I slump back against the chair and take a gulp of water. Never in my wildest flights of fancy did I think that Emma, the model of professionalism, would do anything to endanger her precious career. In fact, I almost want to take a look out the window, just to check that the world hasn’t, in fact, come to an end.

‘However, my prime concern,’ Liz continues, fanning herself with the wine list, ‘is that this be kept out of the media. It’s highly damaging to us in the long run. I’m meeting with our PR people later this afternoon and we’re putting out a joint statement saying Emma Sheridan felt this was the right time for her to leave the station. For personal reasons. She’s reluctantly agreed to this, but then she has little other choice. From her point of view, it means she doesn’t have to leave in disgrace and at least it allows me to get rid of her quickly and quietly.’

‘Some chance of it not leaking out though, Liz. Even when I worked there, Channel Six was always more like a colander than a TV station. Stuff gets leaked all the time. And remember, a whole studio audience saw the sideshow for themselves. All it takes is for one person for go on Twitter and that’s the end of all containment.’

‘I agree. Which is why I’m asking you not to give any interviews to the press. Who I’m sure will be in contact with you in the days to come. Let’s at least try to limit this.’

I’m about to do as she asks, mainly out of shock than anything else and then it hits me…hang on a second.

My reputation is at stake here too. I was vilified in the papers and now I’m exonerated, so if the press ring me wanting the story clarified, why would I say no? It’s not like I’m an employee of Channel Six any more anyway, so shouldn’t I just be delighted at any chance to clear my good name? Plus, after everything Emma’s done, she’s getting to leave with her reputation intact, so why shouldn’t I grab at the chance to restore my own?

‘And now, the carrot,’ Liz continues. ‘In return for your full co-operation, I’d like to offer you your old job back. Subject to your agreement, Jessie Wouldcan be back on the air, with a new co-presenter, within a matter of weeks. What do you say? Jessie?’

Chapter Nineteen

As soon as Liz sweeps off in a taxi, I find myself wandering aimlessly up Dawson Street and into the relative calm of St Stephen’s Green. Need air. Need headspace. Need to digest what’s just happened to me.

I find a quiet park bench and sit down, taking deep, soothing yoga breaths. In for two and out for four. In for two and out for four. The offer on the table is thus (and frankly, it’s a miracle I was even able to concentrate on what Liz was saying, my head was swirling that much): I have my old job back. With a ten per cent pay rise. I’ll have a brand new contract in a few days’ time. As soon as that’s signed, I’ll be back on full salary. Jessie Wouldcould be back on the air in as little as two months’ time.

Through the cloud of shock that’s come over me, I have to keep reminding myself that this is very, very, very good news. This is the answer to my prayers. So why am I not dancing down the streets singing ‘Hallelujah’? And then it hits me. It’s not numbness or astonishment at all, is it? No, it’s guilt, pure and simple. Because now I have to tell Steve that I’m leaving Radio Dublin.

Amazingly, considering The Midnight Houris such a late-night, low-budget gig, Liz was fully aware that I was presenting it and even went as far as congratulating me on its success. But there’s just no way that I’d be able to combine working those late hours with the full-on pressure of hosting Jessie Would, so it was unspoken but glaringly obvious between us that I’d have to quit Radio Dublin. When I’d barely even started. And when Steve was so good to take a chance on me in the first place. But some little voice in my head told me to stand firm with Liz, even though she’s famously tough in negotiations.

So I did. I told her in no uncertain terms that the manager of Radio Dublin was a close, personal friend who’d helped me out at a time when friends were thin on the ground for me. And that the very least I could do was to stay on and work for him, until a replacement could be found.

‘But Radio Dublin is only a small local station! This is national television I’m talking about here,’ was her dumbfounded reply.

‘And I’m more than happy to go back to work for you. But I’m not leaving them high and dry at Radio Dublin. It’s not fair. It wouldn’t be right.’

Liz smiled wryly, I think a bit unused to loyalty. So the deal we made was this: a contract gets sent to my agent ASAP, and on signature, I’m straight back on the Channel Six payroll, like nothing ever happened. Meanwhile I put in a few hours pre-production each afternoon on Jessie Would, which is just about all I’d be able to manage, given my night-time radio commitments. Then, as soon as I’m replaced on The Midnight Hour, I go back to full-time work at Channel Six.

It’s a dream gig and she’s handing it to me on a plate. Liz is even offering to put out a press release later in the month, when any fuss about Emma’s leaving will have died down, to say that ‘After careful consideration and in light of new information, it’s been decided that the termination of Jessie Woods’s contract was deeply regrettable.’ She actually drafted the bones of the press release on a paper napkin right in front of me, wafting it under my nose for approval.

And in return for everything I’m being offered, my instructions are clear. Under no circumstances am I to discuss this with the press and if asked, all I’m authorised to say is, ‘After weighing up all my options, I’m now absolutely delighted to be back on air with a new series of Jessie Would.’

You get it. Plug the show at all costs and brush all unpleasantness under the carpet.

So now all I have to do is tell Steve.

I call his mobile from my park bench in the Green and he says he’s just about to go into a meeting, but that he’ll call me right back. Then, sensitive as ever, he asks if everything’s OK and I tell him I need to talk. Urgently. Outside of work though, if he has time for a quick coffee.

So we agree to meet in an hour’s time in Bewley’s café on Grafton Street. I think the wait is the longest hour of my life.

He bounces in, all tall and blond and scraggy and, it’s sweet, his face actually lights up a bit when he spots me in a quiet corner table, pale and still rattled by all that’s happened. Funny, but now that I’m about to hand in my notice, all the awkwardness that was between us has now evaporated.

I fill him in on everything that’s happened with Liz Walsh and he’s utterly amazing about the whole thing. So much so, that it actually magnifies the guilt I’m riddled with.

‘Look,’ he smiles gently, ‘to be honest, it was a coup for us to get someone with your experience to do a graveyard slot for us in the first, so hey, you’re the one who’s done me the favour. And it’s decent of you, offering to stay on until I find someone to replace you. You don’t have to do that. Not many people would have.’

‘Hey, you rescued me from a lifetime of burger flipping, remember? You gave me a break when no one else would and the very least I can do is help you out until you find a new presenter.’

‘So,’ he says looking intently at me. ‘You must be on top of the world right now. Everything you ever wanted, handed right back to you? I’d be cracking open the champagne in your shoes.’

I can’t answer, so I just bang a spoon off my coffee mug instead.

‘Jessie, is everything OK?’

And that’s when the truth hits me, sharper than a chilli finger poked into my eye. What they call in TV the ta-daa moment. This doesn’t feel right, it just doesn’t. Yes, I’m thrilled to go back to Channel Six, of course I am, but the thing is…the gig at Radio Dublin saved my life. Do I really want to walk away from it just like that? I loved chatting to the listeners and really felt like, even in a small way, I’d made some kind of difference after each show. Then another back-up thought: Channel Six were so terrifyingly quick to dump me once before, who’s to say they won’t do it again if I messed up for a second time?