Now that the festival was under way, the action was elsewhere, with most of the staff deployed at locations all over town, at workshops and screenings and at the various box offices. I had another missed call from Alice and I had a feeling that she wasn’t calling for a friendly chat. Had Sarah-Jane told her about the photos? Or had Alice overheard my conversation with Gill? Either way, it was better to try to mitigate the damage. I had taken the photographs from my desk drawer earlier. If I hurried, I could sneak them back to the Film Festival office before the workshop. I introduced myself to the young staffer on duty (Dylan, his name tag said) and told him I was a board member and needed to replace something I’d borrowed from the 1998 archive.
‘Oh grand,’ Dylan said.
I got the impression he’d have said ‘grand’ even if I’d told him I planned to burn the building to the ground. He looked about eleven, though he was probably a recent graduate. But it took a while for academic smarts to turn into usable workplace skills. I thought back to my days as a trainee, more of a hindrance to the operation of a law office than a help. At least nobody had put me on tea duty. As I took down the 1998 archive and removed the note I’d left and replaced the photographs, I thought about Tiernan McDevitt. What a bastard Gill was, for what he had done to Tiernan back in the day, and even more for what he did to him onstage earlier. Still, Jeremy had unwittingly given me a useful lead. If I could get talking to Tiernan, I might be able to find out more about Rhona Macbride, and how to contact her. After seeing her on screen last night, I knew I had to meet her.
I sidled over to where Dylan was sitting.
‘Thanks a lot, Dylan,’ I said. ‘You know, all of us on the board really appreciate your work. The festival couldn’t run without people like you.’
‘I’m just an intern. Graduated this summer. Hoping to do a master’s in film next year, filling in here meanwhile to build up credits for my application and stuff.’
‘Well you’re making a valuable contribution, Dylan, I want you to know that,’ I said, which would have been true even if I didn’t have an ulterior motive. ‘But, actually, maybe you could help me more specifically?’
‘Course I will, Finn, if I can, like.’
‘It’s just that I need to meet up with Tiernan McDevitt and I just can’t remember what I did with his number,’ I said. ‘You wouldn’t have it there on the system, would you?’
‘I don’t know if we have it but I can have a look. I’ll check under contacts first.’
‘Oh that’s a good idea, Dylan,’ I said. ‘And you know, as you’ve the system open there you couldn’t get me Daniel O’Brien’s number as well, could you? He’s an old mate of mine from his days working here and I seem to have lost his contact details. If you knew the number of times I meant to ask Alice or Sarah-Jane. That’s D-A-N-I-E-L, Dylan.’
‘Gotcha,’ Dylan said. ‘Em, no phone number for Daniel, but there’s an email, if it’s the same guy. Though the address might not be current. But we definitely have Tiernan’s mobile number and email. Will I print the two of them for you?’
‘That’d be great.’
Subterfuge was getting easier, and lying was bothering me less.
As I walked in the front door of the Opera House, I saw Tiernan McDevitt standing by the box office in conversation with another man. I took a table by the window with my back to the river and watched. The man with Tiernan was slim, blond, tanned, possibly fake-tanned, and dressed in light grey trousers, a fine-knit pink cardigan and a collared T-shirt. He was slightly too old for the boyband look, but he had it down. While I was waiting, I sent an email to Daniel O’Brien. Dylan in the festival office had been right: nobody used ‘@ireland.com’ any more. Predictably, the email bounced back. Meanwhile, Boyband man appeared to have left. I waved to catch Tiernan’s attention, and he came and sat opposite me.
‘Thanks for this,’ he said. ‘I’m on the 3.20 train so it suits perfectly.’
‘The least the board of Cork Film Festival can do is buy you lunch,’ I said. ‘Who was that you were chatting to, by the way?’
‘Oh that’s Jeremy’s assistant. He was trying to console me, telling me how well the interview had gone. Which was a big fat lie, obviously.’
The waiter came along then and I ordered the mushrooms on toast, Tiernan the omelette and a glass of Rioja.
‘You didn’t go for lunch with Jeremy?’ I said.
‘Ah, no, no, I didn’t,’ Tiernan said.
‘I don’t blame you, to be honest. I wouldn’t have gone either,’ I said.
