8. Wiggyleaks
An opinion poll in this morning’s Irish Times has put New Republic in second place – ahead of Fianna Fáil and just two points behind Fine Gael – with two weeks to go until the election. That’s according to the news on the radio.
He’s going to be un-focking-bearable this morning. And so, I suspect, is Sorcha. I haven’t actually seen the girl since the night of the debate, but we’ve been invited slash summoned to Mount Anville to talk to Mister Wade about Eddie’s e-mail.
She’s waiting for me in the main lobby with a face like thunder.
I’m like, ‘Hey, Sorcha.’
‘Did you know?’ she goes.
‘Er, I’m not sure I’m following you. You look well, by the way.’
‘Did you know that Muirgheal was going to ambush me like that?’
‘No, I didn’t. I saw my old man sort of, like, signalling to her. That was when I knew something was coming.’
‘I was made to look like an – oh my God – hypocrite! That’s what people have been calling me on the doorsteps, Ross. Little Miss Do As I Say And Not As I Do. This has cost me the actual election.’
Then I remember Aquatraz. I think about telling her about my old man being a hypocrite as well. Even though it would piss Hennessy off and be the end of the whole joint custody thing. I’m right on the point of telling her. But then she goes, ‘My dad is right. I need to ask myself how I ended up married to a man who, at thirty-six years of age, still sends his bills to his father to pay.’
I go, ‘They’re your bills as well, Sorcha.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘I’m just saying, they’re not my bills. They’re our bills? My old man has been paying for our electricity, our phone and our heating since we got married. And you were always pretty happy with that arrangement.’
‘Seriously, Ross, this divorce cannot come quick enough for me.’
Eddie comes along then. He’s wearing trousers with his uniform these days. ‘Yeah,’ he goes, ‘I could hear you arguing down the focking corridor.’
Sorcha’s like, ‘Sorry, Eddie. Your father didn’t mean to embarrass you. Let’s go and see this Principal of yours – find out what his issue is with your simple request.’
Mister Wade is all smiles when we step into his office. He goes, ‘Hello, Sorcha! Hello, em … Eddie. And hello, Ross – thanks for coming to see me!’
Sorcha isn’t a major fan of his – mainly because he didn’t include her name on the list of notable alumni on the school website and yet Alison Doody is on it?
Sorcha’s there, ‘Yes,’ trying to hurry matters along, ‘I’m actually fighting an election at the moment? It’d be great if we could find out why you’ve asked us here today.’
‘Of course,’ he goes, ‘please sit down,’ which is what we end up doing. ‘I received Honor’s e-mail –’
‘Eddie’s e-mail,’ Sorcha goes.
She’s in foul form.
Mister Wade’s there, ‘Yes, of course – Eddie’s e-mail. I don’t know why I keep saying Honor.’
Eddie weighs in then. ‘It’s because you haven’t got your head around the whole gender diversity thing,’ he goes.
The man’s like, ‘I must admit, it is all new to me – as it is to many of us.’
Sorcha’s there, ‘As an educator, a major port of your job is to stay informed.’
‘Yes, well, I’ve been trying to do that, and that’s why I wanted to discuss Eddie’s e-mail with you today. As a school, let me just say, we fully respect Eddie’s new gender identity, which is why we’ve allowed him to wear a uniform that is consistent with him being a transgender male. We also recognize – again, as a school – that we have a duty to support LB … LG –’
‘I keep saying BLT,’ I go, trying to keep the conversation light. ‘Don’t I, Sorcha? Or BFG, which is apparently a book. How random is it that I actually know that? Anyway, Dude, don’t sweat it – we know what you’re trying to say.’
That earns me a serious filthy from Sorcha. And from Eddie.
Poor Mister Wade has to stort referring to his notes then. ‘As a school,’ he goes, ‘we do endeavour to foster an understanding of gender identity and create a culture that respects and values all students and prevents transphobic bullying.’
‘Bullying isn’t going to be a problem,’ Eddie goes. It definitely won’t. Girl or boy, he rules this school with an iron fist. ‘We’re here to talk about toilets.’
‘And,’ Mister Wade goes, still reading from his notes, ‘we further acknowledge – again, as a school – that we have a duty to provide students with access to bathroom facilities that correspond with their gender identity. The Department of Education has suggested that schools consider perhaps reassigning their Wheelchair toilets as Wheelchair and Gender Neutral toilets.’
‘Excuse me?’ Sorcha goes.
‘This is coming from the Department of Education.’
‘You want my son to use the Wheelchair toilets?’
‘Well, it wouldn’t be a Wheelchair toilet. It would be a Wheelchair and Gender Neutral toilet. It would say that on the door.’
‘I haven’t got a disability,’ Eddie goes.
The poor dude’s there, ‘I’m aware of that.’
‘And I’m not Gender Neutral. I’m Transgender Male. Which means I want access to a Transgender Male toilet.’
‘Obviously, I don’t want to cause offence, but –’
‘It is your responsibility,’ Sorcha goes, standing up and roaring at the poor dude, ‘to ensure that Eddie feels safe, secure and also valued within his educational environment!’
I’m there, ‘I’m going to suggest a compromise here. Eddie, how would you feel about just using the men’s toilet? Or maybe switching schools to – much as I hate to say it – Willow Pork?’
Both of these suggestions are shot down. Actually, they end up being totally ignored. Sorcha looks at poor Mister Wade and goes, ‘Can I just remind you that Mary Robinson went to Mount Anville?’
‘Yes,’ the dude goes, ‘I’m well aware that Mary Robinson went to Mount Anville.’
‘And not just Mary Robinson? There have been a lot of other past pupils who’ve dedicated their lives to social justice and human rights advocacy.’
That Alison Doody thing clearly still stings.
Eddie also stands up? He’s like, ‘Okay, here’s what’s going to happen. Either you provide me with a Transgender toilet or I’m taking a case against the school for gender discrimination.’
I know I keep saying it but poor Mister Wade. He’s just, like, terrified.
‘Okay, look,’ he goes, ‘I’ll call the plumber today.’
‘Do it now,’ Eddie goes.
The dude just nods and picks up the phone.
Outside in the hallway, Sorcha gives Eddie a big hug. ‘I’m so proud of you,’ she goes. ‘The way you stood up for yourself in there. So, so proud, Eddie. I genuinely think activism is going to be your thing as well.’
Eddie’s like, ‘Hey, I’m just fighting for my rights as a Trans Male,’ and then he focks off back to class.
Sorcha turns to me as we walk across the cor pork. ‘And you,’ she goes, ‘were worse than useless – as usual.’
