‘Sometimes I have to tell you what you want to hear . . . I’m tempted to say that’s marriage’
Sorcha was angry. She was, like, Tiger’s wife angry. That’s why I’m staying with my old man for a few days – just until it all blows over. Or maybe a few weeks. I’d definitely expect to be home by Christmas.
Oisinn nods. He’s always been a good listener. “Do you want me to beer you?” he goes. I’m like, “Yeah, no, definitely beer me.”
We’re in, like, Kielys – er, where else! – and I’m filling him in on the events of the past week. An employee suing me for supposed sexual harassment, the old man deciding to sell the company to pay her off, then my wife overreacting to the news by trying to wrap a nine-iron around my head.
“You just can’t catch a break,” Oisinn goes. “It’s like you’re cursed or something.”
I’m like, “Keep saying stuff like that to me, Dude. This has rocked my confidence in a big-time way.”
I’m in bad form tonight and people have picked up on it. In this place, I usually have five or six girls gathered around me like seagulls waiting for chum to be tossed. But not tonight. No, they’re keeping their distance. Leaving me to stew in my misery.
“Could you not just let the case go to court,” Oisinn goes, “then tell the jury a pack of lies?”
It’s true what Father Fehily used to say – a Castlerock College education is a winning ticket in the lottery of life.
“Yeah,” I go, “that was obviously what I was going to do. Except the girl has got recordings.”
He goes, “Recordings?”
“Yeah, recordings of me – you know – telling her, for example, that she smelled great and that she was the kind of woman I’d be prepared to risk my marriage for.”
“Those are good lines.”
“Like I said, keep saying stuff like that to me. You’ve no idea how much it helps.”
“Hang on, isn’t it illegal to record someone without their permission?”
“I don’t know.”
“Dude, I’m pretty sure it is. So that would make that stuff inadmissible as evidence.”
“I think so. Either way, I can’t believe your old man is just, like, caving? I’d have thought Hennessy would love to get – what’s her name?”
“Phaedra . . . in the witness box.”
“Well, apparently not.”
Beside me there’s a dude – he’s one of Oisinn’s friends from Riverview – and he’s doing this thing that’s irritating me almost to the point of violence. Every time someone says something that he’s, like, Scooby Dubious about, he goes, “Citation needed!” at the top of his voice. And he’s drinking a gin and tonic as well. The whole thing is ridiculous.
“Sorry,” I suddenly go, “can you stop saying citation needed? If that becomes a thing, I’m going to end up possibly hurting someone. And the first person I’m going to hurt is you.”
Oisinn puts his hand on my shoulder. “Dude,” he goes, “you’ve maybe had enough to drink.”