‘It’s not that. He was meeting people from the film studies department in UCC, so I wasn’t ever supposed to be eating with him. Alice said she’d organise someone to take me to lunch, but I had the intention of going down early to the station and doing a bit of work there so I said no and then you called and I changed my mind.’
‘I wasn’t impressed with Gill, I must say.’
‘No?’
‘With the way he treated you, I mean.’
‘Oh that? That was only a bit of banter. That’s just Jeremy,’ Tiernan said.
But he looked stricken, as if he’d lost something precious. Gill was all powerful now that he had his five Oscars and I suspected that it was more than Tiernan’s career was worth to bad-mouth him. I needed to change my approach.
‘Fair enough,’ I said. ‘You know him better than me, I s’pose.’
‘Yeah, yeah, I do. Known him fifteen years. His bark is worse than his bite. He doesn’t suffer fools, but that’s a lot of why he is where he is. Total perfectionist, like.’
‘Absolutely. His films are amazing.’
‘Aren’t they?’
He sounded like a little boy, in awe of Gill’s talent, in spite of everything.
‘And was he a perfectionist from the beginning? What I mean is, was he like that during the film you worked on with him?’
‘Always,’ Tiernan said. ‘He had an actor lined up to play the male lead in Another Bad Day at the Office but he fired him at the last minute and took the role himself. And it worked brilliantly.’
‘It so did. He has such a gift for casting, doesn’t he? That young girl in it, what’s her name again, Rhona something, is it? She was fabulous.’
‘Rhona Macbride. Wonderful,’ Tiernan said.
‘How did he find her? Some drama school, maybe?’
‘He got her in the school where we did the filming, the Sisters of the Blessed Eucharist Convent in Neale Place, near Dorset Street. Did you not know?’
‘No!’
‘Yeah, it’s Gill legend at this stage. He went into the convent and charmed the head nun, Sister Bernadette, I think she was, and we had the run of the place. They were making us sandwiches and all. He auditioned loads of the schoolgirls and picked Rhona for the lead. The park in the film is actually the nuns’ garden, would you believe?’
‘Wow,’ I said. ‘That’s some story. And did you ever hear what happened to Rhona? She was so talented.’
‘Never heard of her again. She just continued on with school, I presume. I’m pretty sure she lived locally. Probably just got on with her life.’
I wondered if Tiernan knew more than he was saying. But he wasn’t going to break omertà just because I’d bought him lunch. I decided not to push any further. I could talk to him again if I needed to.
I crossed the bridge and climbed the steep, curving hill from the river to the northside. On my right, I passed the Maldron Hotel. Rumoured to be haunted, for two hundred and fifty years until the late 1980s, it had been the North Infirmary, used to treat fever patients during the famine in the 1840s. And, whatever layers came later, that grim history would remain, under the thin skin of the renovation. But the hotel, just below Shandon, had good rates and was always busy. The ghosts only added to its attractions, it seemed.
I walked to the top of the hill. The workshop was in the Firkin Crane, a circular building constructed and used as a weigh-room and butter market in the time of sailing ships. Now it was a choreography and dance centre, though its rehearsal rooms and performance spaces were also hired out to festivals and for special events. I was first to arrive, apart from the Film Festival staff on door duty checking the attendance list. In the ten minutes since, a succession of young people had slunk into the workshop room and scuttled out again immediately on seeing me.
‘Is it something I said?’ I murmured to myself, and went out again to the front of the building. The sun had come out for the first time in weeks and everyone knew it wasn’t going to be hanging around long. Apart from the teachers in huddled discussion near the shaded north-facing entrance, the workshop attendees were across the road, every south-facing step, sill and leaning space occupied. I counted ten school uniforms, five boys and five girls, and ten university-age students, four female and six male. I went up to the teachers, introduced myself as a board representative, and asked if they could get everyone to come inside. That way, I reckoned, I’d have a better chance of monitoring the situation.
I sat with the teachers in a row down the back of the room and the young people sat in a circle of chairs. The room divided along school and college lines and there was no interaction between the two student groups. It hadn’t been a great idea to mix them.
Gill arrived ten minutes later, along with Alice Chambers, and Boyband, the blond man I had seen talking to Tiernan, now carrying a clipboard. He looked cold in his California outfit. There was a second man with them, muscle-bound, younger than Boyband, who seemed to have no particular role. I realised that he was probably a bodyguard. Had he been around for all Gill’s time in Cork or had he just arrived? Alice moved towards the front of the room, intending to do another introduction and thank-you, but Gill waved her away. Boyband stationed himself, looking attentive, on a chair midway up the room and Security guy took up a menacing pose by the door. It was ridiculous, overkill, completely unnecessary and, if he started talking to his wrist, I was in danger of laughing out loud.