‘Hey,’ I go, ‘I was just trying to keep the conversation easy-breezy.’
‘Your father has destroyed me, Ross. And you just stood by while it happened. No one is going to take me seriously now.’
‘I know something, Sorcha. Something about my old man. Something he’s planning. And if word of this gets out …’
A voice goes, ‘We have him, Sorcha!’
We both look around. It’s focking Fionn. And he’s waving a piece of paper.
Sorcha goes, ‘Fionn, what are you doing here?’
He’s like, ‘Your dad told me this is where you were. I’ve got something here that’s going to blow this election wide open.’
‘What? What is it?’
Fionn looks at me, like he wants me to fock off first – like I can’t be trusted or something.
I’m there, ‘Dude, I probably won’t even understand what you’re talking about.’
Sorcha’s like, ‘He probably won’t, Fionn. Tell me – what have you found?’
‘Okay,’ he goes, ‘let me read this to you. This is what he said at the launch of New Republic: “This idea runs like a red thread through our so-called bailout deal, which seeks, on the one hand, to burden the economy of a great people with an unbearable load, and on the other, to destroy it as much as possible, to cut off all its opportunities.” ’
Sorcha’s like, ‘Okay, so what?’
‘Now,’ he goes, ‘listen to this. “A mad theory, but one which runs like a red thread through the whole Versailles Treaty, and which finally leads to the fact that for ten years they have tried, on the one hand, to burden the economy of a great people with an unbearable load, and on the other, to destroy it as much as possible, to cut off all its opportunities.” ’
‘Oh! My God!’
‘Oh my God is right. Charles is channelling Hitler.’
I just shrug. I’m there, ‘Our rugby coach at school channelled Hitler. I don’t see what the big deal is.’
‘When people hear this,’ he goes, ‘it’s going to be the end of Charles O’Carroll-Kelly. And the end of New Republic.’
The function room above The Broken Orms is packed to the gills. There must be, like, two hundred people in the room and the vibe is good. Ronan’s criminal friends are all mixing freely with the two or three Community Gordaí who tried to take Ronan under their wings over the years. I even hear the famous Gull turn around to Gorda Ivor and go, ‘Ine fuddy behind yous feddas looking for more bread, so I am. Yous hab a veddy heerd job to do.’
There’s a bench warrant out for Gull’s arrest for assaulting a water-meter installation engineer with his own shovel. Tomorrow, Ivor and his crew will be back kicking down doors looking for him. But tonight, there’s a ceasefire. Because Ronan Masters has got himself engaged.
The old man is working the room. K … K … K … Kennet is leading him around, introducing him to various local heads. Everyone seems to love him.
Buckets of Blood sidles up to me. He goes, ‘He thalks a lot of seddents, your oul fedda!’
I’m there, ‘I think he’s a knob. Always have.’
‘The stand he’s arthur thaken on the wathor, but.’
‘Sorcha says it’s easy to take populist positions when you’re in opposition. People aren’t stupid enough to fall for it, though.’
‘You’d be surproysed. There’s no one arowunt hee-or is godda pay for their wathor. Thee throyed to install the meters and we ren them.’
‘I heard. I can’t believe Gull is here. I heard he put a man in hospital.’
‘Sent a messidge. Lowut and clee-or. Wathor’s not sometin you can cheerge people fow-er. It comes from the Jaysusing sky!’
‘Again, I’m quoting Sorcha, but she says that metering water is the only way to persuade people to be responsible about their usage and to save the North Pole.’
‘What use is the Nort Powill to addyone in Finglas?’
‘That’s a point.’
‘And sure habn’t we got the Sowt Powill to fall back on? Hee-or, what you think of Ro getting maddied?’
I’m there, ‘Honestly?’
‘Hodestly.’
‘I think he’s making the biggest mistake of his life. He’s too young to decide who he wants to be with for the next, whatever, sixty years.’
‘Won’t last foyuv. He’s mooben on, Rosser. Going to coddidge now. Him and Shadden hab nothing in cobbon any mower – except a kid.’
Buckets is one of my favourite people in the world. He’s very like me, in fact – he can be accidentally deep sometimes?
He tells me he’s switching to shorts, then he focks off to the bor.
I tip over to Ronan. I’m like, ‘Hey, Ro – congratulations again.’
He goes, ‘Thanks, Rosser.’
‘I’m presuming it’s going to be a hopefully long engagement?’
‘We’re thalken about mebbe doing it in the subber.’
‘This summer? Look, I’m not saying I don’t think Shadden’s great. I’m just making the point that you’ve only just storted college. And maybe you’re doing this because you feel guilty for riding that bird from the country – the one who’s not doing agricultural science.’
‘I ast Shadden to marry me cos I lub her, Rosser.’
‘But how do you know she’s definitely the one for you?’
He goes, ‘When you know, Rosser, you know!’ but as he’s saying it, I watch his eyes stray to the bor, where Buckets of Blood is ordering a drink from his niece – was it Jacinta? – with the massive Milk Duds.
I’m there, ‘Fair focks to you, Ro. As long as you know what you’re doing.’
I mingle some more. I’m a genuinely good mingler. I spot Shadden across the room, showing off the ring. A Lizzy Duke special. And I hear Dordeen go, ‘You make shurden lerrim know it’s not to be a long engayuchment. What use is coddidge to him now?’
I decide to avoid them. But then I end up getting stuck with Tina, who gives me an earful for about an hour. She goes, ‘Would you not hab a woord wirrum? You’re apposed to be he’s fadder!’
I’m there, ‘I just had a word with him, Tina. I asked him was he doing it out of guilt but he said no.’
‘Shadden’s a lubbly geerdle. It’s not faird on her to go into a maddidge wit a fedda who’s not ready. And I doatunt want to see him stuck in a situation he’s norr able to gerrour of.’
‘He seems to be saying that the bird he rode in UCD was a one-off. We have to take his word for that.’
The conversation goes back and forth like this for – like I said – an hour. Then I need to piss. Yeah, no, the old back teeth are floating, so I excuse myself and I head for the jacks.
On the way there, I happen to pass this little storeroom, where they keep barrels and shit like that. Through the half-open door, I can hear the familiar sounds of grunting and moaning, compliments uttered and promises made.
And I know it. I know it even before I push the door open an inch or two more and catch sight of the two of them going at it. Buckets of Blood’s niece is sitting on a barrel, her trousers and her knickers in a ball on the ground, and a boy’s bony orse is moving backwards and forwards. I know without needing to see any more that the bony orse belongs to my soon-to-be-married son.
