I haven’t a clue what it means, of course – or what I’m supposed to do with it? But it’s while I’m contemplating it that I decide to give Christian another try.
‘Who?’ the bird on the other end of the line goes. I’m talking about Martha, as in Christian’s PA?
I’m there, ‘Ross! O’Carroll! Kelly! The same Ross O’Carroll-Kelly who rang yesterday. And three times last week.’
‘He didn’t return your call?’ she goes.
I’m there, ‘No.’
She’s like, ‘He has been busy. Can I take your cell?’
I’m there, ‘He has my, as you call it, cell. We’ve been mates since we were pretty much kids.’
‘I’m sure, if he thought it was important, he would have called you. Just give me the cell again…’
And I do.
Like a fool, I do.
She’s putting a brave boat on it. See, that’s the Mountie way. In te confido, which literally means, ‘Whatever!’
We’re sitting in Mr Chow in Beverly Hills. Hilary Duff ’s never out of the place apparently. And Usher.
It’s nice to get away from the cameras, just the three of us. Honor’s eating her steamed dumplings, going, ‘Eee, arr, sahn, ssuh, woo, liu, chi, bah, jeou, sher…’
Still fock-all English. I’m thinking, at least when she goes back to Ireland, she’ll be able to ask for directions in petrol stations.
Sorcha’s BlackBerry beeps. Kate Bosworth was spotted arriving at the OmniPeace Charity Party in a dramatic Zac Posen with Yossi Harari bangles, although you can tell that Sorcha’s hort’s not really in it?
A waiter stops by, hears Honor babbling away and he goes, ‘Ni hao ma? ’ and Honor’s like, ‘Hen hao, xie xie,’ and the next thing, roysh, the two of them are having this pretty much conversation.
I’m just sitting there totally, I don’t know, mesmerized if that’s the word?
Sorcha barely even raises a smile. I feel like I should suddenly say something, so I remind her that she’s still a beautiful, intelligent girl – great face, amazing body – and without actually using the words ‘fish in the sea’, I tell her that one day she’s going to meet someone who actually deserves her.
‘You mean you?’ she goes.
The funny thing is, I don’t mean me at all. But I nod anyway. I’m happy to be her punchbag if it’s a punchbag she needs right now. I owe her at least that.
I watch her give up on her crunchy snow pea sprouts, then for some reason my eyes sort of, like, stray over her left shoulder and I see a familiar face sitting three tables behind us.
At first, roysh, I’m thinking, no, it couldn’t possibly be…
I keep watching her, just to be a hundred per cent sure.
‘Sorcha,’ I eventually go. ‘Stella McCortney’s sitting behind you.’
The colour immediately drains from her face. She’s like, ‘What?’
I’m there, ‘Stella actual McCortney. She’s having lunch just there – obviously tofu or some shit.’
Sorcha looks suddenly sad. ‘Ross, this isn’t like the time you rang me up pretending to be Maya Angelou saying thank you for the poem I sent her?’
‘No, I swear.’
‘Or the time you told me you saw Jane Goodall on TV giving cigarettes to a monkey?’
‘Look, I apologized for that as well. I’m telling you, it’s the Stella McCortney. Left hammer.’
She does that thing that birds do when they think they’re being subtle? She pretends she’s spotted a bit of, I don’t know, lint on the shoulder of her See by Chloé T-shirt and as she’s, like, sweeping it off with her hand, she has a quick look back.
She goes into what would have to be described as shock then – as in, she turns back around to me with both hands up to her face and she’s having palpitations. She’s literally struggling to breathe. I’m telling her to calm down, that she’s just another, I suppose, human being, though that’s like saying that Brian O’Driscoll is just another rugby player or that Paris Hilton likes engagement presents.
‘Drink some water,’ I go, which she does. Then I reach across and put my hand on top of hers. I’m there, ‘Be aware of your breathing,’ passing on some of my yoga, I suppose you’d call it, wisdom?
‘In… and out… in… and out…’
I get her calm again, roysh, then I go, ‘We’re going to go and focking talk to her.’
She shakes her head.
I’m there, ‘Yes…’
‘Ross, I wouldn’t know what to say.’