Or maybe not. I could see that the students were impressed by the show of power and importance, and that Gill had them before he opened his mouth.
He was dressed very differently now. It looked like he’d gone to a costume store over lunch and hired a movie director outfit. Instead of the dark suit, he was wearing board-shorts that came to mid-calf, and an oversized grey marl Seeing Things CREW sweatshirt. All of the students knew that Seeing Things had won five Oscars. Some of their mouths had fallen open. Gill’s long hair was tamed by a blue and purple bandana, worn like a kerchief and tied at the nape of his neck, and he carried a vintage brown leather flying jacket – sheep fleece lined – on one finger, over his left shoulder. He threw the jacket on a chair, and his eyes surveyed the room, and the people in it, in a lazy, knowing arc. He rubbed his right hand back and forth across his mouth. The room was so quiet I could hear the scratch of his stubble.
Then, Gill started to talk, in a low voice at first. The students leant forward, as one, to hear better.
‘Ah, I’ll introduce myself, first, I guess. Though I think that maybe you all know me, am I right?’
Nods, shuffles and few muffled ‘yeahs’ from the students.
‘Maybe I’ve gone deaf,’ Gill shouted. ‘Do you fucking know me? Yes or no?’
‘Yes,’ they shouted back, eyes shining and smiles wide, like a litter of golden Labrador puppies who’d got hold of an entire of roll Andrex.
‘That’s more like it,’ Gill said. ‘Now, tell me why you’re here. You, the pretty one in the green uniform, you, missy, what’s your name and why are you here?’
The St Al’s girl went pink.
‘Um, Carmel, here to learn, like,’ she said.
‘Excellent answer, young lady, sorry, Carmel, I mean. Now don’t be shy, I’ll be back to you later.’
He walked up to her, rested his hand softly on her head, then turned to the rest of the students and shouted, ‘Now, what about the rest of you? Do you wanna learn? Yes, Jeremy?’
‘Yes Jeremy,’ they shouted.
‘Let’s do it,’ he said.
For the next fifty-five minutes, his accent more Americanised than I had heard it before, Gill ran through a presentation on his films, how he’d made them, triumphs and successes achieved, hiccups and disasters overcome, at each stage engaging with individual students, getting them up to demonstrate shots or camera angles, asking their opinions, listening to their answers as if he truly believed they had something interesting to say.
‘Why do you think I did that?’
‘What do think happened next?’
‘Good answer.’
‘Interesting.’
Every time Carmel, the schoolgirl in the green uniform, spoke, Gill gave her a smile or a wink, no matter how inane the comment. Apart from that, Gill’s attentions were evenly spread through male and female. Except for Carmel at the beginning, there was no touching of any of the students. Though Gill’s language had been overfamiliar and borderline inappropriate throughout, the workshop was drawing to a close and I was assailed by doubt again. What did I know, ultimately? Only that he was an egotist – which was probably a prerequisite for being a successful film director. He had given no sign of having noticed me in the back row. Maybe he hadn’t thought of me since our encounter the previous evening. Why should he? In the end, I had nothing on him. Was that because there was nothing to get?
‘Film is a visual medium,’ Gill said, then. ‘It’s about the moving image. Break that down. The first part is technical, about how our brain processes what we see. You’re smart kids – I don’t need to go into the science of it. But the image. What the camera sees. Action or stillness. Landscape or people. What about sound? Crucial, of course. But secondary. The image is primary. Some of the most powerful scenes in cinema history have been silent. Hitch – Alfred Hitchcock – knew that.’
Gill paused, steepled his hands in front of his mouth, put his thumbs under his chin, and started to rub the sides of his index fingers up and down on the tip of his nose.
‘This is my thinking face,’ he said, and the group laughed. ‘No, honestly, ask my assistant, whenever I get this face on it means I’ve had an idea, am I right?’
Boyband made a half grimace, half smile, and said, ‘Oh yeah, I mean, yes, Mr Gill.’ He sounded like he was off the set of 90210. The group laughed again, more loudly this time.
