Sometimes I think all I am to my son is an ATM. I don’t mind, I’ll get the money off my old man later.
‘Where are we going?’ Rihanna-Brogan goes. ‘I was, like, halfway through watching a fillum.’
‘You can watch your fillum anutter toyum,’ Ronan goes. ‘We had to bail – that’s alls Ine tedding you.’
Fifteen minutes later, we’re driving through the gates of Honalee.
‘You don’t mean hee-or?’ Ronan goes.
I’m like, ‘Why not? You’ll be safe here. We’ve got, like, security gates, CCTV – blah, blah, blah.’
‘Is Sorcha alreet wirrit, but?’
‘Ro, she loves when you come to stay.’
Of course, he’s never been here with a death sentence hanging over his head, but I’ll get around her somehow.
As I pull out my front door key, Ronan goes, ‘Smiley face. You’re some fooken spanner, Rosser.’
I’m like, ‘Yeah, whatever. Now act natural, okay?’
‘What do you mee-un, naturiddle?’
‘Around Sorcha, I mean. Until I explain the situation to her. Don’t let her see that you’re scared of something or that you’re being chased, okay?’
‘Doatunt woody, Rosser.’
‘Ronan, I mean it.’
‘Game ball.’
Sorcha’s standing in the hall when we walk through the door.
I’m there, ‘Look who’s come to stay with us for a little while!’
Ronan goes, ‘Howiya, Sorcha? Where does the feed from the CCTV come in? I need to be looking at it at all toyums. Need to sleep wit one eye on it.’
I’m there, ‘A nice surprise, Sorcha, isn’t it?’
But Sorcha looks at me and goes, ‘Ross, there’s someone here to see you?’
My blood turns instantly cold.
‘Shit,’ I go. ‘He’s not wearing tracksuit bottoms and a Christmas jumper, is he?’
And straightaway I get the answer to my question. The kitchen door swings open and he steps into the hallway.
‘Well, this is a fine how-do-you-do!’ he goes.
No, it’s not Scum. It’s my old man.
And behind him, in his chauffeur’s uniform, is K … K … K … K … Kennet.
I’m like, ‘What the fock are you two doing here?’
And the old man goes, ‘I think it’s time we had a little talk, don’t you, Ronan?’
‘Poor Kennet here has been going out of his bloody well mind,’ the old man goes.
We’re sitting around the kitchen table, just the adults, we’re talking me, the old man, Sorcha, Ronan, Shadden and – like I said – Kennet.
The old man goes, ‘The house has been empty for days. Then when Kennet here heard about Buckets of Blood, well, obviously he feared the worst.’
Kennet goes, ‘Sh … Sh … Sh … Shadden, if you were being threatened, could you not have c … c … c … come to me. I know p … p … people.’
Shadden’s there, ‘I ditn’t wanth you getting involfed. You’re oatenly out on temper doddy release. I don’t want you going back to chail.’
Jesus Christ, it’s bright in this kitchen.
I’m there, ‘Why is it so focking bright in this room? Do we need the lights on?’
Sorcha’s like, ‘Ross, it’s one o’clock in the morning.’
I switch them off. It ends up being pitch dork. So I switch them on again.
Why do they seem so bright, all of a sudden? I’m focking blinded here.
The old man brings the meeting to order again. ‘Now, Ronan,’ he goes, rubbing his hand through his hair, ‘Kennet here has been telling me about the weeks of reprisals and counter-reprisals that have been going on between you and this chap, Scum.’
‘Well, arthur this,’ Ronan goes, ‘there’s gonna be mower – and that’s not a threat, Grandda, it’s a probbis.’
‘But where’s it going to end, Ronan? It started off with a few broken windows, the odd slashed tyre. Now it’s guns!’
‘Pooer Buckets – a fedda who nebber hoort addyone in he’s loyf.’
Buckets has one hundred and thirty-seven previous convictions, by the way, including at least ten for grievous bodily horm. I think Ro’s being overly charitable to him there?
Kennet goes, ‘He’s gonna be f … f … f … f … foyun, but. That’s why this has to be the end of it.’
Ronan’s there, ‘Scum will be got. Ine putting the wheedles in motion.’
Shadden goes, ‘It’s only a bus toower, Rohnin. It’s not woort dying for, so it’s not.’
