Sorcha goes, “This is exciting, isn’t it, Ross?” because – yeah, no – we’re having dinner in Iguazu, a new hipster restaurant on Camden Street, where there’s no actual menu and an algorithm chooses what you’re going to eat based on the answers you provide to 10 questions when you’re booking.
She’s like, “This place has been on my list for ages.”
And I’m there, “Yeah, no, I’ve heard good things.”
“You know,” she goes, “this is our 27th Valentine’s Day together – as, like, a couple?”
‘Only cheat with someone who’s married. It’s the principle of mutually assured destruction’
‘I strip down to my boxers. I can always drive home commando. Wouldn’t be the first time’
When Ronan was 10, I said, ‘I need to have the chat with you about sex.’ And he said, ‘What are you wanting to know, Rosser?’
The dude goes, ‘The famous Rosser, what?’ looking me over like I’m a buffet item gone cold
I’m like, “Valentine’s Day?” because I had literally no idea.
“Yes, Valentine’s Day!” she goes. “You’re joking, right?”
“Is it, like, early this year or something?”
“Ross, Valentine’s Day is on February 14th every year.”
“Is it?”
“Okay, now I know you’re joking! Twenty-seven Valentine’s Days. Who would have bet on that? Cheers, Ross.”
We clink glasses. Then she goes, “Can I ask you a random question?”
I’m like, “Errr–”
“Do you ever think about maybe, I don’t know, spicing up our relationship a bit?”
“In terms of?”
“Well, Garret and Claire from Bray of all places do this thing where they pretend that they’re different people.”
“Coming from Bray, I wouldn’t blame them.”
“I mean two people having an affair, Ross.”
“I didn’t think you liked me having affairs.”
“I don’t like you having actual affairs.”
“Noted.”
“But this is, like, make-believe? They pretend they’re two strangers who are married to other people but they’re on a date. Will we try it?”
“Hey, whatever shuffles your truffles, babes.”
“So how about I say my name is Alysia. I’m from Galway and I’m in Dublin for a conference on, I don’t know, biodiversity?”
“Yeah, no, I’m Steve Berkeley.”
“And what do you do for a living, Steve Berkeley?”
“I’m a professional rugby player.”
“I thought you might be.”
The next thing I would advise you to do is get a second debit cord, obviously one that isn’t linked to your joint bank account
— Steve Berkeley
“Hundred caps for Ireland, record points scorer, five Grand Slams, four Heineken Cups, three Lions tours, all of which we won–”
“Okay, enough with the rugby CV! So are you, like, married, Steve?”
“Er, yeah – very much so.”
“Oh, me too! Although my marriage has gone a bit, I don’t know, stale lately? So are you interested in a bit of extracurricular fun?”
“Hey, I’m always up for the extracurricular fun.”
“Well, I myself personally have never done anything like this before, Steve. Perhaps you can teach me how to cheat on a spouse.”
“Yeah, no, the first thing I would say,” because I suddenly feel like I can bring a lot to this role, “is never have an affair with someone who has less to lose than you do – which is to say someone who’s single. If you’re going to cheat, do it with someone who’s married. Just in case it’s exposed. It’s known as the principle of mutually assured destruction.”
She’s like, “Jesus, Ross,” a little bit taken aback, I think, by how effortlessly I’ve slipped into character.
I’m there, “Er, I’m Steve, remember?”
She’s like, “I’m sorry, Steve. It’s just that you sounded very like my current husband there. Continue talking.”
“The next thing I would advise you to do is get a second debit cord, obviously one that isn’t linked to your joint bank account. Ideally, this cord would be under a different name – perhaps using your middle name as a first name. And remember, keep the cord topped up by handing over cash in person in the actual bank.”
“Gosh, Steve, that’s very, em, clever of you.”
“If you’re going out on dates with your affair person, destroy all paper receipts before you go home. Don’t tell yourself that you’ll put them in the shredder later on because you’ll forget. Drop them on the spot – like a hitman with a hot gun. Tear them up and put them in the first bin you see after leaving, say, a restaurant or hotel.”
“Er, right.”
“And never, ever go to places that your wife or husband’s friends might go, which in my case is literally anywhere on the southside. So maybe stick to restaurants around Malahide, Howth, Portmornock – those kind of areas. If you’re seen by someone your wife or husband knows, pretend that you’ve never seen them before in your life. Even if they’re absolutely sure it’s you – deny, deny, deny.”
“Sorry, is this still us doing make-believe?”
Stay off social media. It has a nasty habit of posting your whereabouts
“The next thing I would say, Alysia, is get a hobby that takes you out of the house for several hours at a time. The classic one is to say you’re training for a triathlon or iron man. When the date of the event gets closer, you can always fake an injury.”
“You were talking about doing a triathlon–”
“And remember, this is a cordinal rule, if you tell one person about your affair, they will tell four other people. That’s a documented fact. And those four will tell four people too. So the moment you open your mouth, even to your best friend, you’ve lost control of what I like to call the narrative.”
“Okay, I’m not sure this is turning me on like I hoped it would?”
“And never use email.”
“What’s wrong with email?”
“Because even if you’re using a private browser, there’s no guarantee that the person you’re having the affair with is. You have to keep the affair secret not only from your spouse but their spouse too.”
“Okay, I’m suddenly not enjoying this.”
“Also – and this is a rookie error that a lot of people make – do not invest in a second phone. Wives and husbands tend to stumble on second phones. They do that and they know straight away that you’re cheating. So use your own phone, but delete messages as you read them. Do not save any, no matter how cute they are. And never take photos – forget that the camera app was ever invented. When you’re with your wife or husband, keep your phone face down on the table, on mute, with no vibration. And if you’re going to the toilet, bring it with you.”
“Jesus.”
“And stay off social media. It has a nasty habit of posting your whereabouts. It’s also worth purchasing one of those apps that lets you fake your GPS location.”
She suddenly loses it with me.
At the top of her voice, she’s like, “Okay, Ross, enough already!”
I’m there, “What, are you not Alysia from Galway any more?”
And she goes, “No, Ross, I’m not. And Steve Berkeley, by the way, is a focking asshole – and you can tell him that from me.”