‘You,’ Gill said, talking to the girl in the green uniform. ‘Carmel, isn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ she said.
‘Well, Carmel. You’re the one giving me ideas. Any idea why?’
Carmel blushed, shook her head.
‘Anyone get the connection? What was I just talking about?’
‘Uh, maybe Hitchcock?’ one of the boys said.
‘Ex-act-ly,’ Gill said. ‘What we have here with the very beautiful Carmel is a Hitchcock heroine, an ice blonde, a Grace Kelly, a Kim Novak, before she piled on the pounds.’
Gill threw back his head and laughed, and the group laughed too, even more loudly. Most of them hadn’t a clue who Kim Novak was, I could tell, but Gill had shown them that it was okay to laugh at her, and they did.
‘So, Carmel, are you up for a bit of acting today? I mean, I know you’ve done some acting. I’m right, aren’t I?’
‘Um, yeah. A bit, like, just school stuff.’
‘What age are you? Fifteen?’
Carmel nodded.
Fifteen, I was thinking: the same age Deirdre had been when she met Gill.
‘Sweet,’ Gill said. ‘Sweet.’
The students laughed, but Carmel didn’t. She kept her eyes on Gill. Rapt, she waited for what he was going to say next.
‘What the fuck do you mean just school stuff? Everyone does just school stuff, has to, even me. Even Bobby de fucking Niro.’
Carmel giggled.
‘I’ll take that as a yes. Good, Carmel, Step forward, great, you’re great.’
He put his arm around her and brought her to the front of the room, put his right index finger on her nose, and stared, a beat too long, into her eyes. I looked around at the teachers. All of them were smiling. They had suspended judgement, were as seduced by him as Carmel seemed to be. But they were adults, in positions of responsibility. She was fifteen, a child. She was in danger, I was sure of it.
And then, I wasn’t sure at all. I kept quiet and I kept watching. In retrospect, I see that I was every bit as useless as the rest of them.
‘Stay there, gorgeous,’ Gill said, and turned to face the room again. ‘Now, do we have a leading man? Or am I going to have to play that part myself?’
The girls squealed; the boys sat up in their chairs. Gill walked along in front of the group, like a sergeant inspecting dress uniforms before a parade.
‘Up hands who’s done some acting? All of you? Great, like I told the lovely Carmel, it’s a good way to learn.’
He stopped in front of one of the college students, a slim, dark-haired boy with full red lips.
‘You, I like,’ Gill said. ‘You want this?’
‘Definitely,’ the boy said.
He stood, tall and straight.
‘Good attitude. How old are you, soldier?’
‘Nineteen, Mr Gill. Twenty next month.’
Four, five years older than Carmel. Was that why Gill had chosen the mix of college and school students – because he wanted an age gap? But what was he planning?
‘An older man, Carmel,’ Gill said, and looked back at her.
She smiled.
‘You like that?’ he asked.
She smiled again, but less surely.
‘Nice,’ Gill said.
His tongue played along his lower lip. For a moment or two, his attention seemed to drift. Then, quickly, he turned to the boy again.
‘So what’s your name?’
‘Stephen, Stevie.’
‘Great, Stevie,’ Gill said. ‘Step forward to the front of the room.’
Gill positioned the two students, Carmel at the front of the circle of chairs, Stevie just inside the room door. He spoke quietly to each of them separately, checked back to see that they knew what they were doing, and spoke to the group again.
‘Okay,’ Gill said. ‘I’ve just been directing my actors, telling them what I want from them in this scene and, because I like you guys so much, I’m going to let you in on it too, and I’m going to talk you all through the scene, and I want you to watch along with me. Now, to do that, I want you to make little rectangles with your fingers to see what the camera sees. I want you to go in for a close-up on what you like, on what looks good, to read the scene, to see what it’s saying, what it means. You all ready? Great. But before we start, does anyone know why I picked Stevie here, instead of one of the other guys?’
‘Cos he’s only gorgeous,’ one of the other boys shouted, to great hilarity.
‘You’re all equally beautiful to me,’ Gill said. ‘But, no, seriously, anyone?’
‘Em,’ Carmel said. ‘Might it be the contrast between us?’
‘Say more,’ Gill said. ‘I knew I liked this girl. I can pick ’em, you know.’
‘I can pick ’em.’ Like he picked Deirdre?
