Honor goes, ‘It’s just, well, I want Caleb to think I’m pretty.’
Straight face, Rosser. Straight face.
Sorcha goes, ‘There’s, like, all sorts of things you can do using just bronzer and highlighter. Come on, let’s look at that video.’
Then she suddenly stops, and that’s when she says it.
She’s like, ‘Oh, Ross, speaking of which, did the shop ring about my computer?’
My blood goes cold. I’m there, ‘Computer? Er, what computer?’
‘Yeah, no, my laptop was running slow,’ she goes. ‘I dropped it into the Computer Laboratory in Sandyford. The lovely Indian lady in there thought it might have a virus.’
Oh! Focking! Shit!
Well, that’s one laptop she won’t be seeing again.
‘Er,’ I go, ‘I’m heading out.’
Sorcha’s there, ‘Ross, I asked you to feed the boys – and unpack the shopping.’
‘Yeah, no, I already told Ronan I was on the way over, Babes.’
‘Oh my God, you are useless, Ross! Well, just make sure you’re back here before Caleb arrives.’
The pit bull terriers have arrived, I notice. It’d be hord not to notice. The two of them take a run at me, snarling like focking tigers, when I stort walking across the field towards the caravan. If they weren’t chained up, they’d be eating me for Saturday brunch right now.
I knock on the door. I hear Ronan inside go, ‘Who is it?’
And I’m there, ‘Yeah, no, it’s me.’
He’s like, ‘Who’s me?’
‘It’s Rosser. The Rossmeister.’
‘Mon in, so. She’s open.’
I pull the door, then in I go. It turns out that Ronan has company. His friends, Nudger and Buckets of Blood, are sitting around with him. Yeah, so much for studying. The three of them are drinking poitín, I notice, and looking at – believe it or not – a map?
I immediately fear the worst, presuming they’re, I don’t know, plotting the fastest possible escape from some jewellery shop, or checking out the route to the home of some bank employee. I just pretend I haven’t seen it. In their world, it never pays to know too much.
I’m like, ‘Alright, Buckets? What’s the crack, Nudger?’
‘All good,’ Nudger goes. ‘How’s tings wit you, Rosser?’
‘Things are pretty sensational, in fairness to them. What about you? Are you still with Blod?’
Blodwyn is this Welsh bird slash shoplifter who I actually introduced him to? I rode her over in Cordiff before a Six Nations match.
‘Yeah,’ he goes, ‘we’re habben a babby, so we eer.’
I’m there, ‘That’s great news. Hey, tell her I was asking for her,’ and I give him a cheeky little wink – I don’t know why? It’s just me reminding him that I’ve been there, me being a wanker basically.
‘I’ll make shewer un to say that to her,’ he goes. ‘She’ll gerra good laugh ourra that.’
I’m like, ‘Why would she laugh?’ immediately on the defensive.
‘Just the memoddy of you over in Keerdiff,’ he goes, ‘throying to ride her wit your little mickey – she said it was like a child’s sock.’
Ronan cracks up laughing. ‘A child’s sock!’ he goes. ‘He fooken got your there, Rosser!’
I’m like, ‘He didn’t get me. I had a lot to drink that day.’
‘Addyhow,’ Nudger goes, ‘like I said to you, she’s due addy day.’
‘Well, one thing I will say about bringing children into the world – and I’m saying this as Ronan’s old man – it’s the best mistake you will ever make.’
He goes, ‘Skeerdy, but – habben responsibidities all of a sutton. That’s what this job is about,’ and he sort of, like, nods at the map on the table in front of them.
I’m there, ‘Look, I don’t want to know anything about it. Seriously, goys, I wouldn’t last ten minutes in a police cell. I’d end up singing like the focking Dublin Gospel Choir.’
The three of them look at each other in, like, total silence. There’s a definite change in the atmos in the caravan all of a sudden.
‘The thing is,’ Buckets of Blood goes, ‘you alretty do know. You know we’re arthur been pladden sumtin – a job.’
I’m there, ‘I don’t. I know fock-all. All I’ve seen is that map there.’
‘Which makes you an access a doddy.’
‘A what?’
‘An access a doddy. Ine saying you’re involved, Rosser. Ine saying you can’t unsee what you’re arthur witnessing hee-or today.’
