The Rachel Incident(61)

“Okay!” she said. “Come in, come in, sorry, Deenie is frying the scallops, I’m on door duty. I’m Ciara, by the way. I copy-edited the manuscript.”

I hung my coat up, thinking: I thought I copy-edited the manuscript.

There were ten people in the kitchen, and four bundled up on the couch in the small living room. Deenie was looking anxiously at the scallops, and didn’t seem to hear me come in. I couldn’t see Dr. Byrne anywhere. Ciara introduced me to everyone, a flurry of book people who all nodded politely when I explained my role.

“I’m sort of an assistant,” I said. “I helped with the permissions, and that kind of thing.”

“Sort of like an internship?” asked a man with sandy hair, cut to his ears. He was another editor at Deenie’s publishing house, and he looked like the sort of man who surfed in the winter. He had clearly never heard about me.

“Yeah, sort of.”

“Christ, did you hear that they have people with actual master’s degrees doing internships up in Dublin now?” someone else chipped in. “Do you have a master’s degree?”

“No,” I said, feeling deeply inadequate. “I’ve actually just finished my undergrad. I’m graduating soon.”

“Oh wow!” the sandy-headed man said. “God, imagine getting all that experience before you even graduate. You’ll be such a good candidate for the next internship you interview for.”

I couldn’t tell if he was being dry or just truthful. It was my understanding that you did one internship and then you got a job. And I had done one internship.

“Where’s Dr. Byrne?” I asked. I corrected myself. “Where’s Fred?”

“Oh, out picking up more wine, I think,” Ciara said. “Come into the living room. It’s so packed and hot in here.”

I still hadn’t said hello to Deenie, but I was steered into the living room anyway. There were three people from the university who I recognised from the English department. Only one of them recognised me. She was a lecturer called Dr. Anne Sheehan, and she had taught me in several film modules. She was around the same age as Dr. Byrne, but I had never considered that they might be friends, or that professors socialised together.

“Oh hello!” she said cheerfully. “I know you. Rachel, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” I said. I felt the size of a thimble. “Rachel Murray, I did your noir seminar.”

A man, her boyfriend or husband, looked very excited about this. “Oh my God,” he said, his arm around her. “We’re having dinner with one of your students?”

“Ex-student,” I said. “I’m actually graduating soon.”

“This is a dream come true,” the boyfriend or husband said. “I’m always desperate to sit in on one of Anne’s classes, but she never lets me, says she’d get performance anxiety. I’ve always wanted to know just how good a teacher she is.”

“Oh, well,” I said, not sure what exactly he wanted from me. “She’s very good.”

“Let me quiz you,” he said. “Let me see how good Anne actually is.”

Dr. Sheehan squirmed a little. “Don’t do that to her, Con. She doesn’t want to be quizzed on her night off.” She looked at me apologetically. “Don’t mind him, Rachel.”

Con was a bit drunk. It seemed he was that kind of man, the man who showed up too early to a party and drank everything in sight. I knew this character from my own house parties and was surprised to see that they didn’t change in later life.

“All right, I won’t quiz her; just tell me what you know.”

“Know about what?” I answered uncertainly.

“Noir. Film noir.”

I felt like a child who was being asked to sing their party piece. I was desperate for Dr. Byrne to come and rescue me.

“Well, ah,” I began. “The visuals of film noir were based heavily on German expressionist painting, on the use of light to convey mood.”

“Oh, Annie, you are good!” Con said. “German expressionist painting!”

I wanted to die. I looked at Dr. Sheehan. It seemed like she wanted to die also. For the first time in a week I wasn’t thinking about being pregnant.

“That’s enough, now. How are you, Rachel? Sit down.”

I heard the front door slam, then the heavy footsteps of Dr. Byrne.

“I’ve got the booze,” came his call. “Everyone can relax. We have enough to take out a baby elephant.”

Ciara shouted, “That’s no way to talk about yourself, Fred.”

Then Deenie’s voice. “Just in time. The starters are ready.”

“Should we all sit down?”

“Let’s all sit down.”

The UCC gang, terrible Con and I filed into the kitchen. The table near the window had been folded out and dressed with white cloths. Some people came in from the back garden, where they had been smoking. Everyone had to pinch around the wall to find their seat. There were place cards at each setting, and some of the cards had nicknames on them, like “Boots” and “Woofter” and “The Nose.” Some of them were normal, and just said “Anne.”

I wondered if Deenie had a nickname for me that I wasn’t aware of, because I could not find my name. I was the last person standing in a room full of seated people. It was then that the Harrington-Byrnes finally saw me. Ten weeks pregnant in a mint-green tea dress that, on reflection, was not as dressy as it should have been.