I shuddered. Should I say something? But what was there to say?
‘Go on,’ Gill said.
‘Uh, well, like, what you were saying about the image, like,’ Carmel said. ‘So, em, the, like, visual contrast would look good on screen, like, maybe?’
‘That’s right, Carmel. I sense you have a talent for this, and I’m never wrong about these things. This is going to be great. And remember, audience, this scene is silent. No dialogue. Let the actors and your imagination do the work. Now, scene 1, take 1, and action.’
Gill slapped his hands together in imitation of a clapperboard. I heard the sound echo around the inside of my head, but I didn’t say a word, and the truth is that, by then, he had me too. I was waiting to see what happened next, just like the other sheep in that room.
‘Okay, Stevie, turn, you see Carmel, you wave, that’s good, she sees you all right, oh yeah, but she’s pretending she doesn’t, that’s good, Carmel, you’re the ice queen, remember?
‘Now, Stevie, you’re getting a little frustrated, you want her to acknowledge you, but she’s still ignoring you.
‘That’s right, Carmel, I like that thing you did with your hair just then, and now maybe, give him a quick look and, that’s right, look away again. You like him, don’t you, that dangerous older man, but you’re not going to show him, are you?
‘And, Stevie, you’re disappointed, yeah, that’s it, she’s raised your hopes and dashed them again, that’s women for you, but you can’t help it, you like her, you’re attracted to her, it’s something you can’t control, and you move a little closer, casual, like, but hey, fuck her, you’re a good-looking guy, let her beg, that’s good, Stevie, and yeah, that’s right, you’re drawing her in.
‘Her head turns, and she looks at you for longer now, that’s good, Carmel, and turn away, and I’d like you to open your mouth now, Carmel, just a little, that’s great, and close it, and now, you moisten your lips with your little pink tongue … that’s perfect.
‘And then, Stevie, come closer, and closer still, and step behind Carmel, put your arm around her waist, this is really good, you two.
‘And, Carmel, you’ve got mixed feelings now, things are moving fast, maybe too fast, and he’s what you want, he’s what you desire, but you’re afraid too, that’s good, Carmel.
‘No and yes, Carmel, no and yes, and Carmel, that’s so good, and Stevie, you know what you want, we all know, and you know she wants it too, even though she’s pulling away from you now, but you know what she really wants underneath that fear, you have to push through that.’
‘And do it now, Stevie,’ Gill said, and took a step closer to them.
With force, Stevie put his hands on Carmel’s hips, one at each side, then pulled her suddenly and violently towards his pelvis. She gasped. She hadn’t known this was going to happen. I looked at Gill. He had stopped talking and he was watching Carmel, her every breath and movement, appraising her as if she was a horse he was buying at an auction.
He spoke softly to her.
‘Carmel, you are so, so good at this,’ he said.
He swallowed, then continued talking in the same soft voice.
‘And, now, Stevie, like we planned and, remember, softly.’
Stevie bent his head to Carmel’s ear, and whispered. She blushed pink, and her eyes closed, and stayed shut.
There was silence until Gill spoke again.
‘Carmel, let’s see that little pink tongue again …’
She opened her eyes, looked at Gill, did as he asked. He smiled, like he was the one holding her, like she had become his.
‘And. Cut,’ Gill said.
‘You guys, that was amazing.’
Gill walked up to the actors, stood between them, took their hands, and held them overhead while the rest of the class applauded. Then Gill gestured for quiet and spoke.
‘They were brave, these two. That’s the kind of bravery I’m always looking for in actors, people who are willing to step into the unknown, to get in touch with their animal feelings. We can’t deny what’s natural. I truly believe that. But, hey, come on, another round of applause for our actors, and especially for Carmel.’
He turned and spoke to her during the applause. I couldn’t hear, but I saw him mouthing the words ‘amazing, you’re amazing’. And I watched as he took her hand and brought it to his lips and kissed it, and kissed it again, all the time looking deep into her eyes. Then he turned and nodded at Stevie, and let go of his hand. He went back to his seat, while Gill walked hand in hand with Carmel to hers. She seemed to grow taller with every step. Whatever doubts she might have had about what had just happened, they were gone.
