I push the door. I’m like, ‘Hey, Honor, are you okay?’
She’s sitting on her bed with her back to me. She storts wiping her face with her hand, trying to clean up her tears before I can actually see them. She’s like, ‘I’m fine.’
I walk over to her and I sit down on the bed beside her. Her eyes are all red and her face is still wet.
I’m there, ‘Do you want to talk about it? And, hey, it’s cool if you don’t. It might be easier to talk to your old dear.’
She doesn’t say anything for ages. Then she goes, ‘Caleb wants us to be just friends.’
I’m there, ‘Oh … right.’
‘I sent him a cord for Valentine’s Day and he didn’t send me one and then he didn’t reply to any of my text messages and then he rang me and I asked him why didn’t he send me a cord and he said he didn’t like me in that way?’
She’s sobbing her little hort out. I put my orm around her and I pull her close to me and she just, like, melts into my chest.
See, she spends so much of her life doing evil that you forget sometimes that she’s still just a little girl with feelings, the same as everyone else.
‘If you ask me,’ I go, ‘he needs his head focking examined.’
She goes, ‘But how can I make him like me, Dad? How can I make him like me in that way?’
My hort breaks.
I’m there, ‘I don’t know, Honor. I genuinely don’t know the answer to that question. You could try getting off with one of his friends. I’m just thinking out loud here.’
‘I don’t like any of his friends.’
‘You don’t have to like them, Honor. The whole point is to piss him off or make him jealous.’
‘Mum always said that if I was a nice girl, then boys would like me.’
‘Look, your mother’s got a lot of shite going on in her head. The thing is, Honor, you can’t make people like you. Everyone has their own taste. Some people like strawberry jam. Some people like marmalade. Strawberry jam can’t do anything to make me want to eat it. All strawberry jam can do is just carry on being strawberry jam, happy in the knowledge that at least someone out there is going to like it. It’s the same with people, Honor. Not everyone is going to feel the way about you that you feel about them. That’s a fact of life. All you can do is just be yourself.’
‘I don’t want to be myself. I want to be pretty.’
‘You are pretty.’
‘I’m not. I know I’m not. I’m really plain and I have horrible hair and disgusting teeth.’
‘Those are things we can fix, Honor. Your mother’s going to bring you to the orthodontist – do you remember that conversation?’
‘He likes someone else.’
‘Who are we talking about?’
‘Caleb. He likes another girl.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘He told me. He told me when he said that he just wanted us to be friends. He said he was in love with someone.’
Shit.
She goes, ‘What?’
I’m there, ‘I didn’t say anything.’
‘You did. You said, “Shit.” Oh my God, you know something!’
‘I don’t know anything – I’m giving you my word.’
‘You do know something. I can see it in your face.’
‘Honor, I’ve just given you my word. That has to count for something.’
‘Tell me! Tell me what you know!’
‘Okay, then. Look, you’re not going to like this, but I’m going to have to tell you because you caught me lying.’
‘What?’
‘He’s in love with your mother.’
‘What?’
‘He loves Sorcha. Now, she hasn’t led him on – I want to say that in her defence. She’s actually still in denial about the whole thing. But he sent her flowers.’
‘He sent her flowers?’
‘Yeah, no, for Vally’s Day. Keep that to yourself, by the way. Your old dear somehow got it into her head that they were from me and, well, I’d like to keep it that way.’
She goes suddenly quiet.
I’m there, ‘I actually copped it pretty much from the stort – the day you were watching that movie with Rachel McAdams in it. I could see he had a thing for her.’
‘It’s because she’s pretty and I’m not.’
‘I disagree with that analysis.’
‘It’s true.’
‘Again, I see it differently. Looks are obviously important, Honor, but they’re not the be-all and end-all. Have you ever heard the phrase, “It’s personality that counts”?’
‘No.’
