Sorcha rings me to tell me that she’s just taken the turn on to Vico Road. “I’m just giving you a heads-up,” she goes.
Yeah, no, she’s been away for a spa weekend with her mates.
I’m like, “So how was it?”
And she’s there, “It was, like, a total reset for my body and mind. I bought patchouli oil for the diffuser. I want the whole house to smell of it.”
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?’
“Lucky us.”
“What are you doing?”
“You don’t want to know. It’s boring.”
Full disclosure, I’ve written out the alphabet in the back of my famous Rugby Tactics Book and I’m trying to think of the name of a woman I’ve been with for each letter. I’m up to 21 of however many there are – 26, 27?
I’m there, “Why are you giving me a heads-up, by the way?”
She goes, “Just in case something happened while I was away that you don’t want me to know about and you have to hide the evidence.”
I laugh. I’m like, “Yeah, no, those days are hopefully long gone, Sorcha.”
Suddenly, straight out of left field, she goes, “Oh my God, Ross, the house is on fire!”
And I end up having to ask her to repeat herself.
She’s like, “The focking house! Is on fire!” this time at the top of her voice. “I’m halfway down Vico Road and I can see it from here! Oh my God! Ross, the children!”
I hang up, jump up out of the chair and race out into the hallway. The upstairs landing is filled with smoke. I chorge up the stairs, shouting, “Honor! Brian! Johnny! Leo! The house is on fire! Get out!”
Ten seconds later, a fire engine – lights flashing and sirens sounding – pulls up in the driveway
That’s when I hear a voice – Honor’s voice – go, “We’re fine, Dad!” and I realise that it’s coming from outside.
I tip downstairs and head out to the front gorden. The four of them are standing there in their pyjamas.
I’m there, “Er, you wouldn’t have thought of telling me, no?”
Honor goes, “I shouted your name and you didn’t answer.”
“I was having a nap. I was doing some of my famous inside-my-head thinking and my brain, as usual, shorted out.”
“We just presumed you went to Finnegan’s for a sneaky pint like you did every night while Mom was away.”
“Maybe don’t tell her that.”
“Anyway,” she goes, “the fire brigade is on its way.”
I’m there, “What happened?”
“Leo let off a firework.”
I turn around to him and I’m like, “Where the fock did you get fireworks?”
He goes, “I bought them. Off a boy.”
“What boy?”
“A boy in school. I told you and you said you didn’t care.”
“Well, it’s possible I wasn’t listening. But why the fock did you let it off in the house?”
He shrugs his little shoulders.
I’m there, “Are you stupid?”
He is stupid. He takes after me.
Sorcha’s cor pulls into the driveway. She gets out, giving it, “Oh my God! My babies! Thank God you’re safe!”
Out of the corner of my mouth, I go, “Don’t tell her about the fireworks, okay? There’ll be focking war.”
[ ‘People in the crowd are staring at Honor like she’s a cold sore on debs night’Opens in new window ]
Sorcha storts hugging the four of them, going, “I don’t care what happens to the house as long as you kids are safe!”
I’m there, “Would I have time to run in there and grab a few bits?”
She’s like, “Excuse me?”
“I’m thinking in terms of my tactics book obviously. And the Caelan Doris jersey I bought at that auction ... ”
“You are not going back in the house.”
“But only a tiny bit of it is on actual fire.”
“Fire spreads, Ross. By the way, do we even know how it storted?”
I’m like, “No, it’s a total mystery – isn’t it, goys?”
The boys all nod.
“It’s their bedroom that’s on fire,” Sorcha goes. “Goys, was one of you playing with matches?”
They’re all like, “No.”
I love their ability to lie without conscience. They get that from me as well.
Sorcha goes, “Ross, you didn’t let them have fireworks, did you?”
I’m there, “Fireworks? What do you take me for?”
She’s like, “My apologies, Ross.”
Ten seconds later, a fire engine – lights flashing and sirens sounding – pulls up in the driveway. Six dudes get out. Four of them stort getting the hose ready, while one walks around the house to see how much of it is on fire and another tips over to talk to us.
He’s like, “Is everyone out of the house?”
He’s a looker. And Sorcha definitely notices.
No sooner have I got the words out than there is a loud, whizzing sound coming from inside the house, followed by a bang, then a series of pops, then a louder bang, then an even louder bang and within seconds the night sky over Killiney is lit up with a full-on fireworks display
She’s there, “Yes – thank God, officer. I don’t care about the house as long as my precious, precious family are safe.”
Her voice always gets about three postcodes posher when she’s flirting with someone.
The dude who was checking out the house comes back and says the fire is contained to the bedroom. They should be able to put it out quite quickly but there will be a lot of water damage.
I’m like, “Given that, could I quickly nip in and grab my Rugby Tactics Book?”
He’s there, “We can’t let you into the house, Sir, until the fire is out. It would be helpful to know what caused it.”
“We were just mentioning that we’ve no idea,” I go. “And we’re sticking to that story.”
He goes, “Did someone let off a firework in the house?”
I’m like, “Now you’re saying fireworks. Why does everyone keep saying fireworks?”
“It’s just that around this time of year,” he goes, “a lot of house fires are caused by fireworks.”
I’m like, “Take my word for it. There are no fireworks in the house.”
No sooner have I got the words out than there is a loud, whizzing sound coming from inside the house, followed by a bang, then a series of pops, then a louder bang, then an even louder bang and within seconds the night sky over Killiney is lit up with a full-on fireworks display.
Leo goes, “I bought them from a boy in school. Dad said I could have them.”
I’m like, “Excuse me for a moment.”
I make sure to get out of earshot from them, then I ring Ronan.
He answers. He goes, “How’s she cutting, Rosser?”
I’m like, “Not great. The house is on fire.”
“Insurdance job, is it?”
“No, it’s not an insurance job. Ro, do you remember you said you’d a mate in the Gords who could scare my children straight by throwing them into the cells for an hour or two? Can you ring him for me?”