‘Hitler?’ the old man goes. He’s on the radio being interviewed by someone or other. This is while I’m in the cor, on my way to visit the old dear. ‘I’ve never heard of anything so absurd in my life!’
Sorcha and Fionn have obviously put the story out there.
The interviewer goes, ‘Can you perhaps explain the similarities – which are uncanny – between what you said at the launch of your party and what Adolf Hitler said in Berlin in, I believe, 1931?’
It’s actually Pat Kenny. He’s a man who’s not going to just accept my old man’s bullshit.
‘Mere coincidence!’ the old man tries to go.
Pat Kenny’s there, ‘You spoke of the bailout as a deal which “seeks, on the one hand, to burden the economy of a great people with an unbearable load, and on the other, to destroy it as much as possible, to cut off all its opportunities”. Hitler used exactly the same formula of words to describe the Treaty of Versailles.’
‘This is common, everyday language, Pat!’
‘The Taoiseach, Enda Kenny, has called on you to apologize to the Jewish people. He said he recently met a woman in Dartry –’
‘Let me just say, Pat, this is a non-story that’s been put out there in an attempt to distract voters from the real issues! We produce enough food every year to feed China, India, Russia and Brazil combined! And look at us! We are broke! We have trillions upon trillions of euros passing through the accounts of Irish registered companies every year that we are not allowed to tax! Meanwhile, we’ve got Cork people arriving in Dublin by the container-load and GAA referees being murdered at the rate of two per day! And people are being brought before the criminal courts just for driving home from the pub with a few drinks on them!’
‘Are you saying you’re in favour of decriminalizing drink-driving now?’
‘That’s exactly what I’m saying!’
‘But the drink-driving laws are in place surely to prevent deaths on our roads?’
‘Oh, nonsense! Most people who’ve had a few drinks are perfectly safe to drive – as long as they use the hard shoulder!’
‘You’re saying you want the hard shoulder to serve as a third lane for drink-drivers?’
‘That’s absolutely what I’m saying!’
‘People will say this is a cynical attempt by Charles O’Carroll-Kelly to deflect attention away from the Hitler controversy …’
I kill the engine and get out of the cor, then into the prison I walk. I’m about to hand over my phone to one of the screws when it all of a sudden rings. It ends up being Sorcha. I answer it by going, ‘Hey, I see you put it out there about my old man quoting Hitler. It’s hord to see him coming back from this.’
She goes, ‘I’m not going to apologize for it, Ross. A woman walked up to me in the Gourmet Shop in Rathgor yesterday and called me a fraud.’
‘Shit one.’
‘To my actual face.’
‘I’m agreeing with you. I said shit one. Why are you ringing anyway? I’m about to go in to see my old dear.’
‘Mister Wade wants to see us.’
‘What, again? Jesus Chirst, we only saw him, like, a week ago.’
‘He said this time he wants to come to the house – to talk to us alone. I have to say I’m not exactly comfortable with Eddie not being present. I think I’m going to take minutes of the meeting, just to make sure that he’s informed of everything that’s actually said.’
‘What time is he coming?’
‘Three o’clock.’
‘Okay, I’ll be there.’
And I hang up, just thinking, oh, shit, what fresh hell is this?
I’m sitting opposite my old dear and she’s telling me how much she’d love to see the children again.
I’m there, ‘I’ll definitely mention it to Sorcha. As you know, I’ve only got, like, supervised access these days? Although Hennessy has promised to work on that.’
‘It would be lovely to see them again. Honor and the triplets – you see, I remembered! One, two, three. I think a real bond developed the last day you brought them in.’
‘And do you remember their names?’
‘One of them is John, I think.’
‘Yeah, you’re not getting a pat on the back for that. And by the way, Honor’s called Eddie now.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Yeah, no, it turns out that Honor is a boy.’
‘It turns out? Are you saying they didn’t check at the hospital?’
‘The way it was explained to me is that you can be born with, you know, the various bits and bobs that make you a girl, but you’re actually a boy. And then you can be born with a – I hate saying this word in front of you – penis, but inside you’re actually a girl.’
‘When did all of this happen? God, I feel like I’ve been in here for thirty years!’
‘I’m telling you. In the future, when someone has a baby, you won’t be allowed to ask if it’s a boy or girl. The answer will be no one knows for sure. The answer will be they’ll decide themselves when they’re old enough.’
She looks at me across the table and her face seems suddenly sad. ‘I want you to smuggle something in for me,’ she goes.
I’m there, ‘Is that why you wanted me to bring the kids in again? So I can put shit in their nappies for you?’
‘No, I’m really looking forward to seeing …’
‘I’m not telling you their names again. I thought you lost your job in the kitchen anyway.’
‘It’s not ingredients I want you to bring to me, Ross. It’s sleeping tablets. There’s a large bottle of them in my bathroom cabinet.’
‘Would they not give you sleeping tablets in here?’
‘Not in the quantity I need … Ross, I’m going to take my own life.’
‘What?’
‘Don’t try to dissuade me.’
‘Don’t flatter yourself. I was just making sure I heard you right. You’re seriously saying you’re going to kill yourself?’
‘If the trial doesn’t go my way, I have to consider the possibility that a jury might not believe my account. And in that case, I’ve decided to end it all.’
‘Hey, you’re going to be found not guilty. What about the evidence I found? That photograph of your cor?’
‘I’m very grateful to you for your efforts, Ross. But it doesn’t prove my innocence. They’ve narrowed Ari’s death down to a four-hour period that day. I could have had time to go out shopping and kill my husband. In theory.’
‘But you didn’t.’
‘We’re dealing with what a jury might plausibly believe … Hennessy wants me to change my plea.’
I’m in, like, shock. I’m like, ‘What? He wants you to say you actually did it?’
‘He wants me to accept a charge of manslaughter,’ she goes. ‘To say I killed Ari during the course of a heated row, or by some accident, and that I tried to make it look like a heart attack and I’m sorry.’
‘I thought Hennessy was supposed to be on our side? I mean, your side?’
‘He is, Ross. But he says we have to be realistic. There is a weight of circumstantial evidence that points to my guilt. I had a clear motive for wanting him dead.’
‘Hennessy’s supposed to be the old man’s best friend.’
‘It’s Hennessy’s job to get me the best result he can, Ross. And the best result he believes is to plead guilty to a charge of manslaughter and serve seven years in prison.’
‘Seven years?’
‘He says that with remission, I could be out in five. By which time I would be in my mid-fifties.’
‘Again, I could call you on that one. I’m not going to. I’m just saying I could.’
‘I’d still have a lot of years left when I got out. But I won’t do it, Ross. I won’t plead guilty to murdering a man I dearly, dearly loved. So you’ll bring me those sleeping pills – and you won’t say a word to your father about it.’