I sat dumbstruck in my chair, only remembering to clap as the applause was ending. What had I seen? What had we all seen? I looked at the teachers. Many of them seemed uncomfortable, as if they were aware that a line had been crossed. But they weren’t sure. And, for all my concerns about Gill, neither was I. We were privileged to be here, weren’t we? To have this once in a lifetime access? To bear witness to the master at work? And who would dare to question his generosity?
But the scene directed by Gill had come close as made no difference to saying that no means yes, and that consent was irrelevant, a hurdle to be overcome. Was that Gill’s personal philosophy? And yet, most of what had happened, most of what I had found so objectionable, had happened in my own head. My imagination had done the work, as he had planned. There was no denying Gill’s directing talent, but the scene had also given me a close-up of his power over people, his power over me, and that was what sickened me most.
The workshop had moved on to a Q&A, I realised. Most of the questions were of the ‘who’s your favourite/least favourite actor?’ variety, and the atmosphere in the room had lightened again. I checked my watch. We were well over the hour scheduled for the workshop; it had to be coming to an end any minute. He would be gone soon, and I would be able to breathe again.
But before the end of the workshop, Gill showed himself a second time. He announced that they had been a remarkable group. I had been listening – they were nice kids, but he was being excessive in his description of them, and in his thanking of the teachers and the Film Festival for their marvellous work.
A warm fog of self-satisfaction settled over the room. At a nod from Gill, his assistant stood up from his seat. Almost too late, I realised that Gill had been softening us up for something.
‘In fact, you’re so wonderful,’ he said, ‘that I’ve decided I want to keep in touch with you all, let you know how I’m doing, send you a newsletter, details of upcoming internships. And there’s going to be a premiere in Dublin, a little red carpet thing, in a few months so maybe I can meet some of you again there. My assistant will pass a clipboard with a sheet of paper around to all of you and I want you to sign your names, give me your email addresses and phone numbers and we can keep in touch that way. We’ll do a few photos now as well. And of course you can follow me on Twitter, if you’re not already.’
The students fizzed. Their teachers and the festival staff looked puzzled initially, then more sanguine. This was beyond what any of them had expected, but Gill was seeking only the kind of information needed for a mailing list, wasn’t he? And everybody had mailing lists, didn’t they? Even big-time film directors, apparently. So far, so ordinary.
This was it. His entire visit had been leading up to this moment. I got to my feet and started talking, before Boyband had a chance to move, and before I had time to think.
‘I’m sorry, Mr Gill, I’m afraid it won’t be possible for any of the under-18 students to give you their names and contact details without parental permission,’ I said. ‘I’m a board member and a solicitor. Finn Fitzpatrick’s the name, we met last night, briefly, though you may not remember …’
‘I remember you,’ Gill said. ‘What’s the problem?’
‘The festival has rules. What I mean is that it must follow its own guidelines on child safety, and …’
‘What are you saying?’
‘I’m saying it’s a matter of trust, parental trust.’
‘Wait a minute, are you saying you don’t trust me?’
‘I’m not saying that.’
‘That’s what I heard. You don’t trust me.’
‘It’s not you I don’t trust. It’s not personal.’
‘Oh come on. What could be more personal? I’ve been all over the world and I’ve never been treated like this, never had my integrity called into question like this. I’ll tell you who I don’t trust, I don’t trust you. You wouldn’t recognise talent if it stripped to its tighty whities and danced a jig in front of you.’
The students erupted with laughter. Alice Chambers got to her feet and tried to intervene, but Gill continued.
‘No, no, wait, let’s hear what the lawyer has to say. Because we all know how trustworthy lawyers are, right? Any of you lawyers?’
‘No,’ the students said.
‘I didn’t think so. And make sure you keep it that way,’ Gill said, and winked. ‘So, what’s this about?’
‘It’s the rules, Mr Gill,’ I said.
‘Do you think anything great was ever made by people who stuck to the rules? Do you think I’d’ve won five (yes, five, not four, not three, five) Oscars, not to mention the BAFTAs and the Golden Globes and the DGAs, if I’d stuck to the fucking rules?’
‘Well, Mr Gill, we stick to the rules around here,’ I said.
One of the students booed, and a couple of others took it up. My right leg started to shake. I leant a hand back on my chair to steady myself.
‘Rules are made to be broken,’ Gill said.
‘Let me explain,’ he added. ‘You see, the reason I came here, the reason I asked the festival to organise this event, is because I knew I’d find talent here. And I did, more than I could ever have hoped for.’
