‘I’ll pick my moment, but I will get you back for that,’

Ian grins back at him, messing, as though they go on like this all the time. ‘OK, Jessie, ready when you are. Bring the coffee into the studio with you, it’s cool. The station manager here lets us get away with murder.’ Then, smirking, he adds, ‘He’s a terrible gobshite, really. Mind you, I think he’s only here on some kind of temporary secondment from St John of Gods. Kind of like a work experience programme for loonies.’

I turn to Steve, ‘So, emm, well, thanks for bringing me this far and everything, but…what will you do now? I mean will you head off, or…?’

‘Ehh, Jessie?’ says Ian, looking like he can’t contain the laughter any more. ‘Steve isthe station manager.’

Without exaggeration, this has been the best week I’ve had in months. I LOVE my new job so much, I almost wonder why I never got into radio instead of TV in the first place. I haven’t started broadcasting yet, this week has all been about training or ‘learning the decks’ as they say here, but according to Steve and Ian, I should be ready to hit the airwaves as early as next week! I still can’t believe it. But from midnight until 2 a.m., the airwaves at Radio Dublin will be mine, all mine.

Everyone at the station is lovely, just gorgeous, full of enthusiasm and energy and if anyone does remember me from my days on Jessie Would,they’re all far too tactful to say it. So much so that, almost on an hourly basis, I can feel my own buzz slowly beginning to come back to me. The longer I’m here, the more I remember why it was that I fell in love with broadcasting in the first place. Now, the money isn’t great, in fact it’s not all that much more than I was making at Smiley Burger. Put it this way, I won’t be moving off the spare bed in Sharon’s room any time soon. But at least I’m able to pay my way at home a bit more now. Properly I mean, instead of borrowing all the time.

My accountant is thrilled too, because she negotiated a deal with the good people at Visa so exhaustive you’d need about five days and a minimum of six barristers to comb through the paperwork alone. Anyway, she came up with a repayment plan whereby I can at least start giving them back some of the dosh I owe, on a weekly basis. It’s so little that I think I’ll be paying off my debts till I’m about eighty-seven, but, hey, at least I’m solvent again. Oh, and not going to debtor’s prison either. Always a bonus.

In fact, the only person who counselled me against taking the job here was, ironically, the one person who I thought would be happiest for me. Emma. ‘Oh, sweetie, are you sure this is a good move for you?’ she said anxiously when I called to tell her the news.

‘Why would it not be a good move?’ I asked, puzzled.

‘Come on, Jessie, to go from a primetime TV show to a late-night radio gig on a small local station? It’s a backward step for you career-wise and frankly I’d be worried about the press getting hold of this and having another go at you. Last thing you’d need. Isn’t it best for you just to lie low?’

She was only trying to protect me, I know, but from where I was coming from, anything that got me out of Smiley Burger was a minor miracle to be grabbed at with both hands. I was just a bit surprised by her reaction, that was all. Surprised and if I’m being honest, a bit disappointed.

Meanwhile, Sharon has her first date with Matt the actuary, with a second date lined up before they’ve even met, as he’s insisting on taking her dog racing later in the week and she’s already agreed. Said they’re getting on so well online that he wouldn’t take no for an answer. All against my better judgement, it had to be said, as I’m always a bit wary of things moving too fast, but then, given my unspectacular relationship history, who am I to lay down the dating law?

So, early in the week, as my training finishes at about 6 p.m. and, as Sharon’s on a day off, she and I arrange to meet in town at 7 p.m. and I walk her right to the door of the Insomnia café on Dawson Street, punctual to the dot for her very first meeting with him. I even offer to linger around the shops to wait for her, but she waves me away, claiming she already feels like a five-year-old being walked to school.

Gotta hand it to the girl, she’s looking well, the make-up (all mine) is flawless, the dark bobbed hair is sitting perfectly and she’s wearing yet another new outfit that the two of us went shopping for last weekend, a summery floral dress this time. She didn’t want to, but I strong-armed her to buy it, because she looks good in dresses. Very casual and feminine yet kind of sexy too. All part of the image overhaul and I couldn’t be more proud of her.

‘Want me to come in with you?’ I offer as she has a last fag on the street outside before heading in.

‘No. But thanks. I’m nervous and I’d only end up biting the face off you. Besides, suppose we both meet him and I like him but you don’t?’

‘Sharon, I am without doubt the worst judge of character in human history as I think I’ve already proved. Why would my opinion even matter?’ Nice though, that she thinks it does.

‘Suppose he has breath like an autopsy?’ she asks, fiddling with her hair and starting to sound a bit edgy.

‘Then, when I ring you in exactly half an hour with the emergency get-out call, you get out. Simple as that.’

‘Suppose he takes one look at me, then runs faster than…than a ladder in my tights?’

‘In that case you sit there, calm as you like; you sip your coffee, flick through a magazine and then you leave, head held high. It’s only half an hour. Thirty minutes, you can do, hon. Now do you need anything before I go? Fags? Money? Pepper spray?’

She just looks at me blankly.

‘That was a gag.’

‘Oh, ha, ha. Very droll. Look, are you sure I don’t look like I’m wearing one of Ma’s shower curtains? You’d tell me if I looked crap, wouldn’t you? Last time I wore an actual dress was to my First Holy Communion.’

‘Come on, Sharon, you look stunning. Now go in there and knock him dead. And remember, it’s just a coffee date. That’s all. Now what’s the worst that could possibly happen?’

‘Yeah, you’re right,’ she nods, perking up a bit and sounding a bit less jumpy now. ‘And I mean, as Ma said to me on my way out this evening; it’s not like I’ve a cold sore on my lip and a couple of kids at home, now is it?’

I give her a big bear hug and watch my girl go inside. At this stage it’s just after 7 p.m. and, as promised, precisely half an hour later I phone her with the standard ‘air bag get-out’ emergency call. But she doesn’t answer, which I take to be a good sign, so I hop on the bus and head for home.

By 9 p.m. there’s still no word from her. So now I’ve turned into the world’s most over-protective mother hen, constantly texting her to check if she’s OK, pacing up and down the hallway, worried out of my mind that Matt the actuary turned out to be some serial killer who lured her to the boot of his car and then on to her doom.

Anyway, all my worry was for nothing, because Sharon eventually staggers home at about midnight, stewed off her head, but saying she had a great night. Apparently they hit it off immediately, neither one wanted the coffee date to end, so he suggested going to a movie, then a few drinks afterwards.

‘He definitely isn’t a core shaker,’ she says drunkenly getting into bed while I glare furiously at her, arms folded. ‘In fact he looks a bit like…well…like you’d expect an actuary to look. Short guy too, only five foot five, but says he likes big women. Jeez, wait until he gets a load of Maggie.’

‘And would it have killed you to have rung and let me know you were OK?’ I demand, with my face like thunder, effectively doing Joan’s job for her. ‘I’ve been pacing up and down here, worried sick about you…’