So what do you think?
Yeah, no, Nicola – as in, like, Honor’s girlfriend – is showing me a watch that she bought from, like, Tiffany of all places?
It must be, like, a grand’s worth.
I’m there, “Yeah, no, it’s very nice.”
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She goes, “You don’t think it’s too much?”
I’m like, “Yeah, no, definitely not – er, what’s the occasion again?”
She laughs.
She’s there, “Her 20th birthday?”
I’m like, “Oh, yeah, no, I knew that. I definitely knew that deep down.”
I must write these things down – as in, like, make a definitive list.
She’s like, “So, er, can I see her?”
I’m like, “Errr …”
The thing is, there’s an issue, which is why she’s still standing on the doorstep. Melanie, another girl who Honor has been supposably seeing, arrived 20 minutes ago and the two of them are upstairs in her bedroom.
I’m like, “Nicola, would you mind just waiting there for a second?” and I end up closing the door in her face.
I tip upstairs and I knock on Honor’s door. I’m there, “Are you decent?”
Five seconds later, she opens the door, going, “What kind of question is that?”
I’m like, “Sorry, I don’t know. Er, Nicola’s downstairs.”
“The fock does she want?”
“Er, to see you?”
“And, what, she just calls the door? Well, that’s rude.”
“She is your girlfriend.”
“I never said we were exclusive.”
“So what’ll I tell her?”
“I don’t care. Just get rid of her. Use your imagination. Fock sake.”
So I tip downstairs and I open the front door again.
Nicola goes, “Is there something wrong?”
She’s not an idiot.
[ ‘Dude, you’re not in Ballsbridge now,’ I tell the old man. ‘This is Las Braygas!’Opens in new window ]
I’m there, “Yeah, no, she tore her upper traps at Pilates.”
It turns out I’m a genius.
She goes, “They could be strained rather than torn,” because I forgot she’s a qualified physiotherapist. “Does she want me to take a look at them?”
I’m there, “Not a good idea, Nicola. She’s not in the best of form at the moment.”
She’s like, “When is she ever in the best of form?”
And the two of us crack our holes laughing, because the girl really is a wagon at times.
All of a sudden, the phone in the hallway rings.
I’m there, “Nicola, would it be terribly rude if I–?” and I end up closing the door in her face again.
I answer the phone – and, yeah, no, it’s another girl.
She’s like, “Is Honor there?”
I’m there, “Er, who’s this?”
She goes, “What focking business is it of yours?”
This one is definitely Honor’s type.
She’s like, “It’s Valerie if you must know. Now go and get her.”
So I tip upstairs and I knock again. Honor sticks her head around the door.
I’m like, “Valerie’s on the phone.”
She goes, “Oh my God, she’s so focking needy. Tell her I strained my gluteal tendon at Pilates.”
I’m there, “I already told Nicola it was your upper traps.”
She goes, “So?”
I’m there, “It’s just easier to keep track of your lies if you stick to the same story.”
She’s like, “Fine, tell her I strained my upper traps.”
I’m there, “I actually said tore.”
She goes, “Whatever – just deal with it.”
So I tip downstairs again and I pick up the phone and I tell Valerie about my daughter’s upper traps and she goes, “I just wanted to make sure she got the flowers.”
I’m like, “Flowers?” and I hang up, then I race to the door and tear it open.
Nicola is standing there with a dozen red roses and a look of confusion on her face. I can see the delivery van disappearing down the driveway.
I’m wondering has Nicola read the cord. Of course she’s read the cord.
“Who the fock is Valerie?” she goes.
I’m there, “I’m struggling to keep track myself at this stage.”
She’s like, “Excuse me?”
I’m there, “Nothing.”
And that’s when the buzzer at the front gate goes.
I’m there, “Sorry, Nicola, I’m about to be rude again,” and I close the door in her face for the third time.
I race down to the kitchen and I pick up the intercom phone.
I’m like, “Hello?”
A girl’s voice goes, “Yeah, it’s Orla?”
I’m there, “Yeah, I’m going to need more info than that, Orla.”
She’s not in the best of form – but then when is she ever, says you!
She’s like, “I’m here to see Honor.”
I’m there, “I thought you might be. She’s torn her upper traps doing Pilates.”
There’s, like, silence on the phone. She’s not buying it.
She goes, “Whose RAV 4 is that in the driveway?”
I’m there, “She also strained her gluteal tendon. She’s not in the best of form – but then when is she ever, says you! She’ll call you in a day or two.”
I hang up and race back out to the front door. Nicola’s still there, still holding the flowers. She has unbelievable staying power, this one. Reminds me a lot of Honor’s mother.
I grab the flowers.
I’m like, “Let me take those from you.”
She goes, “Whose RAV 4 is that?”
I’m like, “Er, yeah, no,” trying to buy myself some thinking time, “I was wondering the exact same thing. The exact, exact … exact same thing.”
She goes, “Is it Melanie Reid’s?”
I’m there, “Melanie–?”
She’s like, “It is Melanie Reid’s!”
I’m there, “Nicola, I’m going to have to be rude again.”
She’s like, “Don’t you dare shut this door in my face again!”
But that’s what I end up doing. Then I sit down on the floor in the hallway with my back to the wall and I try to control my breathing using exercises I learned during years as a kicker. My head is spinning like a roulette wheel.
That’s when Sorcha steps out of the living room with a humungous smile on her face.
I’m there, “Cheating like this is a young person’s game.”
She goes, “She learned it from you, Ross.”
I’m there, “Excuse me?”
And she’s like, “Seriously – I think you’re finally getting your comeuppance from the universe.”