‘No,’ I go, ‘I won’t. I can’t.’
She’s like, ‘Ross, I’m asking you, as my son, to please, please, please put me out of my misery.’
‘There must be more we can do. More evidence we can find.’
‘It’s done, Ross. The jury aren’t going to believe my story. And when the inevitable happens, I want to be ready. To leave this world on my terms.’
The bell suddenly rings and she stands up. She doesn’t kiss me or hug me or even say goodbye. She just walks out of the visiting room without even looking back at me, a shadow of the woman who cooked the Nigella Christmas for more than a hundred inmates just six or seven weeks ago.
I walk out of the prison, thinking, there must be more evidence out there? If she definitely didn’t do it, there has to be actual proof.
‘I don’t know if you watch the news,’ Sorcha goes, ‘but I’m actually kind of busy at the moment?’
‘I’m sorry,’ Mister Wade goes, ‘I wouldn’t have asked to see you again if I didn’t consider it important.’
‘And is a home visit really necessary?’
‘I was just curious as to whether there was anything, well, going on in Eddie’s domestic environment that was causing him to – look, it’s not the correct phrase – but act out?’
‘You’re absolutely right, it’s not the correct phrase. Ross, are you going to say anything at all here?’
I’m sitting in between the two of them, watching them bat lines back and forth. ‘Yeah, no,’ I go, ‘I saw my role as being more of a listening one? And making tea slash coffee if necessary. Do either of you want tea slash coffee?’
‘Do you have decaf tea?’ Mister Wade goes. ‘I try not to take caffeine after lunchtime.’
Sorcha’s there, ‘Ross, don’t you dare touch that kettle. This isn’t Storbucks. Mister Wade has just made a very serious allegation.’
‘It wasn’t an allegation. I’m just concerned that Eddie’s recent behaviour may have its roots in perhaps some disturbance in his home life.’
I’m there, ‘Well, the one major change in the last year is that me and Sorcha are now separated and getting divorced.’
‘Ah!’ he goes, at the same time nodding his head. There’s also the slightest hint of a smile on his face.
Sorcha totally flips. ‘That has nothing to do with it!’ she goes. ‘How dare you suggest that his – oh my God – courageous, courageous decision to confront his crisis over his gender identity might be a behavioural issue!’
I’m there, ‘I actually wondered was it rugby that tipped her over the edge, didn’t I, Sorcha? That’s when she slash he storted dressing down – wearing Vans and all the rest of it.’
‘We have accepted Eddie’s new gender identity,’ Mister Wade goes, ‘and I’m not suggesting for one minute that he isn’t sincere in his claims to be a transgender male. When I mentioned behavioural issues, I’m referring to the demands that he’s suddenly making of the school, which we’re finding, well, a little on the excessive side.’
I’m there, ‘Hang on, I thought you agreed to the new jacks? You were ringing the plumber.’
‘Yes,’ he goes, ‘and he was in the process of partitioning off an area of the existing girls’ toilets to create a transgender toilet. That’s when Eddie decided there needed to be two transgender toilets – Trans Male and Trans Female.’
‘FTM and MTF,’ Sorcha goes. ‘What’s your problem with that?’
‘Well, in practical terms, we’re not sure that two are strictly necessary. The only males we have in the school, apart from obviously Eddie, are teachers and other staff. And none of them are – as you say – transgender MTF.’
‘How do you know that? Maybe they are, but they don’t feel they can reveal their true gender identity because they’re not working in an environment where they feel fully safe and fully supported.’
‘That’s not true.’
‘Maybe they’re afraid that they’re working with people who aren’t interested in the process of social change through transformative education?’
‘I can assure you that that is not true.’
‘And how do you know you won’t employ a teacher in the future who will be transgender MTF?’
‘Well, I don’t.’
‘Well, I think you should be making provision for that. We’re living in a different world to the one we lived in when I was in the school.’
‘But then it’s all these other toilets he’s demanding as well. I told him I would consider providing a transgender MTF bathroom, then he returned to my office before the end of the day and said what about Agender, Bigender, Gender Questioning and Gender Fluid?’
I’m there, ‘Are all of those actual? As in, do we know she’s definitely not making them up?’
‘Yes,’ Sorcha goes, ‘they are all actual, as you put it.’
I’m like, ‘It’s just one or two of them do sound made up.’
She goes, ‘Agender is someone with no gender identity. Bigender is someone with two gender identities. Gender Questioning is someone who is uncertain of their gender identity. Gender Fluid is someone whose gender identity may change from time to time.’
I’m there, ‘And do they all need specific rooms to go to the toilet in? Could some of them not double up? The Bigender and the Gender Fluid sound like they could definitely muck in together – no pun intended.’
Sorcha looks mad enough to kill me with her hands.
‘Look,’ Mister Wade goes, ‘I’m just making the point that building six extra toilets would place enormous pressure on our existing space. We need to have a common sense approach to the whole gender bathroom issue.’
‘Oh my God,’ Sorcha goes, ‘you actually sounded like a Nazi there!’
‘It’s a case of us not having enough room.’
‘The Nazis said that.’
‘I’m trying to come up with a final solution.’
‘The Nazis said that as well.’
I can definitely sympathize with the dude. If Eddie keeps this up, there’ll be nowhere left to actually teach. It’ll just be rooms to piss and shit in.
‘You’re actually port of what’s wrong with our society today,’ Sorcha goes. ‘Privileged white males like you need to sit down and have a conversation with yourself,’ and then she walks to the kitchen door and stands by it – her signal that this meeting is over. ‘I can turn this into a national issue if that’s what you want? I could arrange a series of day-strikes by students.’
The dude goes, ‘Okay, we’ll provide the six toilets. We’re very keen to accommodate students like Eddie as much as is practicable. But it’s just, well, he makes these demands and he refuses to compromise.’
‘Good,’ Sorcha goes. ‘I’m proud of that. Mount Anville used to value people who showed a desire to change the world for the better. These days, you seem to value people who were in, er, how many movies? And when was her actual last one? The 1980s?’
So I finally manage to get Ronan on the phone. He’s been basically avoiding me since the night of the engagement porty. So when he finally rings me back, I’m in no mood for his bullshit.
I’m there, ‘Ro, you’re making a terrible mistake – getting married, I mean.’
He goes, ‘Why shoultn’t I get maddied, Rosser?’
I’m like, ‘I saw you, Ro. The night of the engagement porty. You and Buckets of Blood’s niece were going at it like the last night in Magaluf.’
‘That was a wood-off, Rosser.’