‘Like I said, all I’ve seen is a map. I don’t know if it’s the route to a bank, a jewellers, or whatever. As a matter of fact, Ro, I think I might head off. Honor’s got this dude calling this afternoon and I said I’d give Sorcha a dig-out with the baking.’
‘Sit thowen,’ Nudger goes.
‘I’ll ring you later, Ro.’
‘Sit the fook thowen!’ Nudger roars at me.
I end up just doing what I’m told.
He goes, ‘Why did you say jewellers?’
I’m like, ‘What?’
‘You joost said it was a jewellers. How did you know it was a jewellers?’
‘I didn’t. Dude, that was pure guesswork.’
I can hear the panic in my own voice now.
‘The cops ardent going to suspect him of athin,’ Ronan tries to go. ‘I doubt thee’ll pull him in, feddas.’
Nudger’s there, ‘We caddent take that risk, Ro. The man’s arthur saying himself he caddent be thrusted. “I’ll end up singing like a bleaten choir” was he’s owen woords.’
I’m like, ‘Whoa, whoa, whoah – you’re not talking about, I don’t know, whacking me, are you?’ and there’s, like, actual tears in my voice. It’s suddenly got very serious in here. ‘Ronan, talk to these goys, will you?’
Buckets shouts at me. ‘Shut the fook up, will you, and let us think!’ Then he stands up and steps over to the window.
‘It’s calt a loose end,’ Nudger goes. ‘We caddent have loose ends, feddas – I know he’s your fadder, Ronan.’
After a few seconds, Buckets goes, ‘Ro, get the JCB foyered up.’
I’m like, ‘No! Please, I’m begging you, no!’
Ronan stands up. He goes, ‘Ine soddy, Rosser.’
I close my eyes and put my two hands together in prayer. I’m actually bawling. I’m going, ‘Goys, please! I’m begging you! I’ve got kids! I’ve got shit to live for!’
And that’s when I hear the laughter. All focking three of them. I open my eyes.
Ronan goes, ‘You’re some bleaten flute, Rosser!’
I’m like, ‘Bastards!’
‘We fooken had you there! You were shitting yourself!’
‘You focking bastards.’
They think it’s genuinely hilarious.
Buckets goes, ‘Is that what you think of everybothy on the Nortsoyud, Rosser – we’re all just sitting arowunt, pladding robbedies and beddying people in the growunt?’
I do think that actually.
I’m there, ‘No, of course I don’t.’
Like I said, I focking do.
‘Will we ted him what the job is?’ Ronan goes.
Buckets shrugs. He’s there, ‘No heerm.’
Ro goes, ‘We’re pladding to set up a Love/Hate Toower of Dublin, Rosser.’
I’m like, ‘A what?’
‘A bus toower. We’re gonna bring people arowunt all of the diffordent peerts of Dublin where diffordent scenes ourra Love/Hate was filummed.’
‘Is that all?’
‘That’s alt.’
‘So it’s, like, fully legal?’
‘Course it’s fuddy legal,’ Nudger goes. ‘I’ve a bleaten babby on that way. Do you think Ine in a huddy to go back insoyut?’
‘I suppose not.’
‘I says it to Blod. Says I, “Ine making a promise to you – the oatenly muddy Ine gonna be bringing into this house from heerdon in is hodest muddy – muddy that’s arthur being eer
dened.”’
I’ve no focking idea what any of that meant.
I just nod and go, ‘Fair focks, Nudger. Fair focking focks.’
Ronan pushes the map across the table to me. ‘Look at all the bits meerked, Rosser. This is alls where we’re godda bring people. The shop where Robbie Threacy got shot in the thrive-boy at the end of the foorst episowid. The gaff that Nidge pipe-bobbemed and burdened Linda’s face. The pub where Darden kiddled John Boy. The exact geerden where Pathrick shot Shivodden and then moordered Nidge as he lay on the growunt, the doorty fook – and that’s not saying athin against Thravellers.’
I’m there, ‘You’ve put a serious amount of work into this,’ looking at all the spots they’ve morked on the map. ‘God, there was a lot of drive-bys in that show, looking back, wasn’t there? So, like, who’s going to go on this, like, tour?’
‘Faddens of the show,’ Buckets goes. ‘People who enjoyt watching it and wanth a taste of that wurdled.’
