‘Absolutely. Exactly. Ta-dah!’
‘Oh my God, I remember finally plucking up the courage to tell you that I thought you played an amazing game and you bought me a vanilla malt and asked me for my number!’
I’m there, ‘You’re definitely taking me back now. Talk about nostalgia.’
I’ve no focking memory of any of that.
‘Dear, oh dear!’ I go. ‘Dear, oh dear!’
She goes, ‘Ross, that is so romantic. And it’s such a you thing to do – when you’re being yourself, that is.’
We get out of the cor, then she links my orm as we tip around to Empty Pockets.
The place ends up being rammers. There’s, like, no tables, but we’re offered a seat at the counter, which Sorcha gets very excited about because we’re shown to the exact same spot – apparently – where we were sitting when we first spoke to each other all those years ago.
We sit down.
‘So how are you?’ she goes as I throw my eyes over the menu. ‘I know that’s such a random question to ask but we’ve kind of felt like ships in the night recently, haven’t we?’
I’m there, ‘Er, that’s because you’ve been giving me the silent treatment?’
‘I mean, even before that. Obviously, Hillary is taking up so much of my attention at the moment. It feels like we still haven’t, you know, connected yet.’
‘Why did they feel the need to change this menu?’
‘Ross, are you listening to me?’
‘Yeah, no, I am.’
‘So what’s happening in your life right now?’
‘I don’t know. Not a huge amount. Oh, except my old pair are planning to have another baby.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘Yeah, no, that’s what I said.’
‘Ross, your mother’s just turned seventy.’
‘My exact words.’
‘I presume they’re talking about adopting, then? Is she thinking in terms of Africa – as in, going down the whole Madonna route?’
‘Listen to what I’m saying, Sorcha. They’re having a baby. It turns out that she froze some of her … bits.’
‘Her eggs?’
‘Eggs were definitely mentioned. I don’t know the ins and outs of how it works. But she went somewhere. I called into the Dáil to ask my old man what the fock they were playing at and I caught him – God, I can’t even bring myself to say the words – wanking into a tablet bottle.’
‘Oh! My! God!’
‘Wanking into a tablet bottle, Sorcha! Wanking into a tablet bottle!’
‘Okay, stop saying that.’
‘Sorry, I know we’re about to eat.’
‘That’s, like, so random. Is it not, I don’t know, irresponsible to bring a child into the world at her age?’
‘Exactly! Why didn’t she do it, like, thirty years ago? The focking dog.’
Sorcha asks me if she can order for both of us. She wants us to have the exact same thing we had the first night we met in here. It turns out that I’m having a Classic with bacon and cheese fries and a side of chicken tenders.
I’m there, ‘So what about you? How has your week been? I’m just making conversation here.’
‘Oh, stressful,’ she goes. ‘Fionn and I are looking at schools at the moment.’
‘Schools?’
‘For Hillary.’
‘He’s not even two months old, Sorcha.’
‘Believe it or not, that’s actually quite late to be enrolling these days? That’s if you want to get your son into a genuinely good school.’
We haven’t put Brian, Johnny and Leo’s name down anywhere, by the way. I suppose it’d be just throwing good money after bad.
I’m there, ‘It’d be interesting to hear what Fionn considers a genuinely good school.’
‘Well,’ Sorcha goes, ‘he likes the idea of Coláiste Eoin.’
I actually laugh.
I’m like, ‘In Stillorgan?’
‘Yeah,’ she goes, ‘the whole Irish culture thing is obviously important to Fionn.’
‘It’s a focking Gaelic football school.’
‘Okay, I don’t even know what that means.’
‘As in, I’ve met people who went there and they left at eighteen not knowing what rugby even was.’
‘I don’t think rugby is a priority for Fionn.’
‘I’m tempted to say that it never was.’
Which is actually horsh, because Fionn was a great player. He should have made the Ireland schools team – even though I’d never give him the pleasure of saying it to his face.
‘Anyway,’ I go, ‘I don’t know why I’m getting upset here. He’s not my kid. I’m just pointing out that it’s a Gaelic football school. Just make sure you have all the facts before you come to a decision. I’ll leave it at that.’
