OK, I know where Beijing is now, but I'm not about to let Sorcha take our daughter to live there, even if Mandarin is going on the curriculum
SORCHA SCRAPES ABOUT two inches of froth off the top of her cappuccino, dumps it onto her saucer and tells me how upset she's been. "It's one of the most awful human tragedies any of us is ever likely to witness," she goes. "Just, like, watching the images on TV, I was in - oh my God - actual tears?" It's hord to know whether Sorcha's talking about the cyclone in Burma, the earthquake in China, or the closure of Habitat on Suffolk Street.
We've had all three in the last five minutes of conversation.
"Hundreds of thousands of homes have been left without the basic essentials," she goes.
It really is impossible to tell. I make, like, sympathetic faces between sips of my Featured Coffee.
At the same time I'm thinking, did she really ask to meet me today to talk about, I don't know, world affairs? "What are you doing next weekend?" she suddenly goes, changing the subject again. Before I even get a chance to answer, roysh, she's there, "Cillian and I are going to Cardiff. We just wondered would you mind taking Honor?" I actually laugh in her face. "Declan Kidney gets the Ireland job and suddenly the whole country gets behind Munster. I mean, yeah, I'll mind her for the weekend but I'm not saying it's right." She ignores this. "Cillian got, like, a corporate package from one of his clients." I'm there, "Perfect for someone with absolutely zero interest in rugby," and I stand up, roysh, getting ready to go.
She's like, "Ross, there's something else. Please, sit down," which is what I do. "I think it's, like, really important that you spend time with your daughter, especially in these, like, early years? Neither of us knows what the future holds and I don't want the bond of recognition between you two broken."
I'm there, "Sorcha, what are you actually getting at here?" Without even looking at me, she's like, "We're going away, Ross. To Beijing," and then - knowing me like she
does - she goes, "It's in China." I'm like, "What?" "Cillian's been offered a two-year secondment, to learn the ropes from the World Director of Internal Audit and Risk Management." To which there's only one response. "And your point is?" "Ross, this is
an unbelievable opportunity for Cillian to skill-up in the areas of engagement management expertise and client relationship. Do not ruin this for us." I'm there, "I'm not ruining anything for you. You can go. All I'm saying is you're not taking my daughter with you. I'm pretty sure I have actual rights here." She folds her orms and shakes her head like she actually pities me. It's, like, a tactic of hers?
"You have it your way then, Ross. Because it's pretty clear to me that you don't even care about our daughter's education?" "Okay, where's this going?" "This would be - oh my God - such an amazing opportunity for her to get a basic grounding in Mandarin. It's going to be on the curriculum by the time she storts school." I'm there, "Er, is there any danger of our daughter being allowed to have an actual childhood before we tell her how many points she needs in the Leaving?" "I'm not going to take that - especially from someone who failed every single subject. Ross, I took extracurricular Japanese for a year when I was in, like, sixth class. I really believe that's why I ended up being so good at languages. I can't believe you'd actually want to deny your daughter that." There's, like, no talking to them when they're like this.
I'm there, "When are you thinking of going - and I emphasise the word thinking?" She's there, "The middle of June. I know it's, like, short notice. And there's something else." "Go on." "Well, we've been separated for, like, eighteen months now? I've moved on. You've moved on. I think it's about time we made our situation more, I suppose, conclusive." I'm there, "I'm not sure I actually believe in divorce." "That's funny," she goes, "because you didn't exactly believe in marriage either. That's why you slept with your daughter's nanny, remember?" That's bang triple O. True - but bang triple O.
"Just between ourselves, Ross, I think Cillian's going to ask me to marry him." I want to tell her what I know, that the man of her dreams is a bigger swordsman than even me. For some reason I don't. I just go, "I suppose my people had better talk to yours then," and I stand up again.
This time I'm definitely out of here.
"Ronan wants to take up boxing," I go. "I think it was that Bernard Dunne fight I took him to. Up until that point, I was pretty hopeful he was going to play rugby for Leinster one day. Now, all he ever talks about is becoming a hero to the dispossessed." Sorcha's like, "That's like, oh my God." I'm there, "I know. Well, I guess growing up in that housing estate of his, knowing how to fight is going to be as important to him as speaking Mandarin is to Honor. Anyway, I promised I'd take him along this morning to that gym the Monk owns."
"How's the big romance?" she goes. "What, Blathin? Yeah, they're still seeing each other. I've honestly never seen him so happy. Well, apart from the day Kieran Fallon was cleared." Then I go, "He'll really miss Honor as well. It'll break his little hort." She tells me she understands. She stands up and gives me a hug, there in the middle of Bucky's on Dawson Street. "Have a think about it," she goes, "But don't think for a minute that I don't understand what I'm asking you to give up here."
Ten minutes later, I'm standing outside Elvery's, waiting for Ronan to arrive. I watch him come from the direction of Nassau Street. He walks a few yords, then crosses the road, walks a few more, then crosses back again, all the time looking upwards. Someone told him that the average man is caught on security camera 240 times a day and he's on a mission to bring his own personal total down to zero.
When he clocks me, he goes, "Have you been crying?" I'm like, "Let's just get you these gloves, will we?" He's there, "Seriously, Rosser, I fooken worry about you sometimes."
...
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Readers in need of advice can text Ross at 087-9773781
Rory's dad goes, "Hey ross, I hope ur organising sum form of protest against the kidney appointment. Or as leinster fans are no doubt calling it, d kidney infection." Am I the only man in the country who thought Knoxy didn't go far enough?
Some dude called Eamo's there, "Some pile of bricks that on the front of the IT property section today - nine million yoyos for a gaff in blackrock. Sounds right up your street. You can't crash on fionn's sofa forever." I know, but there's no way the old man's going to hand me a Melua just like that.
Coman K gives it, "As a world famous lothario, it's a well known fact dat you know ur way around a romcom or six.
Wot are ur thoughts on d nu sex and d city movie and shud i agree to go to see it wit my girlf or not." Dude, it ain't no romcom and under no circumstances should you go to see it. It's, like, anti-male propaganda. Would you sit down with her and listen to Lily Allen for two hours? I rest my case.