Ronan nods. I can’t tell you how impressed I am by all of this.
‘Plus,’ he goes, ‘they’re sedding the tedevision rights to Love/Hate all ober the wurdled. There’s gonna be a lorra toowerdists cubbin to Arelunt wanthing to see the exact spot where their fabourite scee-uns was fillumed.’
I’m there, ‘So it’s kind of like the Sex and the City tour that Sorcha dragged me on when we were in New York once? Except with swearing and shit clothes – focking tracksuit bottoms worn with Christmas jumpers. No offence, Buckets.’
‘That’s the genoddle idea,’ Nudger goes. ‘Every toower will woyunt up back hee-or – an exact reconsthructshidden of Fradden’s cadavan headquarthers, wha’?’
I’m like, ‘So, like, how are you going to drive people around?’
Ronan’s there, ‘Buckets knows a fedda calt Muppet Burden – he can lay he’s haddens on an oawult dubba-decker bus. Lick of paint, then off we go.’
I end up saying the weirdest thing then. I’m like, ‘What about school, Ro?’
I’ve some focking cheek, I know.
He goes, ‘Buckets and Nudger hee-or are gonna run the show durden the week while Ine in school. I’ll woork the weekends till arthur the Leabing Ceert, then I’ll go full toyum in the subber.’
I’m there, ‘And there’s definitely no criminality involved? Again, that’s not me being prejudiced against, well, your kind of people.’
‘It’s all abub boawurd,’ Buckets goes.
I’m there, ‘In that case, I’m going to have to say fair focks.’
Sorcha has put the boys down for their nap and now she’s in, like, full air-hostess mode, giving me all the instructions and the announcements and the warnings and the dos and focking don’ts. It’s all make sure to use a napkin and try to make the conversation about something other than rugby and make sure to wipe the toilet seat if you happen to piss on it.
I’m there, ‘I honestly don’t know why you’re going to so much effort. This kid should have to take us as he finds us.’
Sorcha goes, ‘He will not take us as he finds us, Ross. We want him to like our daughter.’
She pushes my feet off the coffee table, then she switches off the TV, even though I was watching it.
She’s like, ‘He’ll be here any minute, Ross – get changed.’
I’m there, ‘Changed?’
‘Oh my God, you are not wearing that!’
That happens to be my Leinster thermal training top, which is the most comfortable item of clothing I own. It’s like a permanent hug and I’m not giving it up for anyone.
Sorcha’s like, ‘Go upstairs and put a shirt on.’
I’m there, ‘Hey, it’s Honor who has a date, not us. I’m not getting dressed up just because someone’s coming around to watch TV with her. I might if that someone happened to be Gigi Hadid – and even then, I think she’d genuinely love this top.’
Honor suddenly appears downstairs. She walks into the TV room and I actually laugh.
She’s like, ‘What the fock is so funny?’
I’m there, ‘Yeah, no, nothing.’
It’s just the first time I’ve ever seen her wearing make-up. Sorcha has basically drawn cheekbones on her with possibly a mascara pencil? Her face is like something off a focking pirate flag.
Then, suddenly, I notice that she’s wearing – I shit you not – a dress.
It’s hilarious, roysh, but at the same time it’s not? One of the things I always loved about Honor was that she genuinely didn’t give a fock what anyone thought of her. It was one of my favourite of all the qualities that she inherited from me. I never thought there’d come a day when she came off as desperate for anyone’s approval, especially a boy’s.
He’d better be a looker, that’s all I can say.
The front doorbell rings.
Honor goes, ‘Are you sure I look okay?’
I’m there, ‘You look great, Honor.’
She doesn’t – she looks focking ridiculous.
She takes a deep breath, then she goes out to answer the door.
Sorcha goes, ‘Now, be nice, Ross.’
And I’m there, ‘I can’t guarantee anything. Except this – whatever he’s like, he’s not going to be good enough for my little girl.’
Sixty seconds later, Honor arrives back into the TV room, followed by this kid. I end up just staring at him with my mouth open. I take back what I said about him not being good enough for Honor. He is one handsome little bastard. If I had to say he looked like anyone, it’d be a young Justin Bieber.
I hate to say this about my own flesh and blood, but if she thinks a dude who looks like that is going to be interested in the likes of her, well, she’s pissing into the wind.
