“Kicker!” the old man has the actual nerve to go. “To what do I owe this pleasant surprise?”
He’s standing at his front door, still in his dressing-gown – I know I’m hordly one to talk – at, like, three o’clock on a Wednesday afternoon.
I’m there, “Yeah, I think you know why I’m here?”
He’s like, “Is it to talk about the Six Nations, Ross? What a win against the – inverted commas – auld enemy, eh? You predicted it, Ross.”
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I’m there, “I saw you on the TV.”
He goes, “Did you?”
He literally says that – word for word.
I’m like, “Dude, the camera went on the crowd during a break in play. You were on the screen for, like, 10 seconds.”
He goes, “Was I? Perhaps it was someone who looked like me!”
I’m there, “Yeah, I recognised your camel hair coat and your stupid hat. And just so you know, everyone in The Bridge was doing wanker signs at the big screen.”
“Are you sure it was aimed at me, Ross, and not one of the England players?”
“It was definitely you. There was even a chant of Charles O’Carroll-Kelly is a wanker.”
“All meant with love, I’m sure.”
“So is there any chance of an explanation?”
“An explanation as to –?”
“An explanation as to why you told me that you didn’t get tickets for Twickenham and I ended up seeing you at the actual match?”
That rocks him back on his heels.
He tries to go, “The truth is, Ross, that – well, like I told you – there was a mix-up in the allocation and I was only assigned one seat.”
I’m there, “So, what, you decided that you’d have it and I’d be the one to stay home?”
“I’m an old man, Ross, with a hort condition. I don’t know if I’ll live long enough to see Ireland win at Twickenham again. How can you begrudge me that?”
“So if you were only given one ticket, how come I saw Bernie – as in, the mother of, like, Claire from Bray of all places – sitting beside you in the stand?”
“Was she?”
“Dude, you can stop lying. You’re not in front of the Mahon tribunal now.”
“Fine,” he goes, “yes, Ross, I brought Bernie to London for the weekend. She’d never stayed in The Ritz before – can you believe that?”
I’m there, “Yes, I can believe that. Very focking easily, as it happens. The woman is as C as M – as my old dear used to say.”
“As C as what?”
“It stands for common as muck. Dude, what the fock are you playing at?”
“What do you mean?”
“She’s not People Like Us – again, quoting my old dear.”
“Bernie is a wonderful woman, Ross. By the way, she knows how to empty a hotel bathroom of its toiletries. She even took one or two towels – although that may eventually show up on my bill... do you think?”
“Dude, the double entendres. Everything that sounds in any way rude, she goes, ‘As that actress said to the bishop.’”
The old man actually chuckles.
He goes, “Yes, I’d never heard that one before.”
I’m like, “Weird, because it’s as old as she is. Hang on a second, why are you still in your dressing-gown at three o’clock in the afternoon?”
“Oh, I thought I’d have one of these famous duvet days that Honor tells me she’s taking when she doesn’t show up for work.”
‘I’m coming for you, Bernie! I want you to know that I fully intend to poke around in every nook and cranny! I can keep this up all night long!’
“Wait a minute,” I go, “is Bernie here?”
He’s like, “Er, no.”
I’m there, “Oh my God, is she upstairs? In the old dear’s bed?”
“Of course not, Ross! What do you take me for!”
So – yeah, no – I push past him into the house and I chorge up the stairs. I push the door of the old man’s room. The bed is, like, unmade, but empty. The old man appears at my shoulder.
I’m there, “Where is she?”
He goes, “I honestly don’t know what you’re talking about, Kicker.”
I’m there, “Dude, can I just remind you that I’ve hidden more girls in this gaff over the years than you’ve had hot dinners?”
He’s like, “Yes, I remember your mother could never find them!”
I’m there, “Then you’ll know that I know all the best hiding places.”
I walk over to the curtains and I quickly pull them back. There’s, like, no sign of her.
The old man’s like, “Ross, this is absolutely preposterous!”
I’m there, “Giving my ticket to Twickenham to a woman from Bray of all places – that’s preposterous. She wasn’t even watching the match. She was looking at her phone.”
I hit the floor and I look under the bed. Yeah, no, it’s clear.
He goes, “Ross, you’re wasting your time.”
I’m there, “Looking at her phone – while history was unfolding in front of her.”
“She was trying to see if there was one of these famous Nandos near the ground and they could Deliveroo food to her seat.”
“Dude, you’re only making it worse now.”
I walk into the walk-in wardrobe and I end up throwing open every door. Except there’s no sign of her in there either.
The old man goes, “Now do you believe me, Ross?”
And I’m there, “No, she’s hiding somewhere.”
I go back into the bedroom.
He’s like, “All set for Wales, Kicker?”
I’m there, “What, Bernie not free that weekend, no? Hang on, what am I doing here?”
He goes, “Exactly! You’re being paranoid, Ross. I’m glad you’ve seen sense.”
I’m there, “There’s one very simple way of flushing her out.”
He’s like, “I don’t follow you, Ross.”
I stand in the middle of the room and at the top of my voice I go, “I’m coming for you, Bernie! I want you to know that I fully intend to poke around in every nook and cranny! I can keep this up all night long!”
And suddenly, from inside the blanket box at the end of the bed, I hear a woman’s voice go, “As the actress said to the bishop!”
