I arrived home from Kielys in the late afternoon. I just wanted to get under the covers and sleep until it was first day of the Six Nations.
I'm going to hold my hands up here and say I was no fun at all in the taxi home. When the driver said that at least we still had Ireland against Bosnia and Herzegovina to look forward to, I didn't even threaten to report him to the Carriage Office. I just paid the man, called him every name under the sun and headed for the house.
Pang, our eight-year-old Chinese exchange student, was standing outside, sucking the last flicker of life out of a Johnny Blue. She saw me coming, blew a cloud of smoke out of her mouth sideways and went, "So?"
I was like, “So? What do you mean by ‘so’?”
"I mean, so, did Ireland win?"
I didn’t say anything for a good, like, thirty seconds. Sorcha isn’t a big believer in lying to children. She says it shatters their faith in adult authority figures. But I’ve always seen it as a very healthy thing, especially if telling the truth gives the little fockers leverage over you.
"Oh, yeah, no," I eventually went, "Ireland won alright. Which means we're into the semi-finals of the World Cup! "
She was like, “Wow!” lighting her next cigarette off the butt of her last one. “That’s great news! Congratulations!”
She took a long puff, then smiled. She was being, like, weirdly nice? I'm not a big believer in children smoking as a general rule, but in Pang's case, it definitely helps steady the bubble in her mental spirit level.
It’s kind of like my old dear putting six shots of Bombay Sapphire in her own porridge every morning. I’m saying it helps.
"Yeah, no," I went, "they played unbelievably well. You'd have to say fair focks to them – individually and as a team?"
She was like, “Well, you said they’d win. You said they’d win by twenty points.”
I just nodded, staring straight ahead. I was there, “Yeah, no, I did predict it.”
She went, "You must be, like, so happy."
“I’m actually very happy. But right now, Pang, I need to sleep. I’ve been drinking since pretty much breakfast time. I’m definitely my mother’s son!”
I stepped past her into the house. “Hey,” she suddenly went, “the TV in my bedroom is broken.”
I stopped and turned around to her. I was like, “Did you say broken?”
“It must be,” she went. “Because it said on the screen that Ireland lost. They lost 43-20.”
She dropped her cigarette on the driveway and mushed it into the gravel with an Ugg.
"Yeah, no," I tried to go, "that TV sometimes freezes like that. They were losing 43-20, then they came back at the end and basically blew Orgentina away. Anyway, like I said, I'm a bit mashed here, so I wouldn't mind hitting the..."
She laughed. She was like, “You didn’t think you were going to sneak that one past me, did you?”
I was there, “What do you mean?”
"Er, I watched the match? Ireland lost! They're out! They're out of the World Cup!"
“You watched an entire rugby match? Just to see would Ireland lose?”
“Yes! And they did! They lost 43-20!”
“Well, it hasn’t properly sunk in yet – that’s what I’m saying in my defence.”
“You said they were going to, like, win the whole thing. You were so sure of it.”
“That was my analysis and I stand by it. Their form coming into it, off the back of the Six Nations, was perfect. Unfortunately, they had a lot of big-game players who were out. No team – doesn’t matter how good they are – could afford to lose the likes of Paul O’Connell, Sean O’Brien, Johnny Sexton…”
“Oh! My God!” she went. “Are you crying?”
I actually was crying? It was saying His name that set me off – as usual.
I was like, “Of course I’m not crying.”
Pang whipped out her iPhone – I could feel the tears just literally rolling down my face – and she storted, like, filming me, standing there in the hallway, bawling like an idiot.
"This is, like, so funny," she went. "I have to get this. No one in China will believe me."
I pointed at the camera and went, “We’ve still got the Six Nations to look forward to. Then there’s another World Cup in, like, four years time. It’s out your way as well. We’ll be back – you’ll see!”
I turned and I stomped up the stairs.
Pang was going, "That's hillair! That is, like, oh my God, so hillair!"
I walked into the bedroom. Sorcha was lying on the bed with her MacBook Pro on her lap. She looked at me and she went, “Are you crying?”
I sat on the bed and I ended up just, like, breaking down.
I was like, "I never thought I'd say this, but I actually miss our daughter. Seriously, Sorcha, I wish we'd never agreed to this stupid exchange programme in the first place. If one positive has come out of it, though, it's helped me realise how actually lucky we are to have a kid like Honor, even though she's a wagon nearly all the time. The point is, she's our wagon. And the last few weeks have helped me realise that there's way, way worse than her out there. There's way, way worse than her downstairs. I miss our little girl so much, Sorcha. I really miss her."
Sorcha smiled at me and went, “Why don’t you tell her yourself, Ross?”
I was like, “What?”
“We’re Skyping here!”
She turned the laptop around to me. She was right. They were Skyping! I have honestly never been as happy as I was at that moment, looking at the beautiful, smiling face of our little girl.
“Hi, Dad!” she went. “How did the match go?”
I was like, “Yeah, no, safely through to the semi-finals, thank God!”
She smiled at me and went, “Really?” and that’s when I noticed that she was wearing a rugby jersey with blue and white, horizontal stripes. “Er, that’s funny, because I read online that Ireland lost!”
And that’s when she stood up and went, “Or-gen-tina! Or-gen-tina! Or-gen-tina! Or-gen-tina!”
ILLUSTRATION: ALAN CLARKE