I’m there, ‘Were you serious – about selling Hook, Lyon and Sinker?’
JP just shrugs. ‘I have to sell it,’ he goes. ‘I need the money for the business. There’s this, like, Trade and Innovation Show coming to the RDS in June, “What’s the Big Idea?”, and I want to showcase the bed there.’
I’m there, ‘So why do you need money?’
‘I have to have a stock of these things ready to go. What if I’m suddenly inundated with orders?’
‘I don’t think you’re going to be, Dude. And that’s not me being a prick.’
Christian obviously hears this port of the conversation because he steps over to us and he’s like, ‘What do you need, JP? In terms of money?’
JP’s there, ‘Well, each bed costs, like, fifty yoyos to make – and I’d like to have maybe a thousand of them ready, just so I can be confident of being in a position to meet orders.’
Christian goes, ‘I’ll give you the money.’
I swear to fock, he says it without even hesitating.
JP’s there, ‘Are you serious?’
Christian’s like, ‘I’ve got about that much in savings. I’ll give it to you tomorrow morning. Just don’t sell the estate agency.’
Rugby. I’ll go on saying it until the day I die.
Everyone storts clapping. Sorcha’s old man has thankfully stopped talking and now it’s Sorcha’s turn. Yeah, no, I forgot to mention, this is all taking place in the gorden of Honalee.
She goes, ‘Thank you, Dad, for those gorgeous, gorgeous words. As you all know – or those of you who got the circular email we sent around – one of the things that Fionn and I thought would make today even more special was if people could bring a gift for Hillary of maybe a book that they themselves cherished as a child and hopefully write a quote on the inside cover that will possibly inspire him one day? I don’t know if anyone wants to read theirs out?’
Amie with an ie goes first. She’s like, ‘I brought Chorlotte’s Web by E.B. White and on the inside cover I’ve written, “Be the best you that you can be!”, although I don’t know who actually said it.’
Everyone goes, ‘Awww!!!’ and they all clap.
Next up is Lauren. She’s like, ‘My book is Guess How Much I Love You by Sam McBratney and inside I’ve written …’
Little Ross Junior goes, ‘Leth me reath it, Mommy! You thaid you’d leth me reath it!’
She’s like, ‘Okay, go ahead, Ross. You read it.’
Ross is there, ‘If I cannot thoo great thingth, I can thoo thmall thingth in a great way. Thath by Morthin Luther King.’
‘So cute!’ everyone goes. ‘That’s, like, oh my God!’
Next up is Chloe. ‘I didn’t actually receive the email?’ she goes, clearly not happy. ‘But I heard about it from Sophie – almost by accident. Anyway, I brought The Very Hungry Caterpillar by Eric Corle and the quote I wrote on the inside cover is by Hillary Clinton and it’s, “Human rights are women’s rights, and women’s rights are human rights,” and it’s only now as I’m reading it that I’m suddenly remembering that your Hillary is a boy! Oh my God, I am so embarrassed!’
‘It’s still a beautiful quote,’ Sorcha goes, trying to rescue the situation. ‘And it’s something I definitely want my son to know – especially in the current climate.’
She gets a round of applause. People would clap for literally anything these days – except in UCD, of course, where they’ll clap for literally fock-all.
Sophie goes, ‘The book I brought is The Cat in the Hat by Dr Seuss, which I – oh my God – loved as a child. And inside I’ve written – it’s kind of similar to Amie with an ie’s quote – except it’s, “Breathe. Believe. Become. And always live your best life.” And I don’t know who said it either, but it’s one of those ones you see a lot on Instagram.’
I can’t listen to any more. I decide to get the borbecue lit. I walk past the bouncy castle and I notice that Brian and Leo are using the thing as a sort of UFC octagon. They’re inside, basically beating the stuffing out of each other, while all the other little kids – Johnny included – are standing outside just watching, their faces filled with fear.
I decide to leave them to it. I switch on the grills and I throw on my famously inappropriate borbecue apron. It says, ‘I Can Recommend The Sausage!’ and then – this is the funny bit – it has a finger pointing downwards to my, well, you-know-what.