Our food arrives. The waitress who puts it down in front of us is possibly Spanish and she looks like a young Catalina Sandino Moreno. I mill into my burger. I keep catching Sorcha looking at me out of the corner of my eye and smiling to herself.
I’m like, ‘What?’
She goes, ‘I think that waitress fancies you!’
I actually thought the same thing myself.
I’m there, ‘No way. I certainly didn’t do anything to encourage it.’
She goes, ‘You actually look quite well at the moment,’ and she storts picking at her Chicken Caesar Salad.
‘By the way, speaking of schools,’ she goes, ‘have you heard anything from Mount Anville about Honor’s Confirmation?’
I’m there, ‘Errr,’ not wanting to tell her about my conversation with Sister Dave because I’m picking up a vibe here that tonight might be the night when we finally have sex. ‘When you say “heard anything”, what are you thinking in terms of?’
‘Well, it’s only, like, eight weeks away,’ she goes. ‘I just thought there’d be a lot more about it. Letters home. Prayer meetings. Do we even know what name she’s planning to choose yet?’
‘She definitely hasn’t mentioned it to me.’
‘You two are too busy with your vlog, of course. Thick as thieves, the two of you. That’s not me being jealous. I’m just commenting on the fact that, when I made my Confirmation, it was this, like, major, major deal.’
‘Maybe it’s not a big thing any more. Like Arthur’s Day. I mean, that died a death, didn’t it?’
‘It’s hordly the same thing, Ross. I just think, in this day and age, the whole Confirmation thing is more important than ever. What with Brexit and Trump and – I’m sorry to say it – but your dad, it’s actually vital that young people have a moral compass. And I still think that the Catholic Church can hopefully be that moral compass? I heard Michelle Obama say the other day that the only way to defeat Fascism is to raise a generation of children to know better.’
‘That’s actually a good point.’
I catch her smiling at me again.
She goes, ‘Hey, do you know where we should go after this?’
I’m there, ‘I’m listening,’ and I feel a smile forming on my face.
She puts her hand on my knee and she whispers in my ear, ‘We should go where we used to always go to have sex.’
I’m there, ‘Are you talking about Claire’s granny’s bed with the waterproof mattress protector?’
‘No, Ross, I’m talking about Killiney Hill cor pork.’
Jesus Christ, I focking hope I’m not dreaming again!
I’m there, ‘Are you serious?’
She just nods and goes, ‘I feel like I’m finally ready to be –’
‘Ridden?’
‘I was going to say intimate.’
She smiles at me and I smile back at her. I ask for the bill straight away. Catalina Sandino Moreno is going home with a massive tip tonight, I think.
And that’s when I hear a woman’s voice behind me go, ‘You … focking … WANKER!’
I actually laugh because I’m thinking, I wonder what poor focker is about to get a serious earful – and
on Valentine’s Night of all nights?
And that’s when I notice the suddenly serious expression on Sorcha’s face.
She goes, ‘Oh my God, Ross, it’s that girl who threw the Dublin Rent a Bike through the window of Everybody Loves Ramen!’
Oh, shit! Oh, shit! Oh shitty, shitty, bang, bang!
She goes, ‘Oh my God, Ross, she’s coming over here!’
The next thing I feel is, like, a tap on my shoulder. I turn around and standing there is Eabha. She doesn’t look overjoyed to see me.
I’m there, ‘Sorry, can I help you?’ still thinking I can bluff my way out of this one.
‘You focking orsehole,’ she goes. ‘You focking … WANKER!’
I honestly haven’t heard that kind of language from a woman since three Christmas Eves ago in Dunnes Stores in Cornelscourt, when I threw my cor into a porking space that Mary Mitchell O’Connor had been eyeing up for the best port of twenty minutes. She tried to let me know how pissed off she was by leaning on her horn, but she had a set of reindeer antlers and a big red nose fixed to her Toyota Avensis, which meant I probably didn’t take her annoyance as seriously as I should have? But then she wound down the window and let me have it.
My God! Seriously. My God!
I stand up. I’m there, ‘You’ve obviously mistaken me for someone else. Sorcha, let’s hit the road.’
But Eabha goes, ‘Ross. O’Carroll. Kelly.’
