Leo is the first of us to get restless. He goes, “Oh my God, this is so boring!” and this is in the middle of the Protestant equivalent of, like, Mass?
Johnny’s there, “Can we, like, go now?”
I’m like, “It’s not boring and no, we can’t go. This is, like, God and history and blah blah blah.”
But they’re right – it’s not great and it’s really storting to drag a bit. I check my watch and we’re only, like, 15 minutes in.
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’m smiling and mouthing the words to the hymns and giving it the big time me-trying-to-bluff-my-way-through-the-oral-Irish energy.
I give Brian a nudge and I’m like, “Sing, will you?”
He goes, “But I don’t know the words.”
And I’m there, “Then pretend to sing. Dude, you’re not going to get by in life unless you learn to be a good spoofer.”
They look the port, in fairness to them. I dressed them up in white shirts and sleeveless, diamond-patterned sweaters, then I put Brylcreem in their hair and combed it to the side. I don’t know why I thought this made them look more Protestant, but no one has called us out on it so far.
The priest, vicar, whatever you want to call the woman, catches my eye and I give her one of my famous winks. She’s about 10 years older than me and she’s a genuine looker if that’s okay to say about a woman in her line of work.
‘A lot of people pretend to be interested just to try to get into certain schools – like, for instance, St Adomnán’s’
“Make Me a Channel of Your Peace,” I go out of the side of my mouth. “I thought that was one of our ones. Or maybe there’s hymns that can be both. Like the way James Lowe is, like, Irish and a Kiwi?”
There’s never a time when I’m not thinking about rugby.
But I’m really struggling with the moves here – as in, what to do when. I’m sitting when I should be kneeling, and I’m kneeling when I should be standing, and I’m standing when I should be sitting. It reminds me of the afters of a wedding I went to once in Donegal and the entire room storted line-dancing to Shania Twain’s ‘Man, I Feel Like A Woman’ and I was the only one who was totally lost.
When the gig is over, we all tip outside and we hang around in the cor pork until herself emerges from the, I don’t know, chapel or whatever we’re agreeing to call it. I’m telling the goys, “Leave the talking to the Rossmeister, okay?”
Leo’s like, “I want to go home and watch drunk people fighting on You Tube.”
I’m there, “You also want to go to a good school, don’t you?”
“No,” he goes, “I want to stay home all day and watch drunk people fighting on You Tube.”
I’m there, “Well, your old dear wants you to go to a good school. And I’ve promised her that I’m going to get you into St Adomnán’s. So stand up straight and let’s all try to look like serious people.”
I make my way over to the boss woman. I’m like, “Hello, there!” because I’m Mr Personality – always was.
She goes, “Oh, hello,” and she has, like, a posh English accent. “I don’t think I’ve seen you here before.”
I’m like, “That’s random – because we’re here pretty much every week.”
She smiles at me – like she knows I’m full of shit? There’s no point in lying to these people. They can see through you in a dorkened confessional box.
I’m there, “I’m going to be honest, it’s our first time. But I drive by a lot and I loved your sign: ‘We’re Hiring! Jesus the Corpenter Seeks Joiners!’ I thought it was very clever.”
She goes, “Thank you. I saw it outside a church in Minnesota.”
I don’t know if that’s a real place or if she’s made it up to test me, so I keep my response vague.
I’m like, “Minnesota? Good one. So do I call you Sister, or Reverend, or Vicar?”
“Call me Alice,” she goes.
I’m there, “Alice? Cool.”
She goes, “You’re Catholics, right?”
Honest to God, it’s like a superpower with these people.
I’m there, “Is that the air we’re giving off here?”
She goes, “It’s really okay. I’ve always said our differences are more historical than theological.”
I’m like, “I was saying the exact same thing at breakfast this morning. Word for word. This is Brian, by the way, this one’s Leo, and this is Johnny.”
She goes, “They look like lovely boys.”
‘I’m sitting when I should be kneeling, and I’m kneeling when I should be standing, and I’m standing when I should be sitting’
I’m there, “They’re a bit of a nightmare – cords on the table. But they’ve been asking me about the whole God thing lately. Like I said, I’m a major fan of the sign, so I thought we’d pop in, check out the vibe and see what’s on offer.”
“What’s on offer,” she goes, smiling at me, “is eternal life,” and I do believe she’s flirting with me.
I’m there, “Did you hear that, boys? Eternal life!”
Brian goes, “Can we go home now?”
Eternal life with my children? I’ll pass.
I’m like, “He’s joking, Alice. He’s genuinely interested.”
“That’s good,” she goes. “Because a lot of people pretend to be interested just to try to get into certain schools – like, for instance, St Adomnán’s.”
I’m there, “Adomnán’s? Which one is that again?”
“It’s the one across the road there.”
“And people do that, do they? As in, it’s, like, a regular thing?”
“Oh, only about 20 times a year. New faces suddenly appear. A couple with their children – scrubbed clean, dressed in their finest, hair combed to side. And all they’re really after is my signature on a form.”
I very subtly take the form out of Leo’s hand and slip it into the pocket of my chinos.
She goes, “That’s why I came up with a test – to scare away the timewasters.”
I’m there, “A test? As in?”
“Well, we’re always looking for readers here. Regrettably, a lot of our regulars are dying off.”
“You’re asking the boys to read?”
“No, I’m asking you.”
“Me?”
“If you’re committed to the faith, it’d be a good way for you to familiarise yourself with the vibe, as you call it.”
I think about Sorcha and how angry she was when I got the boys thrown out of St Kilian’s. It was nearly worse than the time I tried mansplaining the lyrics of a Taylor Swift song to her.
I’m there, “Fine, I’ll give it a whirl.”
And Alice goes, “I’ll see you next Sunday.”
