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2017
Aisling Bea was fuming. It was one thing to humiliate herself on a comedy show, but to pull a prank of this sort on her poor, innocent mother?
“Alex Horne, you’re a fucking liar!”
Alex paused in his walk back to his dressing room, looking far more amused than he had any right to be. “Pardon?” he asked, in that polite way of his.
Aisling scowled at him as she marched right up to him. “Don’t give me that ‘pardon’ shite,” she told him, poking him in the chest. “You know exactly what you did, making only me do that task with the golden pineapple, putting my poor mammy through all of that!”
Alex just let out a vague, noncommittal hum. “Did the task say that everyone else had to do it?” he asked.
Aisling’s eyes narrowed. “Your wife is Catholic,” she said. “Have her explain what a sin of omission is.”
If anything, Alex just looked more amused by that, lying little weasel that he was. “I will be sure to do so,” he said. “And I hope you let your mum know that she’s a good sport, and we appreciate her efforts with the pineapple.”
“Oh, shove the pineapple up your fucking arse,” Aisling muttered darkly.
Alex honked one of his stupid laughs. “Have a good night, Aisling.”
Well, fat fucking chance of that happening now.
Aisling glared at him until he disappeared down the corridor, only then heading to her own dressing room so she could phone her mother and let know that, in the latest offence against the Irish, a British man was about to embarrass her on telly.
“I had quite a bit of fun doing it, so that’s all right,” her mother Helen told her when she’d finished explaining.
Aisling ground her teeth together. “That’s not the point, Mammy,” she protested. “You shouldn’t have been made to do it in the first place!”
“Technically you were the one made to do it, love, and you’re the one who decided to post the pineapple to me. So if anyone made me do it, it was you.”
There was nothing Aisling hated more than when her mother was correct. “But Alex Horne, the little rat, made me do the task knowing full well no one else was going to, so at the end of the day, it’s his fault,” she said stubbornly.
Her mother didn’t laugh, but only just. “Well I’ll be sure to give your man there a piece of my mind if ever he comes to Kildare,” she said mildly.
Aisling’s scowl deepened. “I’m not gonna wait for him to go to Kildare, Mam,” she said. “I’ll be taking my revenge now.”
“Ah, now, if we’re talking revenge, I’m always happy to help,” Helen said. “Is it a curse you’re thinking?”
It took Aisling a moment to realise what her mother meant. Look, it was a stereotype that the Irish were magic, but in every stereotype there was at least a grain of truth. And in the case of Aisling’s family, it was a bit more like a whole bushel of truth.
And now that her mother had brought it up, Aisling was surprised she hadn’t thought of the same thing.
“D’you know, that may be the best idea you’ve ever had, Mam,” she said, a slow smile spreading across her face. “I think a wee hex would do Alex some good.”
“What did you have in mind?”
Aisling considered it for a moment. “Well, he is a liar,” she reasoned. “Maybe having to tell the truth would do him some good.”
Her mother tutted. “Now, love, I know you mean well, but there is a wee bit of lying involved in your line of work,” she said. “You wouldn’t want to take the man’s livelihood.”
There was nothing Aisling would love more in the moment, but she supposed once she’d had a chance to sleep she’d probably be less eager to ruin Alex’s entire life. “I suppose not…”
“I’m sure you’ll think of something, love,” her mother told her. “And I’m sure he’ll deserve every minute of it.”
Aisling’s smile widened. “Believe me, Mammy, he absolutely does.”
2025
Aisling’s phone pinged and she groaned, rolling her head to both sides to try to alleviate the stiffness before she reached for her phone. She’d just put the baby down for a nap and had been looking forward to doing fuck all for the next hour, but she figured she might as well see who’d had the audacity to message her at the perfectly reasonable hour of 3 in the afternoon.
She swiped open WhatsApp, her brow furrowing when she saw that, surprisingly, the group chat for the series 5 cast was popping. She clicked on it, scanning through the messages.
[From: Nish Kumar] Can we all bully Watson for a bit?
[From: Bob Mortimer] Sure, yeah.
[From: Sally Phillips] Why are we bullying Mark?
[From: Nish Kumar] Something’s going on with Greg and Alex and Watto won’t tell me what
[From: Sally Phillips] Fighting?? Trouble in paradise?