She storts getting worked up again.
I’m there, ‘You’ll think of something.’
‘I could tell her that she was so right about jumpsuits,’ she goes. ‘Halston, Marc Jacobs, Preen – they’re all doing them this autumn. Or, no – I could tell her that I’ve got, like, all of her CARE range – even the Purifying Foaming Cleanser and the 5 Benefits Moisturizing Fluid?’
I’m there, ‘Why don’t you stort by saying hello? Then just be yourself, Sorcha. She’ll focking love you – everyone does.’
I stand up. ‘Look, I’m done with my food,’ I go.
I pick Honor up, hold her in one orm, then I take Sorcha’s hand and she stands up as well. I watch her take a deep breath. Then I go, ‘Ready?’ and she sort of, like, nods, then breathes out.
We tip over. Stella’s on her Tobler. As we approach the table, I can feel Sorcha’s hand tighten in mine.
It has to be said, roysh, that Stella is an absolute cracker. I always thought she was in photographs? But in real life, I have to tell you, she’s even better.
Sorcha’s there, ‘Excuse me,’ and Stella looks up.
‘Oh, hello,’ Stella goes, unbelievably friendly.
‘My name’s Sorcha and I’m from, like, Ireland? And I just want to say that you are my – oh my God – total inspiration.’
‘What a lovely thing to say,’ Stella goes.
Even though she hears it probably fifty times a day, she acts like it’s the first time anyone’s ever said it to her, which is a mork of, like, true class. She’s even inspiring me and I’ve only just met the bird.
Then she’s like, ‘And what a beautiful baby,’ and she stands up.
Sorcha goes, ‘This is Honor. Honor, this is Stella McCortney.’
‘Ni hao ma,’ Honor goes.
Stella’s, like, stroking Honor’s cheek, going, ‘How old is she?’ and Sorcha’s there, ‘Nearly two,’ and Stella goes, ‘Oh, so she’s putting sentences together?’ and I’m there, ‘None that you’d actually understand – she could probably talk you through the menu, though.’
She laughs, even though she probably doesn’t really get the gag. ‘And you’re Sorcha’s husband?’ she goes, offering me her hand.
I’m about to go, ‘Used to be,’ but Sorcha gets in before me and goes, ‘Yes, this is Ross,’ which is nice, because she didn’t have to say it?
Stella’s there, ‘Well, won’t you sit down? I was about to have tea,’ and of course Sorcha’s face lights up like a skobie on the last Luas to Belgord.
‘Sorcha,’ I go, ‘I’m going to take Honor out. She’s getting a bit restless,’ which is horseshit, of course. I just know that, given my form, I’d end up saying something to totally fock it up for her.
I make the shape of a phone with my hand and I go, ‘Give me a ring and I’ll come and get you,’ and the look she gives, it’d almost make you want to be a nice goy all the time?
One of the things that’s always been said about me is that I look really, really well with a tan. Which is why, at this moment in time, I’m out on the patio, catching a few rays before Vegas, where they’re going to film, like, the series finale of Ross, His Mother, His Wife and Her Lover.
I’m reading an orticle about myself in Weekly OK! – some vegetarian shower are up in orms about the ‘Real Women Eat Meat’ T-shirt I was wearing in last week’s episode and I’m praying that Stella didn’t see it – otherwise the internship that she’s promised Sorcha could be out the focking wi
ndow.
I can hear voices coming from the kitchen – Erika and my old dear having the DMCs. The old dear’s going, ‘I know what Ross thinks. He thinks I’m doing it for the benefit of the cameras. For the publicity. But it’s not, Erika. I’m so in love. I know he’s old and I don’t know how many years he has left. But somehow that makes our time together all the more precious.’
I actually feel like puking again.
She gives a little girly giggle. ‘He’s so self-conscious about his face… I’ve told him a hundred times that it doesn’t matter to me. And it really doesn’t. I’ve always been more interested in what lies beneath. My first boyfriend, Conor, he was a frightful-looking thing. Still is – I saw him on television not so long ago, at Leopardstown. And as for your father…’
She lets it just hang there.
Erika’s there, ‘I suppose that’s one thing I should be grateful to her for – unlike Ross, I got my mum’s looks, not his.’
