So — yeah, no — Oisínn has landed himself an unbelievably cushy job. As a matter of fact, I have to ask him to repeat himself because I presume I’ve, like, misheard him?
He goes, “Yeah, I’m, like, repatriating yachts. As in, like, rich people take them to the Caribbean or South America, then they can’t be orsed bringing them back again — and that’s where I step in.”
I’m there, “So people pay you to sail their — literally — boats for them?”
“Yeah, no,” he goes, “the last time I did it, it was for a tech billionaire who’d taken his sixty-footer around Cape Horn.”
Sorcha is standing at the island with a boning knife in one hand and an espresso in the other, grinning at us like a serial killer
The old dear goes, ‘I don’t want my vital work on the campaign Move Funderland to the Northside to die with me’
‘I remember Past Ross thinking, you need to stort being nicer to Future Ross. He’s a genuinely good bloke’
‘Sorcha, I’m wondering is climate justice maybe a bit above Santa’s pay grade?’
I end up nearly spraying him with a mouthful of the old Dutch master.
He’s like, “What’s wrong?”
I’m there, “You said Cape. It sounded funny, that’s all. It is an actual place, is it?”
“Yes, it’s an actual place,” he goes. “I got flown first class to Santiago, then he paid me thirty K’s to bring the thing home. You should come with me sometime.”
“In terms of?”
“Well, I’m going to Borbados next week. Bringing a boat back for a certain captain of industry from Cork. I always ask one or two people to come with me for the company.”
“Yeah, no, I’d love to, dude, but I don’t think Sorcha would be happy.”
This is us, by the way, at a borbecue in Christian’s gaff. Him and Lauren are sort of, like, making it official that they’re back together again.
Hennessy tips over to us, a big dinosaur turd of a Cohiba burning in the V of his fingers. He goes, “So, what do you think of, well, you know?”
I have to be careful here. Lauren is his daughter after all.
I’m there, “Yeah, no, I’m saying fair focks. The boys are obviously delighted to have their old man back living in the gaff.”
I actually told him he was making the biggest mistake of his life. But it was like when he had the man bun during the first Covid lockdown — there was no talking to him.
Hennessy goes, “You must be worried, are you?”
I’m there, “Me? Why would I be worried?”
He’s like, “Well, you know whenever Christian and Lauren get back together, she always makes a point of asking him what all of his friends said about her while they were broken up.”
Oisínn goes, “She’ll have absolutely grilled him — no offence, Hennessy.”
Hennessy’s there, “None taken.”
Oisínn’s like, “They’ll have done that whole 100 per cent honesty thing.”
I’m there, “Not this time” and I’m looking at Christian across the gorden, flipping his burgers. “He said she could waterboard him and he wouldn’t tell her any of the shit I said.”
Hennessy laughs and goes, “Yeah, right!”
Twenty minutes later, JP and Fionn have joined us and the goys are all keen to know what I think of the whole Andy Farrell taking a sabbatical thing. I’m in the middle of giving my analysis when Lauren is suddenly standing about 10ft away from me, staring at me like I’m something nasty that won’t flush.
She goes, “Toxic, am I?”
I’m there, “Excuse me?”
She’s like, “I heard you said I was toxic.”
I look at Christian and he looks away. Seriously, the dude has a mouth the size of the Port Tunnel.
I’m there, “I’m not sure if those were my exact ...”
She goes, “Christian told me everything. We have 100 per cent honesty in our marriage.”
I’m there, “What I actually said was that your relationship was toxic? Rather than you yourself personally.”
By now every conversation in the gorden has stopped and all I can hear is the sound of Hennessy chuckling to himself.
Lauren goes, “What has Christian ever got out of being friends with you?”
I’m like, “A hell of a lot, I would have said. Storting with a Leinster Schools Senior Cup medal.”
She’s there, “Yeah, whatever the fock that’s worth.”
There’s, like, a collective gasp. You don’t just throw out a line like that and expect there to be zero reaction. Not in Booterstown.
Sorcha tips over and goes, “Okay, can we all maybe take a breath here?”
She didn’t miss a single match back in the day, bear in mind.
Lauren goes, “Carrying on like he’s some kind of expert on marriage. He has some focking nerve.”
Of course, Sorcha’s not going to just stand there and listen to Lauren diss our marriage like that.
She goes, “Yes, we’ve had problems over the years, Lauren. But we decided to stay together and try to work them out — unlike some people I could mention.”
I’m thinking, steady on, Sorcha, because I can already sense that events are about to spiral out of my control. That’s an experience thing.
“Is that right?” Lauren goes.
Sorcha’s there, “Yes, that’s right, Lauren.”
And that’s when Lauren says it.
She’s like, “Are you aware that your children are Protestants now?”
Sorcha’s there, “Excuse me?” and she turns her head and looks at Brian, Johnny and Leo. I don’t know what she’s expecting to see.
I’m there, “Let’s all just go back to enjoying this delicious borbecue. Lauren, did you get the salads from Bornhill Stores?” Except she smells blood in the water now.
She goes, “Didn’t you know that Ross had them baptised as Protestants to get them into their new school?”
Sorcha looks at me, her mouth flapping open and closed like a landed trout. She goes, “Ross, what’s she talking about?”
I can’t lie to the girl.
I’m there, “I’ve literally no idea”, having a crack at it anyway. “Although she’s been skulling the Kir Royales for the last three hours just to give you some context here.”
Lauren goes, “Christian told me everything. He took them to the church and he had them baptised. Oh, and he got baptised as well. Your husband is a Protestant too.”
Sorcha looks me up and down — like she’s looking for some physical change in me that she’s somehow missed.
I’m there, “For what it’s worth, Sorcha, I don’t feel any different?”
She goes, “Ross, my mom is a minister for the Eucharist” even though I don’t really know what point she’s trying to make. “I can’t believe you did this.”
I’m there, “Sorcha ... ”
But she’s like, “Come on, boys, we’re leaving. Don’t come home tonight, Ross.”