I’m there, ‘What Shadden’s talking there, Ro, is a thing called sense. You’ve got a daughter and a girlfriend. You’ve also got your Leaving Cert coming up, even though I’m hordly the one to stort lecturing you about knuckling down to the books. The point I’m trying to make is that more violence isn’t the answer. Do you even, like, remember what happened to Nidge at the end of that show?’
‘I have to hit him befower he hits me. It’s kiddle or be kilt.’
‘Or, if you’re lucky, you get arrested and you go to jail for twenty or thirty years. Is that how you want to see your daughter grow up? Through three or four inches of bulletproof glass? No offence, Kennet.’
‘N … N … N … None taken,’ Kennet goes.
The old man’s like, ‘Why don’t I talk to this chap and see if we can’t come to an arrangement?’
Ronan goes, ‘We altready had a throoce, but now the throost has gone.’
I’m there, ‘I can’t keep apologizing, Ro.’
‘Even so,’ the old man goes, ‘I expect the chap wants a resolution just like all the other interested stakeholders. He’s a businessman, isn’t he?’
‘He’s a dealer,’ Ronan goes. ‘And a pimp.’
‘Well, that’s still a businessman – of a sort. You see, that’s the thing I love about the free market. There’s always a deal to be done. As I’m often wont to remark to my esteemed friend Mr Hennessy Coghlan-O’Hara, business always finds a way. Why don’t you just leave it in my hands?’
Senny’s girlfriend – we’re talking Torah – is well worth a stare and I’m saying that as a connoisseur of beautiful women. She’s, like, tall – almost as tall as me, in fact – not too fat, but not too thin, with a fantastic smile and a fabulous pair of gimme-gimmes.
She can dance as well.
We’re in – okay, this is a blast from the past – Club 92. In other words, the famous Club of Love, where I did so much damage back in the day.
It’s, like, a Saturday night. We have no actual game this weekend and Byrom thought it’d be a good idea for us all to maybe let our hair down before turning our minds to Greystones.
The Club D’Amour isn’t the Club D’Amour I remember. Me and Christian are the oldest in the place by a good decade and the music is the kind of shit I hear coming out of Honor’s room about three hours after she’s been told to go to bed – a lot of David Guetta and blah, blah, blah.
I look over at Christian. He’s in the middle of the dancefloor, having the crack with Bucky, Senny, Maho and Gilly. He’s having a great time, even though he’s only drinking Coke. I’m proud of the dude.
The DJ suddenly goes, ‘Okay, now we’re gonna take you back in time … with a little bit … of this.’
It’s ‘Murder on the Dancefloor’.
Jesus Christ, when Sophie Ellis-Bextor is being passed off as nostalgia, you know you’re getting old.
I say that to Torah as well. She leans in to try to hear me better. She smells of Maison Martin Margiela.
‘When Sophie Ellis-Bextor is being passed off as nostalgia,’ I go, ‘you know you’re getting old.’
Torah laughs, even though I’m pretty sure she has no idea what I just said.
That’s when someone suddenly pushes me in the back. It’s, like, a hord push as well and it sends me flying across the dancefloor.
I turn around and there’s some random dude just staring at me, like, threateningly? I’m there, ‘What the fock is your
problem?’
He goes, ‘You’re my problem – you focking pervert.’
I’m like, ‘Dude, I’m just dancing with the girl …’
I’m wondering can he see my boner in these chinos?
He looks over his shoulder and goes, ‘Senny, come over here!’
Senny arrives over. And I think to myself, Oh holy fock. Oh, focking holy fock. Because I suddenly recognize the dude.
‘This is him,’ he goes. ‘The focking peeping Tom I found looking in your window.’
I’m there, ‘Excuse me?’
I try to look as bewildered as I possibly can. Which isn’t hord for me. Honor always says that clueless is my resting face.
Senny goes, ‘Gav, chill out, that’s Rossi – our hooker.’
But this Gav dude is like, ‘This is the focker who was looking in your window. The focker who kicked me in the balls.’
He makes a run at me and it takes the combined strength of Bucky, Dilly and Gilly to hold him back.
I must have left him with a couple of fine achers alright.