All of a sudden, Magnus tips over to me. He’s there, ‘Hey, Rosh, how the hell are you? Your apron ish hilarioush!’
And I’m like, ‘Yeah, no, it was a birthday present from Bláthnaid Ní Chofaigh back in the days when you could say shit like that. You know where that finger is pointing, don’t you? At my dick!’
‘Yesh, I got that, Rosh.’
‘I have to say, I’m surprised to see you here today. I thought you worked basically seven days a week these days.’
‘I took a few hoursh off for the chrishening. It’sh all good. I can make up the hoursh by working late tonight.’
Yeah, no, he’s talking about Saturday night?
‘Hey, Rosh,’ he goes, ‘I haff to show you shomeshing,’ and he whips out his phone. ‘Like your apron, thish alsho ish lotsh of fun,’ and he storts showing me photographs of – I shit you not – a humungous Lego model of what turns out to be the Facebook building in Grand Canal Square.
I go, ‘Who put this together?’ when what I really mean is, ‘Why the fock do you think I’d be interested in looking at this?’
He’s there, ‘We all did – everybody who worksh for Fashebook. Every time you pash through resheption, you haff to add one brick to the model. That’sh one of the thingsh I love moasht about working for a big tech company like Fashebook – feeling like you are a shmall but vital part of a big whole.’
It’s a big hole alright. Working Saturday nights? I’d rather be dead.
‘Another thing I alsho like about working for Fashebook,’ he goes, ‘ish jusht the number of people around the world who ushe our product in their everyday livesh. I am shitting at my deshk and I am thinking about the impact we are haffing on the world, the number of people we are helping to shtay connected – it’sh inshane.’
‘Sounds like a waste of time to me.’
‘Yesh, it can shreshful – there ish no doubt about that. But any time you like, you can ashk for a shoulder mashage at your deshk. It’sh one of the other thingsh I love about Fashebook. They are alwaysh thinking about the happinesh of their employeesh. For instansh, when it ish your birthday, the chef will cook you a speshial lunch. And alsho when it ish your Workavershary –’
That’s when I decide to suddenly get away from him. He’s literally boring me to tears here.
I’m like, ‘Dude, I just have to walk over here for a second,’ and then off I fock away from him.
The formalities are finished – as in, everyone has finished handing over their books and their horseshit quotes – and now they’re all looking at me, going, ‘When’s the food coming, Ross?’ and ‘Hurry up, Ross, we’re storving!’ and ‘Should you be wearing an apron like that in the current climate?’
Into the kitchen I go to grab the meat from the fridge. But Fionn is there ahead of me and taking out a bottle of – let’s call a spade a spade here – my wife’s breast milk. He’s holding Hillary in one orm and he goes, ‘Hey, Ross.’
And I’m just like, ‘Whatever.’
But then I happen to look at Hillary’s little face and I get this sudden flash of memory of Honor when she was that age, lying helpless in my orms, with the light of the Bosch, two-door, American-style, fridge-freezer on her face, waiting for me to feed her – again – the juice of her mother’s boobs. And in that moment, my hort feels literally empty and I hate Fionn more than I thought it was possible to hate someone you played rugby with.
He knows what I’m thinking as well because he’s like, ‘Sorcha says Honor is having the time of her life with Erika.’
‘Don’t,’ I go, giving him a serious filthy. ‘Don’t eve
n.’
We end up standing there, just staring at each other for a good, I don’t know, twenty seconds – until I feel like I’m about to burst into tears.
It’s at that exact point that Ross Junior – ridiculous – walks into the kitchen, doing his little butterfly thing, with his two hands crossed on his chest.
I’m like, ‘What’s wrong with you?’ even though I know the answer is too much attention from his mother.
But that’s when he says it – a line that turns my blood cold.
‘Ith thothe awful boyth!’ he goes, obviously referring to my sons. ‘They’re in your cor and they’ve thtorted the engine!’
It takes a good ten seconds for the words to properly sink in with me. As a matter of fact, my first instinct is to think, God, you usually have to wait until they’re fifteen or sixteen before your kids stort taking the cor without permission!, but then a few seconds after that I’m thinking, Hang on, did he just thay what I thought he thaid?
