'I'm not talking about the kind of huge estate that Ronan lives on – where people ride horses to the local shop and children are toilet-trained at gunpoint. I'm talking about an actual estate here, with, like, deer'
FIONN HAS NEVER been what you’d describe as a ladies’ man. I mean, I’ve known nymphomaniacs who just wanted to be his friend. But Erika seems pretty serious about marrying the dude – and if that’s what my sister wants, then I’m more than happy to go along with the whole ridiculous farce.
One of the upsides, though, of being best man for the occasion is that it has thrown me back into the world of Erika’s old horsey mates – Prunella Ackford, Katie Lampworth, Susan Gore – all of whom I covered back in the day. And all of whom – I think it’s fair to say – still carry a torch for the Rossmeister General.
This is certainly true if the evidence of the engagement porty is anything to go by. They were all just, like, staring at me with their eyes out on practically stalks, obviously thinking: “All those girls who said his looks would eventually fade have been proved spectacularly wrong tonight.”
And of course I turned on the chorm in, like, a major way, apologising to each of them individually for the way it ended. I was saying shit like, "I just felt I was falling in love too fast. I thought, get out, Ross, before you get hurt," the lines delivered with that cheeky little smirk that's always been very much my trademork? How could any of them stay mad at me? Anyway, I spent most of the evening chatting up Hailey Fenech, another pretty face from my distant past, recently divorced from her South African husband and back living in Ireland. I was, like, topping up her Champagne glass, at the same time giving it, "As someone who has known hurt himself, this much I can promise you, Hailey – it gets easier." I'm telling you – Calum Best could take my correspondence course.
Anyway, out of this performance came an invitation to spend last weekend with her. Her old pair live on this huge estate on Wicklow. When I say huge estate, by the way, I'm not talking about the kind of huge estate that Ronan lives on – where people ride horses to the local shop and children are toilet-trained at gunpoint. I'm talking about an actualestate here, with, like, deerand shit?
Mr and Mrs Fenech were away – Mustique was mentioned – which meant that it was just me, Hailey and Sash, her little handbag dog, who clearly didn’t share Hailey’s fondness for me, given the amount of yapping she was doing in my general postcode. She obviously knew a player when she saw one. Clever dog.
Hailey showed me around the gaff, which was, like, humongous and had rooms with literally no TVs in them. I’ve honestly never seen anything like it, except maybe in some of those period costume dramas that Sorcha used to make me sit through.
She linked my orm – actually linkedit? – and gave me the tour of the grounds, explaining to me the difference between hares and rabbits and pointing out, overhead, a red kite, this basically bird of prey that she said had recently been reintroduced to Ireland.
“Fair focks,” I went, cracking on to be interested.
Everything with Hailey was either “super”, “frightful”, “wonderful” or “ghastly”, and I was texting one or two of the goys, going, “I’m in Downton focking Abbey here!”
We ended up having dinner – my idea – sitting at either end of this, like, 20ft-long table. With two or three glasses of the old Châteauneuf-du-Plonk in her, she storted telling me about her break-up with Lars and I sat there pulling all the right faces. “It was a frightful time,” she went, “I really went off the rails for a little while.”
I was like, “I don’t want to stort getting all deep here, Hailey, but my philosophy has always been to get back up on the horse straight away.” Protestant girls love the odd equestrian reference. You’ve got to know your audience, see.
Sash storted borking then as if to say, “It’s a line, Hailey! He’s spinning you a line!”
But Hailey looked at me through the candlelight and went: “You know, when I used to hear girls slagging you off – saying the most ghastly things about you – I always defended you. Shush, Sash! I always said it to Erika – that underneath it all, you were actually a lovely person.”
“It’s nice to get that credit,” I went.
Events, after that, storted to take a predictable turn. Hailey said “Let’s leave the dishes until the morning”, then said to give her five minutes before following her up to bed. Sash continued borking. So the second Hailey disappeared up the first flight of stairs, I did what every male would have done in the exact same position. I opened the door and I threw the dog outside.
Then I stood, roysh, looking at her through the window, actually laughing, thinking, don’t mess with the best ’cos the best don’t mess.
That’s when it happened. I’ll never forget it for as long as I live. The first thing I heard was like the crack of a whip. Then, right in front of my eyes, one of the red kites that Hailey was banging on about earlier swooped down, grabbed Sash in its talons and – with what Ryle Nugent would no doubt describe as wonderful economy of movement – flew off with her.
I stood there for, like, five minutes, totally motionless. Possibly inactual shock? And that's when I heard Hailey go, "Ross, are you coming to bed or not?"
Of course, you know what was suddenly going through my mind. Do I tell her that a bird of prey took her dog beforeor afterwe do the deed? Because beforecould put a definite dampener on proceedings.
“Get up here this minute,” she went. I suppose that was my mind made up for me.
I put in one hell of a performance upstairs, especially when you consider how much my conscience was, like, troublingme? A lot of people, I know, will be surprised to read that. But I'm the Tin Man. I do have feelings. And even while I was putting Hailey over the jumps, I kept having visions of that poor little dog being picked clean like a focking snack box.
“That was absolutely amazing,” Hailey went when it was all over.
I nodded, trying to get my breath back. I was like, “No one got cheated here tonight, baby.” And that was when I heard the sweetest sound I’ve possibly ever heard – actual borking, coming from outside. I suddently sat bolt upright. It was Sash. I don’t know what happened. Maybe the bird dropped her. Maybe he took her back to the nest and the other birds went, “You’re never going to focking eat that.” But the dog was back. And my hort, honestly, leapt.
"He must have let her go," I went. I just blurted it out, without actually thinking? Hailey was like, "Who? What are you talking about?" and I knew straight away that I was going to have to come clean.
I was like, “Did I not mention that a bird of prey took Sash?” I’ve seen looks of disappointment from hundreds of girls over the years. But none like that.
“Ross,” she went, “I want you to go. Now.”
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