‘Another one-off, huh?’
‘Ine godda mend me wayuz as soowun as I get maddied, Rosser.’
And before I can tell him that that’s exactly the same bullshit promise I made, he ends up hanging up on me.
I tip into the living room. The old man and Hennessy are watching Telly Bingo. I can only presume they’re waiting for the lunchtime news to stort. I go, ‘What’s the story, by the way – with the whole custody thing?’
Hennessy goes, ‘I got you a date. Middle of March. In front of Jeremy Dawson.’
‘Does he sound like a rugby judge to you?’
He does sound like a rugby judge actually. The old man shushes me then. He goes, ‘The news is about to stort, Kicker!’
I end up catching the first few seconds of it. With one week to go until the General Election, Ray Kennedy says, New Republic is leading Fine Gael and Fianna Fáil by one point and five points respectively in the latest opinion poll. He also says that Charles O’Carroll-Kelly has the highest approval rating among all the party leaders, despite claims that he quoted from an Adolf Hitler speech during the launch of his party and is currently the subject of a Garda probe over his controversial views about people from Cork.
My phone rings. It’s a number I don’t recognize. But I end up answering it anyway. There’s, like, five seconds of silence on the other end. Then I hear all this heavy breathing.
At first, I presume it’s just Jerry Flannery, ripping the piss out of me as usual.
But then a woman’s voice comes on the line. She goes, ‘Hello, Ross,’ and I recognize her straightaway.
It’s Sorcha’s granny.
I’m like, ‘What the fock do you want?’
She goes, ‘I want you to hear what I have to say.’
‘Well, I don’t want to talk to you. You stitched me up – twice. Three times if you count the day I was nearly lynched by those angry lady theatre people.’
‘I talked to the priest this morning,’ she goes.
I’m like, ‘What?’
‘My conscience has been troubling me, you see. I’m a martyr to my conscience. He heard my Confession. And he said I should make restitution with you.’
‘Resti– what?’
‘He said I needed to apologize to you?’
‘Too focking right you do. You also need to tell Sorcha the truth.’
‘The priest didn’t mention anything about that.’
‘Well, I don’t want an apology from you unless you’re also going to tell Sorcha that you were the one who was planning to vote No and that you were the one who threw that gay pride scorf on the fire.’
‘Okay, I admit it, the priest did say that to me too. But the first thing he said I needed to do was to say sorry to you. Will you come to the house? We could have another Irish Mist or two.’
I actually laugh. Despite everything, I can’t help but like the woman.
‘Okay,’ I go. ‘I’ll see you in a bit.’
I grab a shower, throw on a pair of clean Cantos, then I point the A8 in the direction of Foxrock Grove – or, as my old dear and her mates have always called this side of the dualler, Deansgrange West.
I hop out of the cor and I walk up to the door. I ring the bell – except there ends up being no answer? I try it a second, then a third time, then I bang on the door with the heel of my hand. Still nothing. Which is weird because her red Honda Fit is porked in the actual driveway.
I have a look through the living-room window. I can see through the net curtains that she’s not in there. Then I remember that she always keeps a spare key in a flowerpot shaped like a big shoe in the back gorden.
So around the house I go. I find the key – it’s for, like, the back door – and I let myself into the kitchen. I’m going, ‘Hello? Hello?’ and I’m actually shouting it, because I don’t want to give the woman a fright – just in case she’s on the bowl and she can’t hear me.
I’m like, ‘Hello?’
She’s definitely not downstairs because I try every room. So then I tip up the stairs, thinking, why would she tell me to come and then not actually be here?
And then I get my answer. I push the bedroom door open to see her lying in bed with a big stupid grin on her face. And instantly I know that Sorcha’s granny is dead.
It’s weird because I’m not freaked by it? Even though I’m in a small room with an actual dead body, it feels – I don’t know – strangely peaceful. I’m looking at that smile and I’m wondering what was going through her head in the final moments of her life that she seemed to find so funny?
I liked Sorcha’s granny. I liked her a lot. She always had a lot of time for me, even when Sorcha’s old pair openly hated me. She was a big, big Chorlie Haughey fan. ‘Oh, he was a rogue!’ she’d go, like she genuinely approved – and I think she kind of felt the same way about me.
Poor Sorcha, I think. She’s going to be absolutely crushed by this. Her grandmother meant the world to her. And this couldn’t have happened at a worse time, what with the election being only a week away.
And it’s only then – I swear to God – that I remember her saying that she was going to tell Sorcha the truth about how she was going to vote in the marriage equality referendum and throwing the gay pride scorf on the fire. But now Sorcha’s never going to know the actual truth, because the only person who knows it aport from me is dead.
And that’s why I do what I end up doing next. You have to understand it in context.
I spot her mobile phone, chorging on her bedside locker. I walk over to it and I pick it up. It’s an old Nokia 6210 – doesn’t even have the Internet on it. Her attitude towards phones was much the same as her attitude towards homosexuals – she wasn’t as much old school as Old Testament.
After thinking about it for ten, maybe twenty seconds, I use it to send Sorcha a text. It’s like, ‘Hey Sorcha, it’s your granny here. There’s something that’s been bugging me and I need to get it off my chest. Ross was telling the truth about the day of the marriage referendum. He was the one who basically wanted to vote Yes and I was the one who was anti the gays. I was the one who was going to vote No because, as far as I was concerned, God created Adam and Eve, not Adam and Panti Bliss, and all gay people, while some of them are very nice, will burn in Hell. Gran x.’
I hit Send. Then I suddenly feel bad, so I send a second one to her that’s just like, ‘That was back then. Since then I’ve had time to think about it and I’m actually cool with the whole gay thing now. I was just scared of people who were different to me. Sure what harm are they doing anyone? I feel bad for the way I blamed Ross for stopping me from voting. He was the one who was basically going to vote Yes. It feels so good to finally tell the truth. Also it was me who threw the scorf on the fire because I didn’t want my friends to see me wearing it. Gran x.’
I send that one as well, then I put the phone back down on her locker. I grab her hand and I hold it for a few seconds and I go, ‘I know that’s what you would have wanted. Goodbye, Sorcha’s granny.’
I leave the bedroom, then I tip down the stairs. But halfway down, another thought occurs to me and I end up going back. I pick up the phone again.
‘Yeah, no, one other thing,’ I write. ‘I really think you should give Ross another chance in terms of maybe forgiving him and hopefully giving your marriage another crack. I’m a major, major fan of his and I think he definitely loves you. You won’t do any better. Anyway, I’m glad I got that lot off my conscience. I think I’ll lie down now because I’m tired. So tired. So, so tired …’
Then I hit Send.