‘Yeah, no, you don’t hear it mentioned much anymore. I think Irish people were genuinely a lot more ugly back in the 1990s. Something to do with our diet probably. The point I’m trying to make is that one day, Honor, you’re going to meet someone who thinks you’re the greatest thing that was ever born, who’ll just have to think about you and, seriously, his hort will be focking raving. Someone is going to fall for you very, very hord, and you’ll fall for him, and you won’t even think twice about this so-called Caleb.’
‘You have to say that because you’re my dad.’
‘I also have to say it because it’s a fact. Honor, I wish you could see what I see when I look at you.’
‘Which is what? I’m not good-looking. I don’t even have a nice personality. I’m horrible.’
‘You’re far from horrible, Honor. I shouldn’t say this, but you’re actually my favourite of all my kids.’
‘No, I’m not. What about Brian and Johnny and Leo?’
‘Don’t get me wrong, I love them – of course I do. We’ve got rugby and all the rest of it ahead of us. But I don’t have the bond with them that I have with you. Hey, do you remember we burned all your granddad’s books? Do you remember he had a complete shit-fit? And do you remember we had to send you to a child psychiatrist?’
She laughs through her tears. I think, deep down, she realizes that what I’m talking here is sense?
She dries her eyes and goes, ‘Fock him. Fock Caleb.’
I’m there, ‘That’s the spirit. He’s not even that good-looking. Well, he is – but that whole Bieber thing is going to get old.’
‘If he doesn’t like me,’ she goes, ‘he’s not worthy of me.’
‘Exactly. The only thing in this world that’s worth being, Honor, is yourself.’
Oisinn answers the phone on the fourth ring.
He’s like, ‘Hello?’ and it sounds like he’s asleep.
I’m there, ‘Hey, Dude, how are things in Guitar?’
He goes, ‘It’s pronounced Qatar, Ross.’
‘Yeah, no,’ I go, ‘that’s the only way I’m going to remember it. By saying Guitar. How are things either way?’
He’s there, ‘Yeah, they’re good. Some good meetings.’
‘Where are you? You sound like you’re in bed.’
‘I am in bed. It’s, like, three o’clock in the morning over here.’
I laugh. I’ve never really gotten my head around that whole different time-zones thing. When someone in, say, Australia or the States tells me that it’s night-time there when it’s daytime here, there’s a little bit of me that doesn’t believe them.
I’m there, ‘Yeah, no, the reason I wanted to talk to you was, well, do you remember I mentioned that I was thinking about going back playing rugby?’
He’s like, ‘Yeah?’
‘Okay, I haven’t told many people this. I wanted to keep it below the radar. Sorcha knows and obviously the old man – the knob. Dude, I played for Seapoint the weekend before last. I made my All Ireland League debut after fifteen years out of the game.’
He laughs, but not in a bad way? ‘Jesus!’ he goes. ‘How did you get on?’
I’m there, ‘Well, let’s just say the game has moved on a bit since me and you played. I accept that now.’
‘I presume your kicking game is still as good as it was.’
‘That’s the thi
ng, Dude. I know this is going to sound totally random, but I’m not playing outhalf. I’m playing in your old position?’
‘What?’
‘I’m a hooker.’
He laughs. ‘Hang on,’ he goes, ‘I think I’m still dreaming here! Are you serious?’
I’m there, ‘How many times have you ever heard me joke about rugby?’
‘Point taken. So what happened?’
‘Well, let’s just say that the rest of the team aren’t too happy with the idea of an old-stager – albeit a legend of the schools game – coming back to play for them. I need to win them over, Dude.’
‘How are you going to do that?’
‘You need to tell me what went on, Oisinn, in the scrum? I’m talking about back in the day.’
He’s quiet for a long time – to the point that I think he might have actually hung up?
Eventually, he goes, ‘It was a long time ago, Ross.’
I’m there, ‘I never knew what happened in there. I mean, as far as I was concerned, it was your job to put your bodies on the line so that the pretty boys like me and JP and Christian could do our stuff.’
‘Like I said, Ross, it was another age.’
‘Oisinn, all I’m looking for is a few tips.’
‘You don’t need tips from me. You know your rugby.’