Suddenly, I’m racing through the house. There’s probably some little port of me that doesn’t quite believe it – that is, until I throw open the front door and spot Brian sitting behind the wheel of my Audi A8, with the engine running, stretching his little neck to try to see over the dash.
I’m just like, ‘Brian, get out of the cor! Get out of the cor now!’ and I try to open the front door on the driver’s side, except it ends up being centrally locked?
Brian looks at me through the window and goes, ‘Fock off, you fock!’
I’m like, ‘Brian, switch off the engine! I’m ordering you to switch off the engine now!’
But he doesn’t. He just gives me the middle finger.
The cor storts revving like a roaring lion and I’m suddenly thinking, How the fock is he even doing that? There’s no way his feet could reach the accelerator. But then I look down and I notice that little Leo is crouching in the footwell in front of him, pressing the pedals down with his two little hands.
Oh, Jesus, no! Oh, Jesus, no! Oh, Jesus, no!
I’m suddenly banging on the window with my open palm, going, ‘Leo, don’t touch those pedals! Come out of there! Come out of there now! I’ll give you money!’
By now, of course, everyone at the porty has heard the commotion. Thirty or forty people have come through the house to see what’s happening, including Sorcha.
And I’m there, ‘Two grand, goys! Two grand for whichever one of you opens the door first!’
Sorcha’s like, ‘Oh my God, Ross, the engine’s running!’
And I’m there, ‘It’ll be fine, Sorcha, as long he doesn’t put the thing into –’
I don’t even get to finish my sentence. I watch in horror as Brian reaches for the gear stick and puts it into Drive, just as Leo presses down on the accelerator. The cor lurches forward, then stops. Then, inside the cor, I hear Brian and Leo’s delighted squeals at having actually moved the thing.
I look up, and for some reason I spot Fionn standing next to the rose bushes in front of the living-room window. He’s holding Hillary in his orms and feeding him the bottle.
I all of a sudden shout, ‘Fionn, move!’
But he doesn’t get a chance to because Leo presses down on the accelerator again. The wheels spin, spitting up gravel, then the cor flies forward and I fly forward too, running alongside it. I cover the ground between me and Fionn in literally a split-second and I throw myself at him – think Sam Warburton on Vincent Clerc and you’re in the right ball pork – sending him flying to the ground. In fairness to Fionn, like Vincent Clerc, he manages to hold onto the ball – or, more specifically in this case, Hillary.
I end up basically on top of the two of them, then I roll over in time to watch my beautiful cor drive over the rose bushes and crash through the front of the house – into the actual living room.
Holy fock!
Honor had posted a new video on her YouTube channel. It’s the first for, like, weeks and I end up finding it by total accident. Yeah, no, I’m watching a hilarious compilation of rugby swan-dive fails set to Daniel Powter’s ‘Bad Day’ when it pops up in my Recommendeds.
It’s like, ‘Love Honor and Obey: From Down Under’.
I click on the link and suddenly there she is – my daughter, who I haven’t actually heard from in, like, weeks.
‘Hi, everyone!’ she goes. ‘And welcome back to my channel! I’m sorry I’ve been so quiet for the last few weeks! So, I’ll just explain my very exciting news! Which is that I’ve relocated to Perth in Australia, which is going to be my home until the end of August! Yay! So exciting!’
She actually seems genuinely excited?
‘I’ve got lots and lots of things that I want to show you today! We’ve got, like, so much catching-up to do! But first I want to introduce you to someone who has been – oh my God – my hero since I was, like, literally five years old! And maybe even before that! So, you all met my dad! And a lot of you were kind enough to leave comments saying how cool he is! Well, the person I want to introduce you to is his sister slash half-sister – my Auntie Erika!’
Erika steps into the shot. God, she looks fantastic, and I’m saying that in the way that any half-brother would pay a compliment to his half-sister. She’s wearing a denim mini and white camisole and I can pretty much see her tay-tays through the thin, cotton fabric.
She waves at the camera and goes, ‘Hi, everyone!’
Honor’s there, ‘Isn’t she the most – Oh! My God! – stunning woman you have ever seen in your lives?’