There’s a rainbow flag draped over her coffin as it’s lowered into the ground. A focking ranbow flag! So now I’m obviously wondering did Sorcha even get the texts about her being an actual homophobe? They might have got lost in space. Her granny’s phone was a piece of shit and I hope that’s not being disrespectful to her memory.
I’m sort of, like, skulking towards the back of the crowd. This is in, like, Deansgrange Cemetery. My old man is to my right, a few feet away, although there’s thankfully no sign of Muirgheal. I spot Helen and Erika, then Oisinn and Magnus, then, standing together, JP, Christian, Chloe and – look who’s home from France – Lauren. I can’t help but notice that Fionn is at the front with Sorcha’s family – her old pair and her little ride of a sister. And I spot Eddie, in his skinny black jeans, black Supra Hi Tops, Ramones t-shirt and fedora.
Sorcha’s going to say something. I think she originally planned to talk about her in the church, except she ended up being too upset, but now she’s steeled herself and she’s going to deliver a graveside – okay, I may have totally made this word up – but eugoly?
‘My grandmother,’ she goes, ‘was an amazing, amazing woman. She was born in 1934, five years before the world went to war. She saw – oh my God – so much change in her life, we’re talking social change, we’re talking lifestyle change, we’re talking technological change. She wasn’t afraid of change. She forgot her fear and embraced it. For instance, despite her phobia of developing brain cancer from any piece of technology invented after the gramophone, she started using a mobile phone in her final years.’
It’s a pity it was a piece of focking shit, I think.
‘She loved that she lived in a world of variety. She was incredibly open-minded. Yes, she was – oh my God – so, so religious. She sometimes went to two Masses a day – one after the other. But she was also very spiritual. She didn’t believe in – and I don’t want to offend the priest – but dogma? She didn’t need any holy man, any Church, any ancient book, to tell her the correct way to treat people. Just as an example, in the last months of her life, I’m so proud to say that she became an outspoken advocate for gay rights.’
She’s looking at Oisinn and Magnus and they’re just, like, nodding back at her. If only they knew.
‘She believed, most of all, in the right of all people to just be themselves and to love in whatever way they wanted to love. I want to just leave you with a quote. She said many, many memorable things in her life. But this is one I’ll – oh my God – never forget. In the final months of her life, she had the opportunity to vote in the marriage equality referendum. As someone who was very, very active in the campaign for a Yes vote, I went to her Active Retirement group and asked her and her friends to maybe consider a different view of marriage from traditional heterosexual marriage, which was all they knew. And my grandmother said, in front of a room full of other strong, strong Catholics: “As a Christian, it’s my duty to vote for love ahead of the alternative!” ’
That gets a round of applause.
She goes, ‘As the mother of a transgender child,’ and I watch Eddie roll his eyes, ‘I’m grateful to her for the role she played in bequeathing a world of tolerance and love to my children – and to all of our children. Thank you.’
There’s a huge round of applause. Massive. Then the priest steps forward and does the necessary. I sidle over to the old man and I go, ‘You’ve got a focking cheek showing your face around here, having stitched her up in a major way.’
‘I love Sorcha very dearly, as you know!’
‘You’ve got a funny way of showing it. You destroyed her.’
‘That’s politics, Ross! A clever man once described it as the art of something something something-else! It may even have been Cicero! Although it doesn’t sound like Cicero!’
Then off he goes, back to his cor. Kennet is porked with the engine idling.
I catch Oisinn’s eye then and I nod at him, except he just turns his head and blanks me. A few seconds later, Sorcha arrives over to me. She gives me a hug. She already gave me one outside Foxrock Church, but this one is warmer and longer.
She goes, ‘We’re going back to Fitzpatrick’s Castle if you –’
I’m there, ‘Thanks, Sorcha. But I’d only ruin the atmos. Your old dear’s upset enough about losing her mother without me and your old man kicking off.’
‘I really need to talk to you about something.’
‘Oh? What is it?’
‘Where’s your cor?’
‘It’s porked over there.’
‘Okay, let’s go for a drive.’
She tells her old pair that she’ll see them in the hotel and asks them to take the kids in the funeral cor. Her old man stares hord at me as we get into the A8. Fionn does exactly the same thing. I make sure to give them both a dirty wink, which obviously drives them mad.
I stort the engine and I’m like, ‘So where do you want to go?’
She’s there, ‘Just drive, Ross.’
So I do. I head for Monkstown, where we take the coast road, heading south. She doesn’t say shit for a good ten minutes. Then she goes, ‘It was all lies, Ross.’
I’m like, ‘What was?’
‘What I just said about my grandmother. She was a homophobe and she was a liar.’
‘Really? Continue on talking.’
‘She sent me some texts. It was in the few hours before Mum found her. She must have known she was going to die. She said she wanted to get some things off her chest.’
‘What kind of things were on her chest?’
‘She said you were telling the truth. When you said she was going to vote No. And all that stuff about Panti Bliss – that was her as well.’
‘Did she mention the scorf at all? I’m just curious.’
‘She said she was the one who put it on the fire.’
‘That’s interesting because your old man said he witnessed me actually doing it. So she’s obviously made a liar out of him.’
‘Ross, I feel so bad for the way I treated you.’
We’re driving through Dalkey at this point.
‘Sorcha,’ I go, ‘it’s fine. I’ve got big shoulders. I just wish you’d believed me sooner. I’m only allowed to see my kids for one hour a week, bear in mind.’
‘That was because you encouraged Eddie to break that child’s collarbone. And you had sex with that slut from Dalkey. You’re not exactly blameless.’
‘Point taken. The thing I can’t get over is your old man lying about seeing me burn the scorf. Maybe we should all be focusing on that. What a focking piece of work he’s turned out to be.’
‘Ross, I can’t believe my grandmother was homophobic.’
I feel weirdly guilty. I owe the woman nothing, but I still find myself suddenly defending her. I’m there, ‘Maybe she was just scared of, I don’t know, people who were different from her. Maybe later on, she did think to herself, hey, what actual horm are they doing?’
‘That’s exactly what she said, Ross. Those same words.’
‘There you are then.’
‘I suppose it is some consolation that she changed her mind right at the end. She said something else to me as well.’
‘Okay?’
There’s, like, silence for a good thirty seconds. For a moment, I think she might have nodded off.
‘She said she thought I should give you another chance,’ she goes.
I’m like, ‘Really? That’s a bit random, isn’t it?’
‘She said I should forgive you and give our marriage another try – even though she really hated you for cheating on me.’