Senny is suddenly looking at me dubiously – as is Torah, by the way?
The music stops and the DJ calls the bouncers to the dancefloor. Everyone in the entire of Club 92 is staring.
Senny goes, ‘Rossi, what’s he talking about?’
I’m there, ‘I’ve no idea,’ straightening my Hollister T-shirt. ‘It must be a case of mistaken identity.’
The dude goes, ‘It was you! I was standing this close to you! You were even wearing that top!’
Blissy is standing next to Senny. He goes, ‘Rossi, you need to stort talking here.’
I think to myself, okay, I can’t keep point-blank denying it. It’s not like lying to Sorcha, where she’s coming from the position of actually wanting to believe the shit that comes out of my mouth. I’ve got, like, seven or eight of my teammates staring at me and they want the truth.
So the truth is what I end up giving them.
‘Okay,’ I go, ‘I admit it. It was me who was looking in your window that night and, yes, who gave this dope here a kick in the knackers. But it wasn’t to be a filth-bag.’
The bouncers suddenly arrive, but they hang back because they can see that it’s just two rugby players sorting shit out and they’re obviously respectful of that.
If we were soccer players, there’d be sixty Gords with riot shields and batons in here already.
‘So explain to me,’ Senny goes, ‘why were you looking in my window?’
I’m there, ‘I thought you invited me over.’
‘What? Why would I invite you over? I was having a night in with Torah.’
‘I asked you if you wanted to do something together and you said you fancied a night of Netflix and Chill.’
‘Netflix and Chill – exactly.’
‘Dude, I’m thirty-five. I thought you were inviting me around to watch a box set and just kick back.’
He stares at me for a long time, as do Torah and the rest of the team. In fact, the entire of Club 92 is staring at me with their mouths open, including the dude whose mebs I dropkicked.
Senny is the first one to break the silence. He smiles, then the smile turns into a laugh. Then Torah laughs, then the rest of the goys, then the bouncers, then everyone in the entire club.
It’s suddenly the most hilarious thing that anyone has ever heard.
I hear people repeating what I said. They’re all going, ‘He thought Netflix and Chill meant watching a box set and kicking back.’
I’m looking around and I’m going, ‘For fock’s sake – I still say it means that! Netflix and Chill! Have you all lost your minds?’
I know I sound like my old man.
All the goys, including Senny, are suddenly slapping my back and hugging me and telling me I’m a legend. The bouncers head off, knowing that I represent no threat to anyone.
The DJ puts on ‘Murder on the Dancefloor’ from the stort and dedicates it to ‘The old guy in the T-shirt that’s too small for him with the haircut that’s too young for him who thinks Netflix and Chill means watching Battlestar Galactica and relaxing!’
And I think, Yeah, no, fock you, too, Dude.
‘Fock Saint Mary’s!’
‘Fock Saint Gerard’s!’
‘Fock Saint Andrew’s!’
‘Fock Saint Michael’s!’
‘Fock! Fock! Fock! Fock! Fock! Fock! Fock! Fock!’
‘Fock! Fock! Fock! Fock! Fock! Fock! Fock! Fock!’
So it’s, like, Monday night and me and Christian are on the way to Strength and Conditioning. We’ve decided to run rather than drive, from the Vico Road to – no one’s fooling anyone – Ballybrack. And it’s just like old times, because we’re playing a game we used to play back in the day, where you take it in turns to say the names of people or places or teams or even just shit that you hate, while you’re pounding the road.
‘Fock Chris Ashton!’
‘Fock Dan Cole!’
‘Fock Chris Robshaw!’
‘Fock Courtney Laws!’
‘Fock Owen Farrell!’
‘Fock Josh Beaumont!’
‘Fock George Ford!’
‘Fock Ben Youngs!’
‘Fock! Fock! Fock! Fock! Fock! Fock! Fock! Fock!’
‘Fock! Fock! Fock! Fock! Fock! Fock! Fock! Fock!’
Christian goes, ‘It’s just like the old days, huh?’
I’m there, ‘I was thinking the exact same thing.’
We’re passing by St John’s School and I’m like, ‘This next bit is all downhill – come on, let’s step up the pace!’
He’s like, ‘Are you sure?’
‘Fock BJ Botha!’
‘Fock Keith Earls!’