‘Mom, Dad,’ she goes, ‘this is Caleb. And Caleb, this is my mom and dad.’
He’s there, ‘Hello, Mrs O’Carroll-Kelly,’ and we’re talking full eye contact. He’s obviously not short on confidence. ‘Hello, Mr O’Carroll-Kelly.’
Sorcha goes, ‘Oh, please! It’s Sorcha and Ross!’
I’m like, ‘I don’t know. I think I’d prefer to keep it as Mr and Mrs for the time being,’ just letting him know that not everyone in this house is a slave to his chorms.
God, he’s a looker, though.
‘So, Caleb,’ I go, ‘Honor tells me you’re not a rugby man.’
Honor’s like, ‘Daaad!’
I’m there, ‘I’m just making conversation, Honor – playing the protective father.’
He goes, ‘They have rugby in my school,’ and then he shrugs. ‘But I’ve no interest.’
‘Probably for the best,’ I go. ‘Michael’s are hordly a superpower of the game. It’ll save you a lot of disappointment down the line.’
He’s got the Bieber hair and everything. Honor doesn’t seem to realize how far out of her depth she is here. Still, the hort wants what the hort wants, even if the head is focking kidding itself.
Sorcha goes, ‘I hope you’re hungry, Caleb, because I’ve got sandwiches, artisan macarons …’
He’s there, ‘Er, cool – thanks, Mrs O’Carroll-Kelly.’
‘I told you to call me Sorcha!’
‘So, Caleb,’ I go, ‘I met that sister of yours.’
He’s there, ‘Thea?’
I go, ‘That’s her name, isn’t it, Honor? The one in your class?’ and I give her a little wink. ‘Is she adopted or something?’
He’s like, ‘What?’
‘Or are you adopted?’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘It’s just I don’t see the resemblance, that’s all.’
That’s when the doorbell rings again. Sorcha goes, ‘Ross, will you get that?’
I’m like, ‘What’s wrong with your legs?’ because it never ends up being for me anyway.
Sorcha rolls her eyes, then she goes out to see who it is.
I go, ‘So, Caleb, if you’re not into rugby, what are you into?’
And that’s when – totally unprovoked – he goes, ‘Sorry, are you a fockin
g simpleton or something?’
I’m like, ‘Excuse me?’ obviously a bit taken aback.
‘I asked if you were a focking simpleton. You sound like a simpleton. All these dumb questions.’
Honor goes, ‘Yeah, Dad,’ letting me know where her loyalties lie, ‘you’re such an embarrassment!’
I’m there, ‘I’m not trying to embarrass you, Honor. I’m just trying to get to know this boy who my daughter has taken a sudden interest in.’
He goes, ‘Listen to the way you talk. Muh, muh, muh, muh, muh. Were you dropped on your head as a baby?’
Honor laughs – my own flesh and blood.
I’m there, ‘No.’
He goes, ‘Or was your cradle rocked too close to the wall?’
Honor laughs. She goes, ‘Oh my God, Caleb, you are so funny!’
It’s pretty obvious that she’s one smitten kitten.
I decide that he needs to be taken down a peg or two. I’m there, ‘So do you fancy yourself as a bit of a player, Caleb?’
He’s there, ‘I’m sorry, can you stop talking, please? Your voice is really starting to grate on me.’
‘Look, we obviously haven’t got off to the best of storts, me and you. You’re going to find me tough but fair. And Honor will probably tell you that I have a tendency to call it. But I want to say this to you. If you even think about breaking my daughter’s hort, I will snap you like a dry twig. My family is something I take pretty seriously and I will crush anyone who tries to hurt the people I love.’
And it’s at that exact moment that Sorcha steps back into the room. She goes, ‘Ross?’ and there’s a note of definite concern in her voice.
Then I suddenly notice – with a fright that almost causes me to shit my spleen – that she’s holding her laptop and there’s a man behind her, a man who could only really be described as an Indian dude.
And standing behind him, I really can’t fail to notice, is an Indian woman.
I quickly go on the offensive. I’m there, ‘I don’t have time for this bullshit, whatever-the-fock this is supposedly about.’
Sorcha goes, ‘Ross, this man said you made sexually suggestive remarks to his niece on the telephone.’
Game of Throw-ins Page 7