‘I love hearing you say that. I’ve got goosebumps here.’
‘You know what the position involves. You know what you have to do after the put-in?’
‘Pretty much.’
‘Try to push their front row back and don’t let your opposite number hook the ball.’
‘Yeah, I know all that.’
‘And you know how to throw a lineout ball. Your lineout throw was better than mine.’
‘This is doing unbelievable things for my confidence. But, Dude, what I’m actually looking for here is something that might give me an advantage – you know what I mean?’
‘Are you talking about drugs?’
‘No, I’m not talking about drugs. I’m determined to do it clean this time – prove the critics wrong once and for all. Dude, I’m talking about, you know, the rough stuff.’
‘Ah,’ he goes, at the same time laughing, ‘you’re asking me about the secrets of the scrum – what the Kiwis call the Daahk Aahts.’
‘The Dork Orts. That’s exactly it.’
He thinks about this for a good ten seconds, then he goes, ‘When is your next match?’
I’m there, ‘We’re playing Highfield on Saturday.’
‘Okay, don’t shave between now and then.’
‘Don’t shave? I like to look my best, Oisinn, whether I’m a forward or not.’
‘Well, from now on, that’s no longer your priority. The front row is no beauty contest.’
‘I love that quote. I might write that somewhere.’
‘You want about a week’s worth of stubble. Then when you go cheek to cheek with their number two, give him a good rub with it – it’s like sandpaper.’
‘That’s it?’
‘After twenty minutes, his face will be red raw and – trust me – it’ll be the only thing he can think about. The beauty of it is, these young goys you’re going to be playing against, they’re all just muscle. They think the game is about lifting weights and being big. Your opposite number is going to be, what, twenty, twenty-one?’
‘They’re all definitely young alright.’
‘He won’t have had anyone do that to him before. Then you stort sledging him. Get in his ear. Give him dog’s abuse.’
‘About being from Cork? Because I can think of loads of shit to throw at Cork people.’
‘You’ll need something better than that, Ross. The thing is, people from Cork actually like being from Cork?’
‘What then?’
‘That’s your job, Ross. That’s what scrummaging is all about. You’ve got to find your opponent’s breaking-point.’
I’m like, ‘Dude, thanks – I owe you big-time.’
It’s, like, just after ten o’clock on the day of the match and I’m awoken by the sound of voices downstairs in the kitchen. I check my phone. It’s, like, one hour before the bus leaves for Cork.
Sorcha’s talking to someone – it sounds like another woman.
Yeah, no, but who?
I throw on my clothes, then I tip downstairs to investigate. I walk into the kitchen to find my wife sitting at the island, drinking cappuccinos from the good Denby cups, with a woman, who is, I’m guessing, in her forties, with – and this is going to sound weird, but bear with me – a skinhead. We’re talking a blade four all over. It’s not everyone suits tight hair. It can make a woman look like a focking thug. But this woman has the features to carry it off – especially the eyes. I literally can’t stop looking at her.
I’m like, ‘Hello, there,’ laying it on like Nutella.
‘Ross,’ Sorcha goes, ‘this is Flidais – as in, Caleb’s mom!’
I’m all, ‘Hello, Flidais as in Caleb’s mom,’ in my seductive voice. ‘It’s lovely to meet you.’
She goes, ‘It’s nice to meet you, too.’
Her head is, like, perfectly focking round. She’s one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen in my life. And I’ve been around a few corners.
I look around me. The kitchen is the usual scene of chaos. There are toys strewn all over the floor. Brian is in his chair, eating his breakfast slash lunch. Leo is sitting on his mat, shouting ‘Focking bastard!’ at his mother, while Johnny is sitting on the floor a few feet away, sucking on a Flash Wipe.
I take it from him and I pick him up. I look at Flidais and I go, ‘God, I’m supposed to be playing a rugby match today – in Cork of all places.’
Sorcha can see that I’m flirting, so she tries to, like, drag my attention away. She goes, ‘Speaking of which, you’d better get going. What time does the bus leave?’