‘Definitely,’ I hear myself go and my face feels suddenly hot. ‘Definitely, definitely, definitely.’
Honor’s like, ‘So we’re going to do a video together and, as I’m standing here, I am actually shaking with nerves! Because, for as long as I can remember, literally, one of my ambitions has been to spend a day in Erika’s wardrobe!’
Like father, like daughter, I could say. Yeah, no, I used to love having a nose around Erika’s bedroom whenever I got the opportunity. I actually used to steal bras and sometimes tights from her drawers, although that was before I found out she was a blood relative.
Actually, I think they’re still in a box in my old pair’s attic. I probably should get rid of them.
‘So,’ Honor goes, ‘Erika and I are going to do a special video today, the theme of which is … are you ready, Erika?’
They both go, ‘Best Friend Style Swap!’ and they giggle like two teenagers.
‘Now,’ Honor goes, ‘even though I actually worship this woman, our taste in clothes could not be more different! And right now, I am actually scared! We are, like, literally the opposite of each other in terms of the kind of stuff we like to wear! Which is why we thought it would be kind of fun to go shopping for each other and then to literally swap styles!’
‘And it was fun!’ Erika goes. ‘But, like you, Honor, I’m very, very nervous about trying on the clothes you’ve chosen for me! Because we do have very different taste! Even though I love the kind of clothes you wear!’
‘I would, literally, describe your fashion sense as classic with an edge!’
‘I think I’d call yours girlie-cool – is that okay?’
‘Oh my God, I’m literally delighted with that!’
Anyway, the video goes on like this for a good fifteen minutes before they basically stort handing each other hats and jackets and boots and jeans to try on.
And it’s obvious that the two of them are getting on like a house on fire. And it makes me feel sad. I’m not going to deny it. It’s like I’ve been, I don’t know, replaced?
I watch it for another five minutes and it’s actually like listening to Erika and Sorcha back in the day.
It’s all, ‘I actually get more compliments on my faux-leather pants than I do on my actual leather ones, which cost, like, nine hundred euros!’ and ‘Oh my God, I love that you don’t hate the Baker Boy hat!’ and ‘I never thought a cream roll-neck would suit me, but it’s actually insane how much I love this one you chose for me, e
ven though it’s just Zara!’
I press Pause because I can’t watch any more of it. It’s too painful. I scroll down through the comments. There’s, like, hundreds and hundreds of them – a lot of them saying how gorgeous Erika is and asking if she’ll be appearing in future videos? Very few people ask for me.
I give the video a Like. It’d be petty not to. Then – I know I’m storting to sound like her now? – but literally thirty seconds later, my phone storts ringing. It’s a number I don’t recognize – a long one. I answer the phone and it ends up being her voice on the line.
She’s like, ‘Dad?’
I’m there, ‘Honor? Oh my God, how the hell are you?’
‘I’m fine!’
‘I just gave you a Like.’
‘I saw that. That’s why I rang.’
‘I haven’t heard from you. I thought I would have heard from you.’
‘I’m sorry, Dad. I was, like, really jetlagged for the first few days. Then I’ve been – oh my God – so busy. I’ve been emailing companies asking them to send me stuff for free in return for a mention on my channel.’
‘Yeah, no, I got the one that was intended for Estée Lauder. I’d say they focking shat themselves when they read it.’
‘I’m already getting, like, boxes and boxes of free stuff. And Erika thinks I should set up my own lifestyle brand – kind of like Gwyneth Paltrow’s Goop?’
‘I fancy Gwyneth Paltrow. A lot.’
‘So how are you? How are the boys?’
‘Ah, you know yourself – same old, same old. They crashed my cor through the front of the house and into the living room.’
‘What?’
‘Yeah, no, they totally ruined Hillary’s christening yesterday, you’ll be happy to hear. We’re going to have to get builders in to fix the damage. And the front of my cor is banjoed.’
She goes, ‘Oh! My God!’ but she doesn’t laugh. It’s like she’s shocked by it.
I’m there, ‘Maybe I didn’t tell the story properly.’
‘Are they okay?’
‘They weren’t hurt, if that’s what you mean. But I genuinely thought you’d love that story. Maybe it was one of those, you know – you had to be there?’
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