Sorcha’s like, ‘Ross, do you know this girl?’ because everyone in Ed’s has stopped talking at this point and is glued to the conversation.
I’m there, ‘I’m just trying to place her, Sorcha.’
‘Let me jog your focking memory,’ Eabha goes. ‘A few weeks ago. In Everybody Loves Ramen. We were on a date.’
Sorcha’s there, ‘Okay, what’s she talking about, Ross?’
I’m like, ‘I don’t know. It’s definitely news to me, Babes.’
‘We were on a date,’ Eabha goes. ‘And then his wife showed up. I presume you’re his wife?’
Sorcha’s there, ‘Yes, I am,’ and she says it in a really, like, defensive way?
I’m like, ‘Sorcha, when you said you thought we should stort dating, I thought you meant other people.’
‘We’ve only just got back together. Why would I suggest we date other people?’
‘That’s why I thought it was so random. You’ve never been a fan of me playing the field.’
‘I actually don’t believe this.’
‘It was a definite misunderstanding, Sorcha. And, by the way, Fionn knew I’d got the wrong end of the stick and he never told me. As a matter of fact, he let you walk into the restaurant, knowing your husband was sitting in there with another woman. It was only my quick thinking that saved you from having to see that. So if anyone’s to blame, it’s Fionn.’
Eabha has more to say on the subject, though. I sort of suspected that she would?
She goes, ‘Do you know what your husband did to get rid of me?’
Sorcha’s like, ‘What?’ prepared to believe literally anything of me at this stage.
Eabha’s there, ‘He told the waiter that I was doing coke in the toilets.’
I’m like, ‘You were doing coke in the toilets.’
‘I got focking chorged. With possession. And causing criminal damage.’
‘Hey, you focked a bike through a restaurant window.’
‘Do you have any idea who my dad is?’
‘No,’ I go, ‘we never got that far. You were banging on about some dude in the States who’s one stor sign but identifies as another.’
‘I’ve had to sign up for counselling.’
‘Personally, I think I did you a favour there. You are one seriously boring bitch when you’re on that shit.’
Suddenly, without any pre-warning, she picks up Sorcha’s vanilla malt, grabs the waistband of my beige chinos and tips the entire contents of the steel container down the front of my boxers.
I’m like, ‘JEEESSSUUUSSS!!!’ because my nuts instantly freeze.
Eabha turns around and walks out the door. And while I put my hand down into my boxers to try to massage some feeling back into my balls, Sorcha takes the cor keys out of my jacket pocket.
I’m like, ‘Sorcha, wait! It was a genuine misunderstanding!’
But she just goes, ‘I’m taking the cor, Ross. You can get a taxi.’
And I take it for granted that she means a taxi home and not to Killiney Hill cor pork.
Were you ever sorry that you asked someone a simple question?
Yeah, no, me and the goys are in the Aviva Stadium, where Ireland are beating France by seven points to six. But I’ve managed to miss Conor Murray’s try, Johnny Sexton’s conversion and pretty much everything that’s happened in the ten minutes since – and all because I made the mistake of turning around to Magnus during a break in play to ask him how the job in Facebook was going?
It was a figure of speech more than anything. I wasn’t looking for an answer. But he was suddenly boring the ears off me, going, ‘It’sh absholutely fantashtic, Rosh. The people who work there are sho nyshe. But thish ish becaush Fashebook ish a company that knowsh how to keep itsh shtaff happy and motivated.’
I was thinking, Jesus Christ, I didn’t ask you for your focking life story. But the dude was suddenly on a roll. He was like, ‘There ish a fantashtic canteen,’ even though the match has restorted, ‘where all the food ish free! Jusht think about that for a minute, Rosh! Your breakfasht, lunch and dinner – if you want it – ish free! Plush, nobody’sh deshk ish more than one hundred feet away from a micro-kitchen, where you can make coffee, make tea, make herbal tea – alsho there ish shparkling water on tap! Alsho, there ish fridgesh everywhere, which are full of cansh of Coke – alsho free, Rosh!’
I had my famous Rugby Tactics Book open on my lap and I storted scribbling a few notes in it, hoping he’d take the hint that I had fock-all interest in what he was saying – except he didn’t? He just kept banging on.
