Funny thing is I can’t decide whether I’m relieved or disappointed.

But on the plus side, we’ve a whole week of working together ahead of us before next Sunday, so he and I should be back on an even keel by then.

Trouble is, by the time Sunday night comes around, my life has changed so irrevocably that this turns out to be the last thing on my mind.

It begins on Monday morning. Well, mid-morning would be more accurate, as Sharon’s on late shifts and she and I are practically living vampire hours these days; up till all hours at night then sleeping in until almost the crack of lunchtime the next day.

My mobile wakes me, so I tip-toe out to the landing, so as not to disturb the slumbering Sharon. ‘Hello?’ I answer groggily.

‘Jessie? This is Liz Walsh calling from Channel Six. I wondered if you had a window in your schedule at any time today? I’d like to meet with you, if that were possible. I think it’s not an understatement to say that you and I have urgent business to discuss.’

I almost drop the phone.

She misinterprets my silence and says, ‘That’s if you’re amenable to meeting me, Jessie. I understand the last time we spoke was very hurtful for you and I deeply regret that.’

OK, now I think I might just have to breathe into a paper bag. Did Liz Walsh just sort-of apologise to me? Unheard of! Liz is famous for never, ever, on pain of death apologising to anyone. One time she had the Minister for Finance complaining after a right grilling he got on Channel Six’s flagship current affairs show. It was the stuff of legend; even under pressure from a high-ranking government office, Liz stood firm and told them all where to go.

So you can understand why at this very moment, I’m slumped down against the top stair, checking the number of the incoming call to make sure it’s not some eejit playing a cruel practical joke on me. Definitely Channel Six calling. No mistake.

‘So where would suit you to meet?’ she asks politely.

Again, gobsmacking in itself. On the rare occasions when Liz wants to see anyone, they’re told to be at her office at X time and woe betide you if you’ve a problem with that.

I manage to stammer, ‘Emm…well, you see, I’m over on the Northside now and I don’t have a car, so it would take me at least an hour to get over to you…’

‘Oh no, Jessie, not here. I’m taking you out to lunch. How about we meet half-way? The city centre, perhaps. I suggest Marco Pierre White’s restaurant. Do you know it?’

‘Umm…yeah.’

Everyone knows it. Mainly because it’s probably the swishest, priciest restaurant in town.

‘Great. Well, I’ll book a table and see you there for 1 p.m. Until then, Jessie.’

It takes me ages to get ready because I’m just not used to going anywhere posh. Bizarre, getting all glammed up for lunch, when these days all I live in is jeans. Like a flashback to the old days. Plus I keep having to slump down on the bed beside Sharon and say over and over again, ‘Why? Why does she want to see me?’

‘Because you’re a mad bitch and she feels sorry for you?’ says Sharon helpfully. ‘Or maybe she wants to recommend a good psychiatrist for you? You know, after you had to be hauled out of there by security men the other night.’

‘She already fired me. She’s done her worst. The only reason she could possibly want to see me is to read me the riot act about the scene I caused with Emma, but thing is, I don’t work for her any more. So why bother reopening old wounds?’

‘Haven’t a clue,’ says Sharon, sitting up in bed and reaching out to light her first fag of the morning. ‘But I’ll tell you one thing. After everything the old witch put you through, the bleeding least she can do is treat you to a posh nosh-up.’

‘She’ll have to. You think I can afford Marco Pierre White’s on what Radio Dublin pay me?’

I’m waiting so long for the bus that I arrive a bit late. But feeling strong and confident, I have to say, wearing my one and only Peter O’Brien suit which screams, ‘You may have canned me, but this phoenix has risen from the ashes and I have another job now…HA!’ I arrive at the restaurant, probably the only person lunching here this afternoon who used public transport to get here. I step inside and the maître d’ immediately guides me to a quiet window table where Liz is already waiting. She waves away my apologies for being delayed, which again is unheard of. Liz is famously punctual herself and therefore unbelievably intolerant of it in others.

Mercifully, she comes straight to the point. ‘I’m fully aware of everything that happened the other night,’ she says, clipped and articulate as ever.

‘Liz, I know I was out of line, but you’ve no idea how furious I was with Emma.’

‘Perfectly understandable,’ she nods, waving the waiter away so we can have some privacy.

‘I knew it was the dry run of her show,’ I continue, determined to get at least this much out of the way, ‘and that I couldn’t have engineered a worse time to have it out with her, but believe me, I’d no choice. She kept walking away from me and over my dead body was I letting her get away with what she’d done.’

‘Quite right too.’

I’m gabbling on a bit, so there’s a two-second time delay before it hits me; Liz is agreeingwith me.

‘Thing is, Jessie,’ she says briskly, ‘I’ve read the email. And what’s more, I checked up on the facts.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, I tracked down the infamous Joe de Courcey, Head of Mercedes Ireland.’

Now my heart stops. ‘And?’

‘And once I assured him that this would be a private conversation which would go no further, he verified everything for me. But he was at pains to stress that he genuinely had no idea this constituted a breach of ethics until he read about it in the papers.’

‘After I’d already been fired. When it was too late.’

‘Unfortunately, yes. Trouble was, Mercedes by then had been name checked in every national paper, so he felt it best for the company’s corporate image not to pour more oil on the fire, as it were. He was most apologetic about not coming forward of course, but it would have meant a hugely negative press story for Mercedes. Naturally, the last thing they wanted.’

‘Exactly what Steve said,’ I say, thinking aloud.

‘Who?’

‘Oh, sorry. A friend. A good friend.’

‘But that’s not the main reason I asked you here, Jessie. There’s something else that you should know.’

‘Yes?’

‘As of this morning, Emma Sheridan is no longer an employee of Channel Six.’

My jaw falls to the table. ‘You fired her?’

It’s at this point I have to remind myself to breathe.

‘I called her into my office and demanded a full explanation from her. Firstly about the contact she’d had with Mercedes Ireland and secondly, about her sly manipulation of a fellow work colleague. Astonishing really, she behaved almost like a politician. Even in the face of incontrovertible evidence, she denied, denied, denied.’

OK, now I don’t know what to feel. Half of me is vindicated that Emma finally got her come-uppance but at the same time, it’s awful that another human being has to go through what I went through. Although, mind you, she had no difficulty standing by and watching me crash and burn.

But still.

‘Liz, I never meant for Emma to lose her job over this, all I intended…I mean, all I wanted was to look her in the eye and tell her I knew what she’d done to me. That she hadn’t got away with it, as she’d thought.’

‘You’re completely missing the point, Jessie. You were fired for breaking an ethical code. And Emma was fired for breaking a moral code. I like to delude myself that we’re a team at Channel Six and she most definitely did NOT behave like a team player. You were constantly outpolling her in the audience popularity stakes and it seems this was her attempt to get you out of the way. Atrocious behaviour and I for one felt that I could never work with her again after that. Because how could I possibly work with someone I can’t even trust?’