Okay, she’s making shit up now. I clearly wrote that she was a major, major fan. I end up nearly saying it to her as well by accident.
I’m there, ‘Are you sure she said –? Sorry, keep going.’
‘She said you acted like a complete shit, but she said I still should possibly forgive you and take you back. Ross, that was practically the last thought she ever had. You could nearly say it was her dying wish.’
‘Random is the only word that seems to do it justice – yet again.’
I’m so, I don’t know, tuned in to the conversation that I haven’t properly realized that we’re suddenly on the Vico Road, a few yords short of Honalee. And that’s when Sorcha goes, ‘Indicate, Ross.’
I’m like, ‘What?’
She goes, ‘Indicate,’ and at the same time she puts her hand on my leg. I’ve suddenly got a sink plunger in my chinos.
I go, ‘Are you sure?’ but that’s after I’ve already taken the turn?
‘For once in my life,’ she goes, ‘I’m listening to my hort and not my head.’
I drive through the gates, putting my foot down in a serious way, sending gravel spraying everywhere. Then into the gaff we go.
She’s keen. There’s no question. She kicks off her shoes, then takes me by the hand and leads me up the stairs.
‘Hey,’ I go, ‘let’s do it in your old man’s bed!’
She’s like, ‘Excuse me?’
Yeah, no, I can understand how that might have sounded.
‘Doesn’t matter,’ I go. ‘It was just an idea I had for making it a bit more interesting.’
In the end, we make do with our old bed?
She pushes me down on it, her hands and her mouth all over me. ‘Let’s do it like we used to,’ she goes. ‘Except for longer.’
I’m there, ‘Sorcha, I’m not going to make you any promises in terms of duration,’ trying to head off her disappointment early on. ‘But that’s only an indication of how turned on I am right now.’
We knuckle down to business. The equipment is ready and I’m about do the deed when I automatically reach into the drawer of my bedside locker for a nodding sock.
Sorcha’s like, ‘Why have you stopped?’
‘I’m getting a condom,’ I go.
‘You don’t need to use a condom.’
‘Seriously? You’ve changed your tune.’
‘Ross, you had a vasectomy.’
‘Oh … er … yeah.’
It would be more accurate to say that Sorcha thinks I had a vasectomy. Yeah, no, it’s a long story. The op was actually booked, but I didn’t go ahead with it. The truth is I’m actually still packing live rounds, but I can’t help but feel that breaking this news to her might take some of the passion out of the moment.
So I just plough on regordless.
Again, I’m revealing nothing of what actually happens. I’m pleading the fifth. All I will say is that Sorcha ends up finding out what she’s been missing these last few months. We bounce each other off every wall and surface in the room and the entire transaction comes to a happy ending with Sorcha lying on her back with her feet around her ears screaming, ‘Don’t stop! Don’t stop! Don’t you dare stop!’ until I eventually do stop, unable to prevent the inevitable any more than Wednesday can prevent Thursday.
She sighs and says that was certainly like the old days. I tell her thanks, then I drift off into a – I’m going to use the word – blissful sleep.
I don’t know how long I end up being out for? But it can’t have been that long because Sorcha is awake the entire time. She’s stroking my hair and, as I become aware of my surroundings again, I can tell she’s wondering what it actually meant? Was it a one-off? Are we back together? Was it a terrible mistake?
‘Today is not a day for making big decisions,’ she goes. ‘I feel very raw right now.’
I’m like, ‘Yeah, no, definitely take your time. The second you want me to move my shit back in, though, you just say the word. I’ll get on daft.ie and find somewhere for your old pair to live. I’d love to put them in Bray – see how they like them apples.’
‘Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Let’s move slowly.’
She gets out of the bed. She pulls on her Dan Biggars then covers her num-nums with her hands while searching the floor for her bra.
She goes, ‘I better get up to Fitzpatrick’s. The funeral porty will be arriving there by now.’
I’m like, ‘Jesus, was I that quick?’
She goes, ‘It was, em, quite quick, yeah.’
I get out of bed then and stort looking for my own clothes. I’m there, ‘Are you doing anything later on?’
‘Ross,’ she goes, ‘I still have an election to fight to –’ and then she suddenly stops, sits down on the end of the bed and breaks down in tears. It’s an emotional day.
I’m there, ‘Hey,’ taking her in my orms. ‘This isn’t the Sorcha I know. The Sorcha I know is strong.’
She goes, ‘I’m finished, Ross. People are calling me a cheat and a phoney everywhere I go. And those are just the ones who don’t slam the door in my face when they see that it’s me standing there.’
‘This is just the beginning for you, Sorcha. You’re going to go on to do hopefully amazing things. Remember you were talking about becoming a fashion blogger?’
She sort of, like, extracts herself from my embrace. She goes, ‘Your dad has to be stopped, Ross. I really love Chorles, but he’s a racist and a sexist and a misogynist and a xenophobe. Yet every time he makes one of these, oh my God, offensive statements – pulling out of Europe, building a wall around Cork, decriminalizing drink-driving – his popularity actually increases.’
‘People have always liked him. I’ve never understood it.’
I pull on my chinos.
She goes, ‘Fionn keeps saying we’ll beat him with facts. Just keep emphasizing facts and exposing his lies, he says. He made a speech in Dún Laoghaire last week in which he told four lies.’
I’m like, ‘Four? Jesus.’
‘I keep telling Fionn, we’re running out of time. We have to do something! We need to find something on him!’
And that’s when I decide to tell her what I know. I go, ‘Sorcha, he’s got this thing planned called Aquatraz.’
Her head suddenly spins around like Linda Blair’s in The Exorcist. She’s like, ‘Aquatraz? What’s Aquatraz?’
I just think, fock the old man and fock Hennessy. It looks like me and Sorcha are almost definitely getting back together, so I’m not going to need to fight for joint custody anymore. ‘Yeah, no, apparently,’ I go, ‘once the election is over, the Government is planning to come down hord on people who haven’t paid their water bills.’
She goes, ‘So they should.’
‘They’re talking about jailing all of them in this, like, humungous private prison. Ireland’s first, apparently.’
‘Well, actually, I’ve been saying for years that they should consider custodial sentences for people who put ordinary household refuse in the recycling bin.’
I stort buttoning up my shirt. ‘Sorcha,’ I go, ‘the point I’m trying to make here is that the old man and Hennessy are planning to put in a tender to build and then run it.’
She’s like, ‘Excuse me?’
‘I walked in on them a couple of weeks ago. They had the plans out on his desk. Like I said, it’s called Aquatraz.’
‘But your dad is telling people not to pay their water bills.’
‘That’s my point.’
