The room is absolutely rammers and through the door I spot so many faces from the past. We’re talking Angela and Dermot from the campaign to move Funderland to the northside. We’re talking Ida and Clem from the campaign to stop the Luas from coming to Foxrock. We’re talking Lucy and Aednat from the campaign to stop poor people being allowed into the National Gallery.
Me and Brett, my brother slash half-bother, are standing outside in the hallway when the old dear arrives with a nurse on either side of her to keep her steady. When she sees me, she goes, “What’s going on? Why have they woken me from my afternoon nap?”
And I’m there, “There’s a just few old friends in this room here who want to tell you how much you mean to them.”
She looks at me scooby-dubiously, but we sort of, like, guide her into the room and there’s, like, a round of applause for her, which is weird, especially when the old dear studies this wall of faces in front of her and goes, “I don’t know any of these people.”
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I’m there, “Yes, you do. You know the old man there. And there’s Honor, look. And you remember Sorcha?”
She goes, “I don’t know anyone of that name. Is she one of your tarts, Ross?”
Everyone laughs – it’s, like, vintage Fionnuala – except obviously Sorcha.
I’m there, “And you remember Ida and Clem, don’t you? You all went on hunger strike together until they agreed to reroute the Luas through Leopardstown Valley – although I did catch you once or twice eating on the sly.”
Again, there’s a lot of laughter in the room. It breaks the definite ice.
Angela from the Funderland group stands up and goes, ‘Marie Curie. Emmeline Pankhurst. Mary Wollstonecraft. Fionnuala O’Carroll-Kelly’
I’m like, “Thank you all for being here today for this – yeah, no – living funeral for the great, and thankfully not yet late, Fionnuala O’Carroll-Kelly. The idea of today is that you all get to say what it is about my old dear that you love, or what it was about her that inspired you. Or – more likely? – she may have done something over the years to piss you off and now is the chance to get it off your chest.”
Everyone thinks this is hilarious. I definitely know how to work a crowd. I’m just going to come out and say it – it’s a focking disgrace that the IRFU has never found a way to use me.
Ida – out of Clem and Ida – is the first to her feet.
“Fionnuala,” she goes, “I remember when we were fighting this Luas nonsense, I was storting to lose all hope. I’d been refusing food for three days and I’d just fainted through hunger and dehydration. But you had this incredible strength – which makes complete sense now if what Ross just told us is true.
“You slapped my face and said, ‘We are fighting for the future of Foxrock, Ida – weakness is an indulgence that we can ill-afford.’ And many times since then, Fionnuala, I’ve stood at the top of Leopardstown Road and I’ve watched the Luas come around the corner from the direction of Sandyford and it looks like it’s heading for Torquay Road, but then it suddenly banks to the right and disappears off to, well, God knows where. And I always remember those words of yours.”
That gets a round of applause from everyone, except obviously the old dear, who has no idea who Ida is or what she’s on about. Suddenly, my wife is on her feet.
“Sorcha Lalor,” she goes. “Yes, Fionnuala, I suppose you could describe me as one of Ross’s tarts! I’m also, for my sins, his wife and your very grateful daughter-in-law. I just want to say that I think you are – oh my God – the most amazing, amazing person. Your writing, your fashion sense, your – like Ida just alluded to – advocacy work, have inspired me in my own political career and I want to thank you for that.”
She sits down, then Angela from the Funderland group stands up, introduces herself and goes, “Marie Curie. Emmeline Pankhurst. Mary Wollstonecraft. Fionnuala O’Carroll-Kelly. No, I don’t think it’s inappropriate to speak about her in the same breath as these other extraordinary, extraordinary women.”
Brett leans into me and goes, “What’s Funderland?”
And I’m there, “You don’t want to know. It’s supposed to be a happy day.”
It was from Fionnuala that I realised the importance of always being yourself, even if it means that other people get hurt along the way–
— Honor
Angela’s going, “You have inspired future generations to continue the battle to move this abomination to somewhere more appropriate.”
That gets a big, big round of applause. The old dear goes, “Ross, who are all these awful, awful people?”
I’m like, “Your mates.”
Then Honor gets to her feet. She goes, “My earliest memory of Fionnuala is her telling me not to call her grandma. She said it made her feel, like, old? It was from being around Fionnuala that I realised the importance of always, always being yourself, even if it means that other people get hurt along the way–”
Her voice breaks and then she suddenly bursts into tears. I’m listening to her still trying to talk through her sobs but then she gives up and I go over to her and put my orm around her and tell her that it’s going to be okay.
And then, as much to break the tension as anything, my old man stands up. He’s wearing yellow trousers and a pink Lacoste polo shirt, a look that still draws shouts of “Wanker!” even in Portmornock Golf Club, where a lot of things are tolerated.
He storts singing: “Today I met the boy I’m gonna marry,” which was always, like, their song? “He’s all I’ve wanted all my life and even more. He smiled at me and, gee, the music starting playing, ‘Here Comes the Bride’ when he walked through the door.”
He has a voice like a van with a focked fan belt except no one seems to mind. I watch the old dear’s lips silently saying the words and then she stands up and the old man walks over to her. He takes her hand and puts his other orm around her waist and suddenly – randomly – they’re dancing.
He’s going, “Today I met the boy I’m gonna marry, The boy whose life and dreams and love I want to share, For on my hand, a band of gold appeared before me, The band of gold I always dreamed I’d wear.”
Around and around they go. And the rest of just watch with tears in our eyes – and this is possibly going to sound deep – sad that a moment can’t last forever.
