‘You were mugged in Dalkey? Things like that don’t happen there’

Sorcha lets out a scream when she sees me. It reminds me of the time during the recession when her BT loyalty cord was downgraded from Platinum to Electrum. It’s, like, high-pitched and – yeah, no – blood-curdling?

She goes, “Your face!”

I’m there, “This? I had way worse than this on the rugby pitch?”

She’s like, “Ross, you’ve got two black eyes.”

‘You were mugged in Dalkey? Things like that don’t happen there’

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‘I didn’t do a tap in school and yet life worked out pretty well for me’

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‘The old man running a restaurant is like asking me to teach physics through Irish’

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‘Rugby is the best idea we’ve ever come up with as a species,’ I go, channelling Fr Fehily

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I’m there, “Do you remember the time we played a friendly against Mungret? Jesus, I looked like I’d fallen from a height.”

She goes, “What happened?”

And I’m there, “Happened?”

She’s like, “Yes, Ross, how did you end up with two black eyes?”

I’m there, “I was, em, mugged.”

“Mugged?” she goes.

I’m like, “Yeah, no, mugged.”

She goes, “Where? Where were you mugged?”

I’m there, “In, like, Dalkey?”

She’s, like, big-time scooby-dubious.

“Dalkey?” she goes. “Things like that don’t happen in Dalkey.”

I’m there, “Well, I didn’t set out to make history, Sorcha.”

She goes, “Where did it happen? As in, like, where specifically?”

I’m like, “On the Main Street. Why are you making such of big deal out of this?”

She’s there, “The Main Street?”

I go, “Yeah, no, outside SuperValu.”

She’s there, “And who were they?”

I’m like, “I don’t know who they were. Just a couple of skangers.”

She suddenly whips out her phone.

I’m like, “What are you doing?”

She goes, “I’m calling the gords.”

I’m there, “Don’t call the gords.”

She’s like, “Why not?”

I’m there, “Because they didn’t get anything – as in, I managed to fight the three of them off.”

She’s like, “Three of them?”

I’m there, “Yeah.”

She’s like, “You said there were two of them.”

I’m there, “Did I?”

“You did,” she goes. “You said it was a couple of skangers. A couple is two, Ross.”

I’m there, “A couple can be two or three?”

She’s like, “No, Ross, a couple is two. A thrupple is three. Like my friends Scylla and Agata when Elke moved in with them.”

I’m there, “Fine then, it was a thrupple of skangers.”

She goes, “I still say we should call the gords.”

I’m like, “Why?”

She’s there, “Because of what they did to your face, Ross. It’s like, Oh! My! God!”

I’m like, “The gords won’t do anything, Sorcha. Except if I played GAA – then they’d be all over it like a millennial on free wifi.”

She goes, “So, what, you’re just going to leave it?”

I’m there, “Like I said, I managed to hold on to my wallet and my phone. So, like, no real horm done.”

It’s at that exact point that Honor steps into the kitchen. When she clocks me, she’s like, “Aaahhhhhh!!!!!!”

Seriously, there’s a pair of them in it.

I’m there, “It’s not a major deal, Honor.”

She goes, “What the actual fock?”

Sorcha’s like, “Your father was mugged – in Dalkey.”

Honor’s there, “Dalkey? Things like don’t happen in Dalkey.”

I’m like, “We’re living in changed times, Honor. Everyone’s saying it.”

She goes, “So, like, who were they?”

I’m there, “I’ve no idea.”

She’s like, “What did they look like?”

I’m there, “I didn’t get a good look at them. Two of them were, like, medium height and two of them were, like, tallish?”

Sorcha goes, “There were four of them?”

I’m like, “Yeah, no, that’s what I said.”

She goes, “You said there were three.”

I’m there, “Yeah, no, three of them did the actual mugging and the fourth one was, like, a look-out?”

Honor goes, “I’m calling the gords,” and she whips out her phone.

I’m there, “No – no Feds, Honor.”

She goes, “Dad, have you seen your actual face?”

I’m like, “They look after their own, Honor. A rugby players gets mugged, they wouldn’t give two focks.”

That’s when Brian, Johnny and Leo come downstairs, wondering why their dinner isn’t ready.

Brian pushes the door, going, “I’m focking storving,” and then he clocks me and the blood drains from his face.

Sorcha’s there, “It’s okay, boys, your father is fine.”

“You have two black eyes,” Leo goes.

I’m there, “Yes, I know.”

Honor goes, “Dad, you have to make a statement.”

I’m there, “And what would I say in that statement? I got jumped by four or five dudes but I couldn’t describe any of them.”

Sorcha’s like, “Four or five?”

I’m there, “Yeah, no, it was in that ballpork.”

She goes, “You originally said three.”

I’m there, “Yeah, I was getting punched in the face at the time, Sorcha. It was sort of, like, hord to keep count?”

She goes, “I think you should get checked for concussion.”

I notice that Brian, Johnny and Leo are staring at me with, like, disappointed looks on their faces?

I’m there, “Don’t worry, goys, I managed to deck three of them – correction, all five of them ended being decked. I left them sprawled out on the path slash sidewalk.”

The three of them smile. They’re proud of their old man.

Sorcha goes, “Ross, I really think you should go to the VHI 360 in Carrickmines.”

I’m like, “No hospitals and no gords, okay?” and I end up shouting it and then I storm out of them room and up the stairs.

Sixty seconds later, I’m lying on our bed when I hear knock at the door.

I’m like, “What do you want?”

Sorcha sticks her head around it. She’s, like, smiling.

“Ross,” she goes, “I know what happened.”

I’m there, “No, you don’t.”

She’s like, “I got a call from my friend Chloe. She was in the gym this afternoon. She said you were there and you were trying to bench-press some ridiculous weight – and you dropped the bor on your face.”

I’m there, “It wasn’t a ridiculous weight. I could lift that two years ago – easily.”

“Ross,” she goes, “you’re 45 now. You’re not a young man any more.”

I’m there, “Do me a favour, Sorcha. Please don’t tell the kids.”

And she smiles at me – twentysomething years married next month, which is a miracle, or maybe it’s April – and goes, “Don’t worry, my love – it’ll be our little secret.”