He was like, ‘Alsho, the fashilities are shecond to none. There ish a shwimming pool and a gym, which ish open twenty-four hoursh a day! There ish a pool table, air hockey, fushball – I love fushball! There ish alsho – thish ish amashing – a mushic room! Can you believe that, Rosh? A room that ish full of, like, mushical instrumentsh – sho if you’re having a streshful day, you can go in there with the other guysh on your team and you can have, like, jamsh!’
Like I said, I missed the try and I missed Johnny adding the cheese and biscuits, which is the bit I’m most annoyed about, because I like to really study him and look for tiny glitches in his pre-kick routine that wouldn’t be obvious to the untrained eye?
We’re heading for the bor at half-time and the dude is still in my focking ear. He’s going, ‘I honeshtly haven’t played the electric guitar shinsh I wash, like, sheventeen yearsh old. But there I wash yeshterday, in the middle of the afternoon, playing ‘Shweet Child of Mine’ – I’m shuddenly like Shlash from Gunsh and Roshes! – with my Team Leader shinging vocalsh with hish tie around hish head – it wash hilarioush! – and a girl from Human Reshorshesh playing the drumsh!’
A couple of minutes later, I’m standing at the bor, getting the pints in. I turn around to Christian, who’s going to help me carry them, and I’m like, ‘Dude, you have to swap seats with me.’
He laughs.
‘There’s not a chance,’ he goes. ‘I got stuck with him for an hour in Kielys. Telling me how he beat the Emerging Business Operations and Strategy manager in a game of Fussball.’
I’m there, ‘I do like the dude.’
‘I like him as well.’
‘It’s just, I barely took a note in that first half. How’s the new job going? It’s fine. Or it’s shit. That’s all he had to say.’
‘He talked me through every goal in that Fussball match.’
‘I’ll swap with Oisinn. I mean, he’s the one who married him, right?’
We grab the drinks and we make our way through the
crowd to where the goys are waiting – we’re talking Oisinn and Magnus, we’re talking Fionn and JP, and also JP’s old man, who I haven’t seen for a long time.
I’m like, ‘Alright, Mr Conroy? How the hell are you?’
He goes, ‘I’m pretty focking great, Ross!’
I’m there, ‘I hear you’re getting out of the property business?’ because JP mentioned that he was thinking of possibly retiring.
‘That’s right,’ he goes. ‘Time to pass the business on to my successor!’
I take a quick glance at JP, who’s looking all pleased with himself. Fair focks to him, I think. He’ll make a very good Managing Director of Hook, Lyon and Sinker.
JP’s old man goes, ‘Here, Ross, what do you think of this invention I’ve come up with?’
But JP just rolls his eyes. He’s like, ‘Dad, not this again!’ and he seems kind of embarrassed by him?
I’m there, ‘What kind of invention are we talking?’
JP goes, ‘He’s come up with an idea to help slum landlords squeeze even more tenants into their flats and aportments.’
‘All I’m saying is that we’re living in a time of record homelessness,’ his old man goes. ‘And we need to start maximizing our existing living space.’
JP’s like, ‘Tell him your idea, Dad. No, actually, I’ll tell him. My old man thinks the solution to Dublin’s accommodation crisis is for people to sleep vertically.’
The guys all laugh. I don’t – mainly because I don’t know what the word vertically means.
‘It’s more diagonally,’ JP’s old man goes. ‘The mattress would be set at a ninety-degree angle, with a footboard to stop you sliding off. The beauty of it is that it takes up exactly half the space of a standard single bed, turning a six-bed living space into a twelve-bed living space instantly.’
JP goes, ‘And tell them what you’re calling this invention of yours.’
His old man’s like, ‘The Vampire Bed.’
Oisinn thinks this is hilarious, as does Magnus, who goes, ‘You Irish and your shenshes of humour!’
Fionn has to throw his thoughts into the mix, of course.
‘Actually,’ he goes, ‘there is an evolutionary rationale behind the idea. There’s evidence to suggest that early man slept standing up, being a creature given to flight rather than fight. And in Ancient Egypt, people of noble birth often slept on beds that were slanted because they associated lying down with death.’
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