[From: Mark Watson] I can’t tell you, Nish, because Alex won’t tell me. All I know is that they had some sort of argument when they were in New York
[From: Nish Kumar] Damn. Gamble said Greg’s not talking either but he’s ‘proper upset’
[From: Bob Mortimer] They’ll be all right.
[From: Sally Phillips] I certainly hope so!
Aisling frowned as she set her phone back down. She had to agree with Bob – after as many years doing what they did, Greg and Alex would undoubtedly be fine. Even an idiot could see that they were great friends, and if there was any more to it, well, that was none of Aisling’s business, but she was certain they’d find a way to work out whatever was going on with a little honesty and trust in each other.
She closed her eyes and tipped her head back against the chair, ready to take a wee little nap of her own.
Suddenly, she sat bolt upright. “Oh, fuck,” she said aloud.
Eight years ago, she’d been quite keen on ruining Alex’s life.
But what she hadn’t counted on was completely forgetting about it until right now. When it very well may have been too late.
Usually when Aisling had a night off without the baby, the last thing she wanted to do was go watch someone else’s comedy show, but in this case, she figured sitting through it was the least she could do, especially since it meant she could slip backstage to find the man she was looking for as soon as he got offstage.
Greg brightened when he saw her. “Aisling!” he called, reaching out to give her a hug, and she tried not to pull a face at how sweaty he was. “I didn’t know you were coming. I’d’ve had the box office set aside a ticket for you.”
She waved a dismissive hand. “That’s all right, it wasn’t really a planned thing.”
“Right,” Greg said, giving her a swift look. He grabbed a bottle of water and twisted the top off, though he didn’t take a sip. “Shall I assume you didn’t come backstage just to tell me I smashed it?”
“I mean, you did,” Aisling assured him. “But, erm, no.”
Greg sighed and took a quick swig of water. “What can I do for you, then?” he asked in a resigned sort of way.
Aisling winced and scratched the back of her head. “Erm. It’s about Alex.”
Almost immediately, Greg’s expression tightened. “Fucking hell,” he sighed, scrubbing a hand across his mouth. “What about Alex?”
“I heard you two had a fight when you were in New York.”
Greg scowled. “Not a single person in this fucking industry can keep a secret,” he said sulkily. “This is why I shouldn’t tell anyone anything.”
Despite herself – despite the fact that this was her fault – Aisling couldn’t help but ask, “Like how you’ve just told the whole country you’d quite like to fuck Alex?”
“Not quite the whole country,” Greg said, almost automatically, and Aisling nodded.
“Is that, er, what your fight with Alex was about?” she asked, well aware that it was a painful segue, but she couldn’t quite see how else to get there.
Greg’s eyes snapped to hers, and for the first time, he looked genuinely irritated instead of just his usual grumpiness. “Aisling, I’ve known you for years. Why the fuck are you actually here?”
Aisling sighed. “I told you, it’s about Alex—”
But Greg cut her off. “Yeah, but why are you here about Alex?”
“Well, I don’t quite know what you two are fighting over, but, erm, it may be my fault?”
She hadn’t quite meant to pitch it as a question, and it was no wonder Greg just snorted a dry, humourless laugh, twisting the cap on and off his water bottle. “I promise you, you had nothing to do with whatever is going on, or very much not going on between me and Alex. The only one at fault is Alex and his emotional constipation…”
Greg trailed off darkly and Aisling winced. “By chance,” she started, pointedly not meeting Greg’s eyes, “did you, erm, maybe confess some feelings for him in New York that he, erm, didn’t reciprocate?”
For one long moment, Greg just stared at her before he managed, a little hoarsely, “How the fuck do you know that?"
“I mean, I do think just about everyone knows that you have feelings for Alex—”
Greg’s expression darkened. “Yeah, and just about everyone has assured me that Alex has feelings for me as well, but as it turns out—”
“That’s the part that’s my fault,” Aisling interrupted, hurrying to add, just to cover all her bases, “Probably.”
Greg glowered at her, and Aisling felt rather like she was back in school about to try to wheedle her way out of punishment for something. “Explain.”
Aisling sighed. “D’you remember during my series of Taskmaster when Alex gave me a secret task only I had to do, and I made my mother help me?” she asked hopefully.
“No,” Greg said immediately, and Aisling scowled at him.
“Jesus Christ, I know your memory’s shite, but—”
Greg rolled his eyes. “Aisling, we’re about to record series 20,” he said impatiently. “My shit memory aside, that’s a lot to fucking remember.”
