much about tree felling and environmental destruction.’
‘Johnny who? What are you going on about?’
‘Nothing.’ But I smiled, thinking of the two of them. Red always brought out the best in people. Long ago, I would have been singing along with him, not being the pursed-lip buzzkill.
‘The problem is,’ I said,‘but don’t tell anyone, okay, but I see her point too. But it’s bloody infuriating that she’s doing this. I need to make the decision about whether to sell the land or not without the pressure of a protest outside the school gates. It might be a very good idea to sell it. We can create another wildlife area. But she’s not giving me the space to make this decision.’
‘They won’t be there much longer,’she assured me. ‘They’ll find something else to protest against.’
‘Shhh… there’s Bridget.’ I waved a hand to shush her.
‘Thanks, Clodagh, a-may-zing.’ Bridget was looking particularly sexy this evening, wearing a dress which was skin-tight with one long zip from the top to the bottom which she had pulled tantalisingly low around her cleavage. ‘So, how’s it going with you, everyone?’ She lookedstraight down the camera. ‘Hope you’re all nice and comfortable, I know I am. Let’s see what the weather was like around the country…’
We watched as she spoke about rain in Donegal, strong winds on the Aran Islands, scorching sun in Co Kerry and intermittent showers on the East Coast. Just another day of perplexing Irish weather. ‘And now back to Clodagh… over to you Clodes!’
‘Thank you… er,Bridget. And finally,’ said Clodagh, her face a mask of professionalism, ‘a local County Dublin school has found itself embroiled in an interesting domestic drama. Head teacher Tabitha Thomas of Star of the Sea primary in Dalkey, Co Dublin, had to confront a group of protestors who have vowed to protect a plot of land which the school wishes to sell to raise money. The protestors claim that the plotcontains ancient oak trees, as well as being the habitat of birds and squirrels. And one of the protestors is the mother of the head teacher, Tabitha Thomas, herself. Our reporter Barry Whelan headed down to Dalkey to find out what was behind this unusual mother-daughter scrap…’
And there was Nora, speaking brilliantly about the importance of standing up for those things that would otherwiseremain undefended. She was sorry that I was involved, but she was compelled to act in this case. Nellie, Arthur, Robbo and Leaf, all had their turn and were entirely sympathetic and convincing. And then there was me, at a weird angle, looking as though I was looming at the camera. My eyes kept flickering to one side (towards Mary), which made me appear slightly shifty and untrustworthy.
‘Notone of my best professional moments,’ I said to Rosie after we had both sat there in stunned silence for a few moments.
