Darn It! by Christine Murray Page A

an extended special of the show. Nicki had rung her mum and got her to drive halfway across the city to pick up Katie from the child-minders and put her to bed. Her mother didn’t mind doing it, she told Nikki, but it would be nice if next time she could have a bit more notice.
    ‘I have Zumba on a Tuesday, you know,’ she’d said reprovingly. ‘We were learning new steps tonight, I’m going to look a right eejit next week bashing into people and going the wrong way. I don’t know why you can’t just say no.’
    Strictly speaking, Nicki could do precisely that. Staying late the other night had been optional; everybody knew that she had a kid to get home to, it wouldn’t have been a problem. But Regina, one of the presenters of the show that she was a part of, was leaving.
    Nicki and Alva were junior researchers on the show. They checked background details, trawled for stories, and briefed the main presenters. Regina, on the other hand, researched stories herself, and filmed segments with her own crew, and then would talk to the two main presenters on the show about the issue. It was a lot more responsibility, a lot more camera time, and a lot more money. Nicki desperately wanted the job, but so did Alva. All these suggestions that Alva kept making were designed so that she would bow out, proving to everyone that as a working mother she was unreliable. It was like a professional game of chicken. Nicki couldn’t say anything because, after all, Regina had kids as well. But Regina also lived with her husband, and they juggled childcare responsibilities between them, which made a huge difference.
    The annoying thing was that Nicki knew that she could actually do it herself. Most of the preparation and filming occurred during the working week: she’d only need to be around for one night a week to do her part in front of camera. Katie could stay over with her father that night, he’d be all for it if it meant that she’d be earning more money. He infuriated her in many ways, but he did at least help out with his daughter.
    Obviously, Alva being more put together meant that she looked more right for the part. She looked like a glamorous television journalist. Nicki knew that she’d probably get the job, and it sickened her because she knew that she’d do a better job. If only she could get the chance.
    ‘Sorry,’ she said again. ‘There was a traffic snarl up at Stephen’s Green. I had to get off the bus and walk.’
    ‘Really?’ said Alva, looking confused. ‘It was fine when I came in, though I did get in almost an hour ago.’ Nicki hated her, she truly hated her. That was Alva’s MO, soft bland comments that hid the fact that there was a secret barb tucked in there somewhere. Nicki wished that smart, witty comebacks were her forte, but she was no match for Alva. Anyway, if she retaliated she’d look like one of those bitchy women who couldn’t stand to work with another female on a team.
    ‘Well, I’m here now,’ she said instead, opening her folder on the desk. Too late, she noticed that there was something squashed and congealed stuck to the underside of it. It was Liga. Really, today was one of those days where she really should have stayed at home. She decided just to brazen it out. ‘So what are we talking about?’
    ‘We’re going through the running order for this week’s show,’ said Kenny. He was the head of the production team. ‘It looks like Regina will be leaving sooner than we thought. As you know, she’s going to be co-presenting our new political programme. We’d planned on starting it in a month’s time, but we decided that, with the new minister scandal, we’d bring it forward a couple of weeks.’
    Alva looked interested in this. ‘Bring it forward to when?’
    ‘Next week,’ said Kenny.
    Next week? It was understandable. TV8 wasn’t exactly the biggest name in Irish television. They were slowly gaining market share since starting up five years ago, but it was slow