One Hundred Names (Special Edition)

that.
    ‘I don’t have experience in teaching,’ Kitty said, still examining the card.
    ‘Doesn’t matter, you have experience in television. That’s all they need: someone who has first-hand experience and can tell them exactly what goes on behind the scenes. Besides, who cares? Let them be the judge of your teaching skills. It’s good money.’
    Kitty nodded.
    ‘Just call him, give it a go, see if it’s for you. It might not be but you know, it’s worth a try.’
    Kitty nodded again and finally looked up from the card. ‘You’re sure you don’t want to do this yourself?’
    ‘I can barely cope as it is,’ Sally smiled. ‘With work all day, and the occasional weekend shift at the station, I’m not seeing Finn enough already. Not to mention Douglas. You go for it.’
    ‘Thanks.’ Kitty hugged her friend.
    ‘Don’t worry,’ Sally hugged her tight in return, ‘we all have our blips. Remember when we first met?’
    Kitty recalled Sally had just learned that Doug had had an affair, she was piecing her marriage back together, trying to do something new for herself in television and every day was a struggle for her.
    ‘See, we all go through it, now it’s your turn. It’s only fair.’ Sally kissed her on the forehead and they parted.
    Kitty made her way to the Brick Alley Café in Temple Bar, excited to hear the remainder of Archie’s story, and found him sitting at the same counter on the same stool, half-turned so that he could keep an eye on the room and eat at the same time.
    ‘I suppose you expect me to pay for that again today,’ she said, sitting beside him.
    He smiled.
    ‘Fruit and water?’ the waitress from the previous morning asked.
    ‘Yes, please,’ Kitty replied, surprised she remembered her order.
    ‘They’re a dying breed,’ Archie said, chewing the rind of his bacon. ‘Not enough places like this. They know what you want and they leave you alone. A winning combination.’
    The door opened and the mousy woman from the previous day entered.
    ‘It’s like Groundhog Day in here,’ Kitty remarked.
    The woman looked around, the hope visible on her face, then sat down, disappointed.
    ‘The usual?’ the waitress asked her, and the woman merely nodded.
    ‘Why don’t you just go over to her?’ Kitty asked.
    ‘What?’ Archie snapped out of his trance and pushed his plate aside, embarrassed to be caught.
    ‘The woman,’ Kitty smiled. ‘You’re always looking at her.’
    ‘What are you talking about?’ His cheeks flushed. ‘
Always.
Sure, you’ve only been here twice.’
    ‘Whatever,’ she smiled, and let the dust settle before she moved on to more serious topics.
    ‘I came prepared today,’ she said, taking out her notepad and recorder.
    The way he looked at the apparatus made her nervous he would back out, and she could have kicked herself for her error. Many people became uncomfortable around recording equipment. If the camera was the asshole magnet, her recorder often brought the shyness out of people. Nobody liked the sound of their own voice – well, most people didn’t – and the recorder brought out the self-conscious realisation that their words were being listened to, less like a conversation and more of an interview.
    ‘I don’t have to use this if you don’t want me to.’
    He waved his hand dismissively as if he didn’t care.
    ‘So we were talking about your daughter’s death—’
    ‘Her murder,’ he interrupted her.
    ‘Yes. Her murder. And how the guards focused on you during the case and you felt that it distracted them from finding the real killer.’
    He nodded.
    ‘I thought we could talk a bit more about that. How you must have felt, how frustrating it must have been to have vital information that wasn’t being listened to.’
    He looked at her with that amused gleam in his eye again. ‘You think that would interest people?’
    ‘Of course, Archie. It’s everyone’s worst nightmare and you went through it. People would be fascinated to hear about the reality of living through it, and I think it would help people to change their opinion of you too. You know, workwise, instead of seeing an ex-prisoner, they’d understand who you really are. That you were a father protecting his daughter.’
    He looked at her and his eyes softened, his jaw, his shoulders, everything. ‘Thank you.’
    She waited.
    ‘But the thing is, that’s not the story.’
    ‘Pardon?’
    ‘My daughter’s murder – sure that’s part of it, I think it