Page 31 of Chaos Theory

TWENTY-NINE

MAEVE

I’m in a client meeting in the Tolka Room when my phone pings.

I apologise to the client but can’t help glancing at the screen as I switch it to vibrate.

A message from JP requests my presence in his office ‘A.S.A.P.’ But it can’t be that urgent if he’s taken the time to type out all those dots.

I shove the device into my bag, put the bag on the floor.

I return my attention to the client, who’s eager for tourists to know that the Phoenix Park now has a regular bus service that not only circumnavigates Europe’s largest walled park but also drives right through it, at half-hour intervals.

I pretend to be impressed with the park planners’ innovative vision for public access to a public amenity.

Oh yes, I agree, it is truly unbelievable that a bus service had not been provided up to now. Truly.

As I say this, my bag begins vibrating at my feet. I apologise again and this time switch the phone fully off, just as an incoming call from Shane lights up the home screen. What does he want that can’t wait until I get back to my desk?

The meeting ends and I thank the client, assure them they will be my number one priority for the next ten days, and laugh along in mild protest that no, of course I don’t say that to every client.

As I make my way to JP’s office, I’m debating whether to share with him an idea I’m working on for Kobi.

Julia and Dave told me that Kobi is doing okay in customer relations.

He’s good on the phone, although he still spends way too long on each call.

I’m wondering if there’s a way to make the most of this.

Many of our calls are from people who feel a connection to Ireland.

Ireland is not just a holiday destination.

For a lot of visitors, Ireland represents something.

A connection to the past, their past. True, their ideas of old Ireland take a knock once they arrive and find a cup of coffee costs about the same as it does in Manhattan.

But still, a lot of them have stories, family history passed down by parents or grandparents.

Maybe Kobi could record these histories…

I enter JP’s office to find Shane and Kobi also here. I exhale as a sinking feeling draws me down like an undertow.

‘Oh, hi,’ I say, raising my eyebrows at Shane. But he won’t look at me.

JP is easier to read. Legs crossed, chair half-turned from the desk, glasses abandoned upside down amid a mess of paper. He pinches the bridge of his nose like he’s trying to staunch a nosebleed.

‘What’s going on?’ I ask. No one replies. I give Kobi an anxious once-over, but he seems fine.

‘Maeve, Maeve, Maeve,’ says JP at last. ‘What am I going to do about this?’

I don’t answer. I sense there’s more to come.

‘You might be wondering why I’m sitting like this.’ His tone hardens. ‘It’s because if I even have to look at either of you two —’ He gestures dramatically at Shane and Kobi but doesn’t finish his sentence.

I shrink into a chair. What the hell is going on?

‘Maeve – were you in on this?’

My mind is spinning like a plate on a stick. ‘In on what?’

I steal a glance at Shane. He looks distinctly…crestfallen. My stomach decides to join my mind at the circus with a few acrobatic tumbles.

‘Ask yer man here.’ But JP continues before I can ask Shane anything. ‘I just had a visit from the curator of the Science Museum.’ I can tell the word ‘curator’ costs JP dearly.

‘Eighteen years I’ve worked here. Eighteen, Maeve. Do you know how many times I’ve had an impromptu visit from the curator in all that time?’

There’s no point in answering so I just shake my head.

‘That’s right – none! Until today. Today, Padraig effing Hetherington marches in here, demanding to see me.

Telling me about a complaint he had to deal with.

A school group was traumatised – yes, he used that word – by a robot at the museum today.

A teenager suffered an injury. The robot was seen leaving the building accompanied by a man carrying Go Ireland tote bags. ’

‘An injury?’ Oh no. Not another PHI incident. Just when I thought we were making progress. Kobi shouldn’t have even been in the Science Museum in the first place. How could Shane do this to me? I glare over at him.

He stirs. ‘The kid was fine. I think. It was an accident. All a misunderstanding, really. Things just sort of…got out of hand.’ He turns to me. ‘Sorry, I tried to call you.’

‘I don’t want to hear it!’ JP is worked up.

‘Fine or not, this teenager’s father happens to be a lawyer.

Honestly, I don’t know what to do with the pair of you – the three of you!

Shane, I could fire you right now, and with good cause.

Maeve, you’re responsible for C3PO in the corner there.

And you – Kobi – you’re only here because we’re doing RoboTron a favour.

You haven’t exactly been a star employee. ’

‘He’s doing okay,’ I say defensively. ‘I’ll admit we had a bumpy start, but things have improved.’ I decide to stick my neck out. ‘People are starting to get used to him. Maybe even like him.’

‘Not everyone,’ says JP.

‘Like who?’ I can’t help ask.

He doesn’t look at me. ‘Well, Trish, for one. ’

The art social . Kobi’s ‘minor triumph’ is coming back to bite me. It’s not fair. I’ve been doing my best. And this whole thing wasn’t even my idea.

Kobi has been very quiet so far. Which is not like him. He articulates his hands towards JP. ‘Perhaps, if I may, I can provide a detailed explanation of events.’

But JP cuts across him. ‘I said I don’t want to hear it!

’ His words ricochet around the room, followed by a silent standoff.

I want to ask many questions, but I wait it out, focus on the present.

If JP was going to fire any of us, surely Sandra would be here.

I cling to this piece of driftwood and hold my breath.

Eventually, JP sighs and rolls open a desk drawer, extracts a tourism brochure and throws it across the desk – more weary than dramatic.

The brochure lacks aerodynamism, just flaps up a bit before landing gently at my feet, like a flightless bird.

I retrieve it, read the cover aloud: ‘Rediscover the West.’

‘The County Clare Tourism Board have been at me for weeks to send someone down,’ says JP in a more even tone. ‘New tourist trails in the Burren, vegan jam at the farmers’ market, cleanse your aura at a yoga retreat, et cetera. Keep going on that we should have the “lived experience”.’

‘You mean…?’ I say.

‘That’s right, I want all three of you out of here – right now and for the rest of the week.

Trish is coming in this afternoon and we’re taking Padraig Hetherington out to dinner, try and sort this thing out before it escalates.

And, Maeve, do whatever you have to do to get that walking laptop off the premises. ’