‘There’s one area where my record can never be questioned – that’s as a friend’
’M THERE, “Am I the only one who’s that, aport from obviously Ireland, all of the other countries in Europe that are in the serious shiitake right now are the same countries where everyone goes back to bed for the best port of the working day?” I can’t believe I’m stealing lines from my old man now. But the goys have been talking politics for the last twenty minutes – this is in Kiely’s of Donnybrook Town, if you can believe that – and I was beginning to feel like a bit of a spare one.
They were the kind of views that got my old man elected to Dún Laoghaire-Rathdown County Council on the first count back in the old glory days. But Fionn, Oisinn and Christian end up just staring at me with their mouths slung open, like three Laoismen watching a woman try to reverse-pork.
Fionn pushes his glasses up on his nose and goes, “Are you referring to the siesta, Ross?” I’m like, “That’s exactly what I’m referring to,” although I can never remember whether the word is, like, siesta or fiesta. I’ll go with the man who got maximum points in the Leaving.
“And before you stort saying it’s racist, it’s actually not? I’m just making the point here that, well, it’s basically like the All Blacks with, like, the haka? They need to be told, ‘Goys, there’s tradition – and then there’s just acting the dick’.” Oh my God, I even said that in my old man’s voice. After 10 seconds of basic silence, Oisinn goes, “And so a political dynasty continues,” and they all laugh.
I end up just laughing along. That’s the kind of form I’m in these days. I’m good with the world. I think I’ve even forgiven Bressie for doing Rocky Road to Poland. Well, nearly. Let’s put it this way – my anger isn’t what it was a few weeks ago.
It’s good to see Fionn out and about again. It’s been God knows how long since my sister left him standing at the altar. Ripped his hort out of his basic chest. I was the one who told him all along that Erika was way out of his league, except he wouldn’t listen – not until she pegged it to South America with another man.
But Fionn’s picked himself up again, thanks to – and I hate to be the one always bigging myself up – the likes of me. I was the one always ringing him, calling out to his gaff in Dalkey, making sure he was all right. Yes, I’m possibly a bastard to women. Yes, I’m probably Ireland’s thickest man. But there’s one area where my record can never be questioned – and that’s as a friend. And then obviously as a former outhalf. And possibly as a father as well.
I go and get the round in. When I come back, I notice a bird has joined the company. Looks-wise, there’s not a lot to tell you. She’s a bit of a mess. Think Tyrone from Coronation Street with foundation and a fitted blazer. Like I said – not great.
But Fionn is clearly into her in a big-time way, just from the way he’s nodding at various things she’s saying – unless he’s just using my tactic of seeming interested? As I get closer, I realise she’s talking about the new EU move to give its rescue fund the power to recapitalise the banks directly.
It’s a real tumbleweed moment for me. I just stand there staring boredly into space.
When I spot a break in the conversation, I look at Fionn, roll my eyes in the girl’s direction and mouth the word, “Better,” as in, “Now that’s more your style.” I mean, Erika! The whole thing was ridiculous. I called it a long time ago.
Fionn throws his mince pies skyward, then goes, “Ross, do you remember Catherine? We were friends in UCD.” I have no memory of this girl whatsoever. But then Fionn had loads of birds like her trailing him around Belfield. I go to say something, except she gets in first.
“Yes, I remember Ross,” she goes, giving me the elevator eyes. “Who wouldn’t?” except she says it in a way that makes it sound not like a compliment? Ugly women have always had a particular hatred for me.
She turns back to Fionn and goes, “So when are you leaving?” and this, like, look passes between them. He tells her with his eyes to shut the fock up and this expression comes over her face like she realises she’s said to much. She excuses herself, then toddles off to the Max Cadys.
It’s Oisinn who says it. He’s like, “Leaving?” Fionn clears his throat like he’s about to make an announcement. “I was going to tell you tonight,” he goes.
“That’s why I suggested pints. I’m going away for a while.” I’m there, “Where?” I think we’re all expecting him to say Orgentina, to search for Erika.
But he just goes, “Uganda. It’s a teaching job that’s come up.” There’s, like, total silence.
He goes, “It’s in Africa, Ross.” I’m there, “Yeah, I don’t know why you’re directing that at me, Dude. These two didn’t know where it was either.”
“Why?” it’s Christian who goes. “Is it because of what happened?” He doesn’t deny it. ‘Of course. There’s reminders of Erika everywhere. I need to get away.” I think I speak for us all when I go, “When?” “Tomorrow morning,” he goes.
I’m like, “Tomorrow morning?” “I was only offered it a week ago. I would have told you sooner, but . . .” Oisinn goes, “You thought we might try to persuade you not to go.” He just nods.
Christian’s there, “So how long are you going to be away for?” He’s like, “The contract’s for two years.”
Two years? I’m there, “Well, I still say the place to be is around your mates who care about you.”
He says thanks – he genuinely means it – and I suddenly realise how much I’m going to miss the dude. See, all along, I kept saying how Erika was basically too good for him.
But suddenly I’m nearly tempted to say that it was Fionn who was too good for her.
I wish I’d been a better friend to him. Not just in the last year. But always. I want to say that to him, except I end up just bottling it.
Catherine the Not so Great arrives back from the jacks. And I end up just going, "Let's all get shots." rossocarrollkelly.ie; twitter.com/rossock