They both laugh, then eventually the old dear goes, ‘It was my fault, you know.’
Erika’s like, ‘What?’
‘You being brought up thinking someone else was your father…’
‘It was her fault, Fionnuala. She was my mother.’
‘She would have done the right thing – and your father would have done the right thing – had I not given him that ultimatum. I was convinced I was losing my mind. I did lose it…’
‘It’s still not your fault,’ Erika goes.
The old dear’s there, ‘I’m going to tell you a story. And this’ll be my last word on the subject. But I had no relationship with my mother. She went insane when I was, well… not long after I was born…’
‘I’m sorry…’
‘It’s okay. My father used to take me to see her every Sunday in what we used to call Mummy’s House. It was a – oh, God forgive me – a bloody nuthouse. And we’d sit there for a couple of hours talking to this woman and I’d wonder why she never talked back. Why she never even seemed to see us…’
I realize that she’s crying.
‘I still go, from time to time,’ she goes.
Erika’s there, ‘She’s still alive?’
‘Well – if that’s what you consider alive. I go there and I sit opposite her and most of the time I don’t even say anything. We just sit looking at each other. I don’t know what I’m waiting for. Just some flicker of recognition, I suppose. Crazy, I know. But I would give up everything I have, Erika – everything! – just for one conversation with her. Just to say, ‘Hello, Mum,’ and have her say, ‘Hello, Fionnuala,’ and then to tell her that, in spite of everything, it all worked out in the end, because look at me – I’m happy…’
I can hear Erika crying, too.
‘If you live to be my age,’ the old dear goes, ‘I can assure you, Darling, you’re going to have lots and lots of regrets. Just make sure, if it’s at all possible, that they’re regrets you can live with…’
That’s the thing about my old dear. If you let her, she could actually have you feeling sorry for her?
‘The good news,’ I go, ‘is that he’s gone,’ meaning Cillian.
Ro knows who I’m talking about – he’s a smort kid.
‘Don’t un I know,’ he goes. ‘He’s home – he’s after being in all the papers, saying all sorts. The wurdled’s gonna end, according to him. They’re calling him Dr Doom.’
I laugh. They’re unbelievably quick the way they come up with these names.
‘Well,’ I go, ‘she’s a lot happier without him, I can tell you that. The other major news is that your, I suppose, grandmother is getting married – you’ll be here for that.’
‘Maddied?’ he goes. ‘Is she not still maddied to me grannda?’
I’m there, ‘She is. It’s actually just a sham wedding? They’re only doing it for the cameras. Anyway, did your old dear book your ticket?’
‘She did, yeah.’
‘So what day are you arriving?’
‘Er, Toorsday – seven in the night.’
‘Cool – what’s the flight number.’
‘It’s, er, EI EIO.’
I write it down.
He’s there, ‘Anyway, Rosser, I’d better go,’ and he quickly hangs up.
At that exact point, roysh, a bird walks past – she’s kind of, like, a cross between Kristin Cavallari and Adrienne Bailon – and she checks my boat out in a serious way.
‘I’m Ross,’ I automatically go. ‘You clearly like what you see.’
She just laughs and goes, ‘Your nose is bleeding.’
I’m like, ‘It’s what?’ and I put my finger up to it and it ends up being red. I’m there, ‘What the fock?’
She goes, ‘Eeewww! ’ and turns her head away and I’m there thinking, I wonder is that supposed to happen?
So I finally find him, sitting outside Newsroom, where we had our first – okay, if you want to call it that – date, drinking another one of his famous Taiwanese milk teas. I have nothing rehearsed, but I’ve always been good in, like, situations, especially when it comes to talking my way out of them.
I sit down opposite him and I go, ‘Okay, I focked up in a major way. And I just want to say, you know, sorry, blahdy blahdy blah. I’d have to say, in my defence, I’m not used to having gay friends. I was probably just a bit, I don’t know, homophobic, if you want to call it that. So, basically, sorry – and it’s not often I say that…’
He sort of, like, screws up his face and goes, ‘Ross? Ross, is that you?’
Which throws me a bit. I’m there, ‘Er, yeah.’