He stretched his arms wide, embracing the circle of students.
‘The film business would keel over and die without new blood. And you, and your rules mean that I’m going to be walking out of here today with no means of contacting any of the bright young people I’ve met here, and bonded with; yes, bonded, it’s true. You know, if I hadn’t had a mentor, I wouldn’t be here today? I got my first break in ads from Billy Thomson, me, a snot-nosed kid from the shittiest flats in the inner city of Dublin, a guy who couldn’t talk proper, even after three years on a grant in UCD, where I never fitted in, by the way. I never fitted in anywhere, until I got into the movies. And, yeah, Cork Film Festival was a big part of that for me, a huge part of my growth as an artist. And, you know, that’s what matters: having someone who believes in you. That’s all I wanted for these kids, these fabulous kids – to listen to them, to care for them, to give them hope.’
He brushed his right hand across his eye, as if wiping away a tear. The girl in the green uniform got up from her seat and offered him a tissue. He took it, said, ‘Thanks, Carmel,’ and continued.
‘But I’ll do what you want, I’ll follow your so-called rules. And I’ll go now, and leave you to your rules – my God, if you had any understanding of the talent in this room, but you don’t, all you people care about is fucking red tape – so, yeah, I’ll go, but you’re not off the hook, Fitzpatrick. These kids deserve an explanation from you. You need to tell them just what’s wrong with Jeremy Gill, and with Jeremy Gill what you see is what you get, giving his time to them. You know, the trouble with you people, you fucking bureaucrats, is that you strangle creativity. It’s never “yes you can”, it’s always “no you can’t”. I really thought Cork was better than that. You know, honestly? I think it is better, but there are bad apples everywhere, kids, remember that. It’s up to people like us to fight for what’s right.’
He turned to Alice Chambers. He spoke slowly, and with great control.
‘I will be writing a letter of complaint to the board. And I will be telling them that I will never, as long as I live, visit Cork Film Festival again. Not only that, I won’t let any of my films come here again.’
He nodded at his security guard and made for the door, followed at speed by his assistant. Alice Chambers scurried after them, but Gill stopped her, hands up, shoulder height, both palms facing the room.
‘Damage done. Too late. I’ll send a car to the hotel for my things, but I’m leaving right now. If you knew the opportunities I’ve passed up, if you only knew how hard it was to make time in my schedule so that I could come to this festival. And you know why? Because it means so much to me. But no more. No more. I’m out of this city right now, and you have that, that stupid lawyer bitch to thank for it, I’m sorry about the language, but it’s the only word that truly fits. I know you’ll forgive me, kids, and, hey, meeting you guys, it’s been a blast, a total blast.’
He stood for a moment longer and swallowed. He still had Carmel’s tissue in his hand. Now, his fist closed tightly around it. He looked down but, after a pause, he looked up again, stared straight at me, and shook his head. Then he waved at the students, and left.
After Gill had gone, there was a gasp, a collective intake of breath. Then came uproar. Confusion quickly gave way to anger and, despite his questionable behaviour, it was clear that Gill wasn’t the students’ target. I heard a girl’s voice, one of the students, I didn’t know which one.
‘Lawyer bitch,’ the voice said.
‘Yeah,’ another voice said, male this time.
I knew that I had a choice to make: to go, or stay and fight it out. I decided to stay but, within seconds, I felt a firm hand on my left shoulder. I turned around. It was Alice.
‘A word,’ she said, and walked out of the room.
I followed, and when we were both in the corridor Alice closed the door behind us. I started to talk but she put her index finger to her lips and spoke in a voice that was barely above a whisper.
‘Shhh. I don’t want you to say anything, I just want you gone. I don’t know what you think you’re doing, or what your fucking fixation on Jeremy Gill is, and I don’t want to know. Ever. I heard you talking to him last night, I mean what the fuck was that about? No, don’t answer, I don’t give a flying fuck what it was about, actually. And then I hear you’ve been “borrowing” photographs from the archive. Photos of Jeremy Gill. And fuck knows what else you’ve been doing. All that matters is, you’ve just landed me and the festival in the middle of a shitstorm and, let me tell you, Gill won’t have to write to the board about you, I’ll do it myself. Now get the fuck out of here, Finn Fitzpatrick, and you know what, don’t even think about coming back.’