I’m there, ‘Eleven o’clock. It’s, like, a 3.30 kick-off. Plenty of time. Where’s Honor, by the way?’
Sorcha goes, ‘She and Caleb are in the living room, watching The Life of Pi.’
Jesus Christ, a week ago she said she was done with him. Oh, well. Such is the female mind. There’s focking geniuses who couldn’t get to the bottom of it. What chance have I got?
I’m there, ‘I didn’t think she was a fan of that film. She walked out of the cinema after, like, twenty minutes.’
‘Well,’ Sorcha goes, ‘I was the one who said she’d love it if she gave it an actual chance!’
That’s when Flidais, totally out of the blue, goes, ‘So, em, can I talk to you guys about something that’s a little bit, well, delicate?’
‘Oh my God,’ Sorcha goes. ‘What is it, Flidais?’
The woman goes, ‘Okay, well, I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but Caleb has told Honor that he doesn’t want them to be, you know, boyfriend-girlfriend?’
Sorcha’s there, ‘I know, it’s such a shame. But I think they’re going to be – oh my God – such good friends. Which is lovely, because Honor’s never really had many friends, has she, Ross?’
Correction. Honor’s never really had any friends.
‘Well,’ Flidais goes, ‘I know Honor’s a lovely girl, but I think Caleb may have, well, an ulterior motive in wanting to spend so much time in this house.’
Sorcha’s like, ‘Go on.’
She’s slower than Lent.
Flidais goes, ‘I think Caleb may have a bit of a crush on you, Sorcha.’
Of course, Sorcha acts all shocked, even though I called it right from the stort.
I’m there, ‘A bit of a crush? He told me that when he turned eighteen he was going to take her off me. He said it to my face as well. He said he was going to marry her.’
Sorcha tries to laugh. ‘But they’re just silly things you say when you’re young,’ she goes, ‘even though I’ve always believed that children’s emotions are just as valid as those of adults.’
I don’t think I’m far off the mork in
saying that there’s a little bit of Sorcha that’s actually flattered by all of this?
‘Well,’ Flidais goes, ‘I just wanted to mention it, just so you were aware of it. I mean, he talks about you all the time! As in, like, constantly?’
‘That’s kind of sweet.’
‘He wanted to phone you the other night. He’d read something on the Internet about – was it about Nelson Mandela?’
‘Madiba, yes. I showed him my letters.’
‘Yes, he mentioned that. But I had to have a chat with him about boundaries and what was and wasn’t appropriate contact. I mean, I hated doing it, but he was about to phone you at, like, eleven o’clock at night.’
I’ve been so focused on her boat race and her beautiful baldy head that I didn’t notice her incredible mushmellons.
She goes, ‘I mean, I agree with you, Sorcha, I do think it’s just a harmless crush. But, well, let’s just say we’ve been down this road before.’
I’m there, ‘Oh?’
She’s like, ‘Well, last year, it was Miss Dubois, his French teacher – I know she became a little bit uncomfortable with it in the end. Before that, it was Brandusa, our cleaner.’
Hey, I’m in no position to judge the kid. As an occasional visitor to Howl at the Moon back in the day, I’ve had my hands on more old ladies than Massey’s Funeral Home. But still.
‘It really storted happening after my husband and I broke up,’ she goes.
Whoa, I’m thinking – plot twist!
I’m there, ‘I’m sorry to hear that, Flidais. That’s, um, shit.’
She goes, ‘Oh, it’s okay. It’s three years ago now. Davin was a cheater.’
‘Why do men have to be that way?’ I go. ‘It’s the kind of thing that gives the rest of us a bad name.’
Sorcha doesn’t pull me up on it, even though there’s shit she could say. She goes, ‘And what, Flidais, this is his way of acting out?’
‘Well,’ she goes, ‘I took him to a counsellor, who reckoned his interest in older women was his attempt to create a surrogate marriage to replace his parents’ marriage. It’s complicated.’
Game of Throw-ins Page 13