‘Oh my God,’ he goes, ‘your nose!’ and he grabs me by the shoulder and sort of, like, turns me to the side, to see it from another angle? ‘It’s…’
I laugh. I totally forgot that he hasn’t, like, seen it yet. I’m there, ‘Go on, what?’
‘It’s… stunning,’ he goes.
I think that’s one of the things I’ve really missed about Harve – the way he’s always bigging me up?
‘You want to check out the bod?’ I go. He smiles. I grab his hand and place it on my left pec, then guide it slowly across my chest and down my washboard stomach. ‘Oh! My! God!’ he goes. I think he really appreciates that there’s no way I’d do that if I was really ashamed to have him as, like, a mate. ‘You are so ripped!’
I’m there, ‘Thanks.’
‘Your eyes are still quite bloodshot,’ he goes.
I’m there, ‘Yeah, no, don’t worry about that – that’s where Erika sprayed me with mace.’
‘She sprayed you with mace?’
‘Yeah, she thought I was going to hop her. Hop them all – Sorcha and my old dear included.’
He looks at me, sort of, like, worried?
‘So am I forgiven?’ I go and he just smiles, being obviously a sucker for a pretty face, and I order a Taiwanese milk tea, just to show him it’s still the same old me.
I’m like, ‘The point I was trying to make just there – to break it down for you and blahdy blah – was that I do want you as a friend. And fock what the press think.’
He’s obviously delighted. ‘I was going to call you,’ he goes, acting all bashful. ‘I’ve been doing a lot of thinking as well…’
I never said I’d been doing a lot of thinking, but I let it go.
For some reason, roysh, I look down and I notice the bags at his feet. He’s there, ‘I mean, who am I to lecture you about your attitudes when I haven’t properly faced up to who I am?’
I’m suddenly speechless.
‘I’m going to go see my parents,’ he goes.
I’m like, ‘Whoa! Are you absolutely sure about this?’ suddenly feeling guilty for having, like, pushed him. ‘I mean, are you not scared?’
‘Yeah, I’m scared,’ he goes. ‘But since when has that been an excuse for not doing something?’
I shake my head. See, he thinks he’s learned a lot from me – it’s actually the other way around?
‘If they love me,’ he goes, ‘they’ll
accept it. Either way, I can’t go on living a lie.’
I’m there, ‘You tinkering with cors? Doing the voice?’
‘Exactly. It’s, like, so exhausting.’
He asks me how Sorcha is and I tell him not bad, considering everything. ‘You know she gave him the road?’
He’s like, ‘Cillian? I saw last week’s show. That letter to George Bush was, like, so funny.’
I’m there, ‘Yeah – but only up to a point. I’m glad he’s gone, though. There’s no way someone like him was going to keep her happy, especially with me there putting pressure on him.’
‘Is she upset?’
‘Let’s just say she’s getting over it. Stella McCortney’s offered her a job.’
He laughs like he can’t actually believe it. ‘Stella?’ he keeps going. ‘The Stella?’
‘Yeah, we met her in a restaurant and they just hit it off. Well, you know Sorcha. People just fall in love with her. Then she had, like, a formal interview. So you can imagine, we were up at, like, five in the morning. All the drama. Should should wear her Issa “Lucky” day dress with a Ritmo watch or her Express tunic dress with Kara Ross cuffs and her Anya Hindmarch clutch…’
‘Which did she choose in the end?’ he goes, sitting forward, genuinely interested.
I’m like, ‘Neither. She actually wore a navy cap-sleeve dress by Burberry with her petrol-blue Robert Sanderson pump heels…’
‘That is such a good look for her! Will you tell her I said that was such a good look for her?’
I’m like, of course – it’s the least I can do.
I tell him I’m driving to Vegas this afternoon. I can’t wait to see Ro. He asks me if I’m coming back to LA again. I tell him I don’t really know my plans yet, but deep down I think we both realize that this is goodbye.
I’m actually a lot sadder than I thought I’d be, although I try to put, like, a brave face on it? ‘The thing is,’ I go, ‘I’m not sure if it’s ever really goodbye these days, when it’s all Facebook, texting, blahdy blahdy blah.’
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