She supposed he probably had a point. “Fair enough,” she said. “Well, Alex gave me one of his stupid solo tasks, and I got a bit, erm, perturbed by it.”
That was an understatement, but Greg just nodded shortly. “And this has to do with why Alex doesn’t reciprocate my feelings how, exactly?”
Aisling took a deep breath. “I cursed him.”
Greg blinked. “Sorry?”
“I put a, erm, just a tiny little hex on him.”
Greg gaped at her, his mouth hanging open. “What are you, a fucking witch?” he said finally.
Aisling scowled. “God forbid a woman have hobbies, Greg.”
“Aisling—” Greg started warningly, and she decided now was probably not the time to push the issue.
“Anyway,” she said hurriedly instead, “I just wanted him to get a little taste of his own medicine because he’s a fucking liar, so I wanted him to be the one who has to deal with fall out from one of his lies.”
Greg inhaled sharply before he asked, “What did you do?”
Aisling shrugged and looked down at the ground. “I cursed him so that the next time he wanted more than anything to tell the truth, he would have to lie.”
Greg let out a noise rather like a deflating balloon. “Fucking hell.”
“I didn’t think it’d take this long for him to want to tell the truth!” she protested, even though he hadn’t said anything. “I expected him to get in a fight with his wife that weekend or something. But no, apparently he had to wait eight years for him to decide to tell the truth to you.”
“Eight years aside, I’m really meant to believe that you have the power to curse someone?” Greg said, reaching up to rub his forehead.
Aisling shrugged. “Well, it’s either that or Alex has spent the past decade flirting with you for nothing.”
Greg glanced at her, and for the first time, she could see just how hurt he’d been by this whole thing – and how much he didn’t want to hope just in case it still didn’t work out. “So you mean– Alex might actually—”
“Think that’s more a question for him.”
Greg exhaled heavily. “Will he tell the truth this time?”
Aisling considered it. “Probably.”
“Probably?” Greg repeated, incredulous.
“The curse should’ve worn off,” Aisling assured him. “But on the off chance it hasn’t, there is something you can do.”
Greg arched an eyebrow. “Which is?”
“True love’s kiss.”
All things considered, this really shouldn’t have come as a surprise, but Greg still barked a laugh like it was the most ridiculous thing she’d said. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
Aisling shrugged again. “There is a bit of truth in all fairy stories,” she told him. “And that’s one of them.”
Greg shook his head. “So you think I should just, what, pop round to his and snog him and hope for the best?” he demanded, as if the very idea was insane.
“To be fair, I’ve thought you should do that for the past eight years, so—”
She’d meant it as something for him to laugh at, but instead, Greg flushed and looked away. “That– I didn’t—”
“But better late than never, as they say,” she hurried to add, if just to give him the out.
Instead, Greg ran both hands across his face before he looked back at her, looking for all the world like a little lost school boy rather than a man knocking on the door of 60. “And you promise this’ll work?”
Aisling hesitated. “I can promise that whatever happens, it won’t be because I decided to curse Alex Horne eight years ago.”
Greg jerked a nod. “Right.”
“And, erm, Greg?”
“Yeah?”
She managed a small, almost tentative smile. “Good luck.”
Seemingly despite himself, Greg reached out to pull her into another hug, and he kissed the top of her head in a friendly sort of way even as he told her, with complete sincerity, “Fuck off.”
Well, she didn’t need to be told twice.
Besides, she’d done what she came there to do. The rest was up to Greg and Alex.
Aisling’s phone pinged and she groaned, cracking one eye open to glare at the offending device. Seriously, how did no one seem to understand that they shouldn’t contact her at any time that the baby might be sleeping?
She reached for her phone, swiping it open. She frowned down at it for only the tiniest of moments before she beamed.
It was a picture from Greg, a selfie of him and Alex. He was kissing Alex’s cheek while Alex grinned at the camera.
The picture was accompanied by a simple, two word caption: It worked.
Sometimes, that was all that needed to be said.
Aisling messaged back a bunch of heart emojis before setting her phone down in a particularly self-satisfied sort of way. Things had all worked out in the end, thanks to her, and she was going to happily take credit for getting them together whenever it inevitably came up in the future.
Especially since it wasn’t as if anyone would ever believe the role she’d played in almost keeping them apart.