‘Fock Conor Murray!’
‘Fock Simon Zebo!’
‘Fock! Fock! Fock! Fock! Fock! Fock! Fock! Fock!’
‘Fock! Fock! Fock! Fock! Fock! Foooccckkk!!!’
Because that’s when it happens. My legs disappear from under me – and it happens in, like, an instant? One minute I’m eating up the path, the next I’m literally eating it? I get suddenly dizzy and then I can’t feel my legs and the next thing I know, my face is hitting the concrete beneath me.
‘Ross!’ Christian goes.
I’m lying there on the ground and I’m going, ‘It’s okay, it’s okay – I slipped.’
Except Christian’s there, ‘That was no slip. Your legs went.’
I go to stand up, except it’s like I suddenly have no bones. Down I go again.
Christian goes, ‘Don’t try to stand up. Come on, Dude, take a breath. You just fainted.’
I’m there, ‘I didn’t faint. And I don’t want that word being bandied about. Fainting is what ladies do.’
‘Well, something happened.’
I think I feel strong enough to finally stand up again, so very slowly, very deliberately, I get back on my feet.
I’m like, ‘Come on, we’ll just walk the rest of the way to the club.’
He goes, ‘Dude, there’s no way you’re doing Strength and Conditioning training tonight.’
‘Christian, we’ve only got hopefully one match left. We beat Greystones, we stay up – end of.’
I stort walking.
He’s there, ‘Ross, I don’t like this.’
I go, ‘You don’t have to like it. Come on, let’s just get there. We’ll speed-walk. And we’ll change the subject. I don’t know if I mentioned how proud I am of you for getting your shit together.’
He storts walking alongside me, except he still looks concerned. He’s there, ‘Yeah, no, thanks.’
‘Lauren’s going to be seriously impressed,’ I go. ‘I can’t wait to see her face next time she’s home. It’s like the old Christian is back. The one she fell in love with.’
Five minutes later, we arrive at the club.
Dudser storts bawling us out of it before we’re even properly in the door. I don’t even have time to say hi to the rest of the goys because he’s going, ‘Yo
u’re late, you useless fockers! Kettlebells! Pick them up! I want to see a hundred goblet squats and I don’t want to see you pause for breath!’
We do as we’re told – there’s no negotiating with Dudser.
Anyway, I’m about fifty squats into my hundred when I notice Senny on the other side of the room, doing orm curls with the borbells, but at the same time just, like, staring at me?
I’m there, ‘Alright, Senny? I always dedicate mine to women I want to ride. I’ve done twenty for Mila Kunis and twenty for Natalie Portman. These twenty are for Emily Ratajkowski.’
He suddenly drops the borbells and makes a run at me across the floor of the gym.
I’m thinking, What the fock? because the last time I saw him he was accepting my explanation for the Netflix and Chill incident and joking that my name should be placed on the Sexual Offenders Register for the next thirty years.
I have no idea what’s happened to change his mind as he launches himself at me while I’m literally mid goblet squat? He actually slams his head into my midriff, sending the two of us spilling backwards onto the floor.
I’m in, like, shock, which is how he ends up managing to pin me down, with one hand gripping the front of my Leinster training top and the other hand cocked and ready to fire.
I swear to fock, he’s about to drill his fist into my actual face, when I notice a rugby boot on the ground beside me. I don’t even know what it’s doing there. But I quickly grab it and in one smooth movement – bang! – I manage to crack him across the side of the head with it. It leaves him, like, stunned for a few seconds, enough time for Bucky and Maho and one or two others to rush over and drag the dude off me.
At the same time, they’re all going, ‘Senny, he’s not focking worth it,’ and I’m thinking, What the fock are they talking about? Where’s all this hostility suddenly coming from? What have I supposably done now?
That’s what I end up saying to them – straight out. I’m like, ‘What have I supposably done now?’
Senny is touching his face. There’s, like, blood on his fingers. I hit him some crack, in fairness to me.
‘You know what you focking did,’ he goes.
I’m there, ‘Dude, genuinely, I’ve no idea what this is even about. The last time I saw you was in the cor pork of Club 92. You were high-fiving me and telling me that in other countries they chemically castrate sexual deviants like me.’
Game of Throw-ins Page 32