‘And he stands to benefit financially when they’re eventually punished for it?’
‘He’s a dick, Sorcha. I warned you from day one.’
‘Ross, this is explosive!’
‘I knew you’d be happy.’
‘Where are the plans?’
‘I’m presuming they’re in his safe.’
I step into my Dubes, ready to go. She goes, ‘Do you know the code?’
I’m there, ‘Of course I know the code. But I can’t let you steal something from my old man’s safe, Sorcha.’
And she’s like, ‘I’m not going to steal anything from his safe. You’re going to do it for me.’
I stick on Today FM. Sorcha and the old man are on The Last Word with Matt Cooper. It’s, like, two days before the election and this is Sorcha’s last chance to win over the voters who think she’s a hypocrite who’s full of shit.
I end up missing the stort of it. By the time I switch it on, the old man is going, ‘I didn’t say all Cork people! You, for instance, Matt, are the kind of Cork person who is welcome! You come here to work and you speak in a way that allows you to be easily understood!’
Sorcha – fair focks to her – goes, ‘Can I just say, this business of restricting the movement of Cork people to Dublin is typical of how populist politics work. You create an enemy where one doesn’t exist and you pander to people’s ignorance and fear.’
‘Are you denying, Sorcha, that people are coming here from Cork, adopting extreme political and social ideals and aspirations and attempting to undermine the position of Dublin as Ireland’s first city?’
Matt doesn’t just take his bullshit, though. He goes, ‘Let’s maybe drop those offensive stereotypes for a moment, Charles, and talk about something that you brought up very late in the campaign, which is this proposal to repeal the ban on drink-driving.’
‘It’s not a proposal, Matt, it’s a promise.’
Sorcha goes, ‘Can I just say, Matt, I think this is a cynical attempt by New Republic to win votes in rural areas, where their support is flagging.’
‘It’s no such thing, Matt!’ the old man goes. ‘I’ve been a long-time critic of the way in which people who have no difficulty whatsoever driving while a little tanked up are being unfairly criminalized by our justice system! I want that to stop!’
‘Matt, can I just say that today, Muirgheal Massey, New Republic’s Deputy Leader, has said she’s in favour of decriminalizing other forms of behaviour which pose a huge threat to life on our roads. For instance, she believes that motorists should be permitted to drive in the hord shoulder if they wish to send a text message or apply make-up while driving. This is clearly an effort to win back women voters who have been alienated by the porty’s position on annual driving test resits for all women.’
Matt goes, ‘We might move onto another issue that I know has figured largely in both your campaigns, and that’s the issue of water charges. Sorcha Lalor, can you confirm for our listeners that you have now in fact paid your arrears?’
She goes, ‘Yes, I have, Matt, and thank you for offering me the opportunity to clear this matter up once and for all. Given the stresses of preparing for an election, which involves actually interfacing with the people of Dublin Bay South and listening to their problems and concerns, I was forced to leave a lot of our – let’s just say – domestic paperwork to my husband. Unfortunately, in the case of this particular bill, he forgot to pay it. It was simply a bureaucratic oversight on his port.’
She’s made me sound like a fockwit. I don’t care, though – she also called me her husband.
I can hear the old man chuckling away in the background.
Matt goes, ‘Charles, you seem very amused by this. Your party’s position is that Irish Water should be abolished –’
‘Will be abolished, Matt! Will be abolished!’
‘Well, you’ve promised to make it a redline issue in any future coalition negotiations. So how does New Republic propose to meet the increasingly expensive cost of providing a twenty-first-century water supply to the country’s homes and businesses?’
‘By making Ireland the master of its own destiny! It’s explained quite clearly in our Programme for Government, Matt! We will rip up the bailout deal and remove the economic millstone that has been placed around the necks of the Irish people! By pulling out of the European Union, we will triple – no, quadruple – the country’s export revenue! We will go to those American multinationals who have been using Ireland as a tax haven and we will say, “You owe us! Billions!” We won’t need to ask anyone to pay for the water that comes out of their taps!’
I can hear Sorcha clearing her throat. I’m thinking, okay, this is it, and I realize that I’m actually nervous for her. But I don’t need to be. She’s got this.
‘You’re telling people to tear up their bills from Irish Water,’ she goes. ‘I’ve got something here that I think voters might find interesting!’
The old man goes, ‘Okay, what’s this?’
I stuck it in a lorge brown envelope for her. My old man is from that generation of men who were once sexually aroused by brown envelopes but now live in fear of them.
She goes, ‘This is Chorles O’Carroll-Kelly’s tender to build and run Ireland’s first private prison, where people will be imprisoned for non-payment of water chorges if the Government is returned to power. Or, presumably, if New Republic gets the overall majority that Chorles considers within his reach.’
The old man goes, ‘Those documents are forgeries! I’ve never seen them before in my life!’
‘It’s called Aquatraz,’ Sorcha goes. ‘Chorles, along with Hennessy Coghlan-O’Hara, the man he plans to appoint as his Attorney General, wants to turn Lambay Island into a prison colony for people who don’t pay their Irish Water bills. He refers to it in his introduction as: “A Robben Island for the kind of people who don’t want to pay for bloody well anything!” It’s got machine-gun towers and shorks – actual shorks, Matt! – patrolling it.’
‘Absolute rubbish!’ the old man tries to go. ‘We just put those in to give the chaps in the Department of Justice a laugh! The same applies to the quicksand and the crocodile-filled moat!’
Matt Cooper goes, ‘So are you saying, Charles O’Carroll-Kelly, that it is your plan to build and run this prison, where Irish citizens – a great many of them your supporters – will be jailed for non-payment of water bills, which was something you actively encouraged?’
‘What I’m saying, Matt, is that these documents have been obtained by illegal means! It is my intention to go to the High Court – Hennessy, if you’re listening, I’ll see you in The Chancery Inn in half an hour! – to obtain interlocutory relief to prevent this from becoming a story that detracts from the issues that really matter to voters two days before the most important General Election that this country has ever faced!’
I laugh. I just think, you did it, Sorcha. It’s over for him now.
At that exact moment, my phone rings. It ends up being Hennessy. I can hear from his breathing that he’s running – presumably in the direction of the Four Courts. He goes, ‘You stole those plans … you little prick … you think I’m going to help you get your kids now?’
I’m like, ‘Dude, me and Sorcha are getting back together again. So fock you and fock your joint custody. I don’t actually need you anymore.’
He goes, ‘You better hope things stay sweet between you and her. Because you and me are fucking finished.’
‘Like my old man,’ I’m tempted to say.
And then I do say it. I go, ‘Like my old man!’