Game of Throw-ins Read online

  Of course, I’ve got about as much interest in Sorcha’s flowerbeds as Honor probably does. The plan is just to get her away from Caleb for ten minutes to see does he pop upstairs to grab some more of my wife’s Jack McGraths.

  She’s like, ‘Okay, this is so random. Me and Caleb are watching Mr Magorium’s Wonder Emporium.’

  ‘Yeah, no,’ I go, ‘I’m just remembering the day your old dear planted all these flowers. You told her that as soon as they came up, you were going to kick the heads off every single one of them. Do you remember that?’

  ‘Are you having a nervous breakdown?’

  ‘No, I’m just reminiscing, that’s all. It’s just you all of a sudden seem so grown up. Flowers are nice, though, aren’t they? I’m talking about flowers generally.’

  ‘Oh my God, you are such a sap.’

  Yeah, I’m not the one watching Mr Magorium’s Wonder Emporium.

  I’m there, ‘I’ve never given a massive amount of thought to flowers before now. I’m going to stort, though – as in, I must find out more about them. All the different kinds. Blah, blah, bah.’

  She definitely thinks I’m pissed. ‘Are you, like, deliberately wasting my time?’

  I’m there, ‘Will we try to name as many as we can think of?’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘Okay, there’s tulips. There’s roses. They’re the obvious ones. Then there’s, em … help me out here.’

  ‘Did you pick up a focking brain injury playing rugby?’

  ‘Dandelions,’ I go. ‘Let’s see how many we can come up with without actually Googling it.’

  She storts walking back to the house.

  I’m there, ‘Hang on, Honor, I wanted to say something else to you.’

  She turns around. She’s like, ‘What? What the fock do you want?’

  I’m there, ‘We, er, drew last night. Against Barnhall. We possibly deserved more out of the game, but I’d still consider it a point won rather than two dropped.’

  ‘You must be confusing me with someone who gives a shit.’

  ‘Just let me finish the point I’m trying to make. We need to get back to winning games, though. We’ve got Sunday’s Well at home next weekend. Would you be interested in coming along to see your old man in action?’

  ‘I’d rather eat my own colon.’

  ‘I’m just thinking, you’ve never seen me play rugby, have you?’

  ‘And that’s the way I intend to keep it.’

  I’m there, ‘Yeah, no, go back inside so,’ because I suddenly spot Sorcha standing at the back door, with her orms folded, looking sad.

  Honor goes back inside and Sorcha walks down the gorden to me.

  I’m like, ‘Well?’

  She doesn’t say anything for a good thirty seconds, then she goes, ‘I feel sick.’

  I’m there, ‘What happened?’

  She sighs. Then she goes, ‘He tiptoed up the stairs the second Honor went outside. I stood on the landing. I heard him opening and closing drawers in the wardrobe.’

  ‘Hey,’ I go, ‘I hate saying I told you so – so instead I’m just going to say, I was the one who called it.’

  I stort walking back towards the house. Sorcha trots after me, going, ‘What are you going to do?’

  I’m there, ‘What do you think I’m going to do? I’m going to search his coat.’

  ‘Just remember, Ross, he has a right to be present if you’re going to search his property.’

  ‘Come on, Sorcha, you don’t believe in that human rights guff any more than I do.’

  His jacket is hanging on the back of a chair in the kitchen. I pick it up and I check the pockets.

  They’re empty.

  I’m there, ‘Where else could he have hidden them?’

  Sorcha goes, ‘He had a bag when he arrived.’

  ‘Did he?’

  ‘Yeah, he brought his schoolbag with him for some reason.’

  ‘Yeah, no, I think I can guess the reason.’

  So then I burst into the living room, with Sorcha following behind me, quoting the Geneva Convention. Honor and Caleb look up from the TV – they both get a fright. Dustin Hoffman is on the screen, acting the focking dope.

  I look at Caleb and I go, ‘What were you doing upstairs?’

  He tries to go, ‘I wasn’t upstairs.’

  And even Honor goes, ‘He hasn’t left this room. I swear.’

  Then I notice the bag at his feet. I make a grab for it. I’m like, ‘Let’s see what you’ve been up to?’

  He’s like, ‘Give me that! You’ve no right!’ but I unzip it anyway.

  Sorcha goes, ‘Caleb, we’re just trying to understand the reason you went upstairs to our –’

  She suddenly stops talking when she sees me pulling two bras, three pairs of knickers and one bikini bottom out of the bag.

  Again, he tries to deny it. He’s there, ‘I don’t know how they got in there.’

  I actually laugh. I’m there, ‘Yeah, no, I’m sure you don’t. Sorcha, phone his old dear.’

  Honor just bursts into tears.

  Caleb goes, ‘No! Please don’t ring my mom! She’ll send me back to see that therapist!’

  But Sorcha whips out her phone, her face all business now, and goes, ‘Caleb, it’s for your own good – you’ll see that in the long run.’

  She phones Flidais and asks her to come to the house – she mentions that it’s, like, urgent?

  Honor is, like, really sobbing her hort out now.

  Caleb turns to her and goes, ‘Honor, they must have, like, fallen in there somehow. You believe me, don’t you, Honor? We’re friends, remember?’

  I go, ‘Friends don’t steal knickers and bras from each other’s mothers,’ even though I’m on pretty shaky ground there. I’ve still got one of Christian’s old dear’s black thongs that I keep as a screwvenir of our time together.

  This is very different, of course. This is, like, weird shit.

  Eventually, Caleb’s old dear shows up. Sorcha goes, ‘Flidais, I’m very sorry to ask you to come here like this, but something very, very serious has happened this morning.’

  Flidais is like, ‘Oh?’ looking from Sorcha to me, then back to Sorcha again.

  God, I love her perfectly round golf-ball head.

  I go, ‘We caught your son with his hand literally in Sorcha’s underwear drawer,’ seeing no point in sugar-coating it for the woman. ‘He’s a bra robber and a knicker thief.’

  She’s in, like, shock. She tries to go, ‘What?’ except the actual word won’t come out.

  Sorcha goes, ‘It’s true, Flidais. Ross just opened his bag and found, well, those five or six items you see there on the coffee table.’

  ‘Bras and knickers,’ I go. ‘Bras. And. Knickers.’

  Honor has her face in her hands, sobbing her little hort out.

  Caleb turns nasty then. He points at me and he goes, ‘He did it. He put them in there, Honor.’

  I’m like, ‘And why would I do that?’

  ‘Because I told you I was in love with your wife. But I didn’t steal anything. The only thing I did was send her flowers on Valentine’s Day.’

  Sorcha’s like, ‘Flowers?’

  I quickly go, ‘Let’s stick to the point here, can we? You can’t blame your way out of this one, Caleb. Sorcha heard you rooting around in our wardrobe. And I caught you in there last week.’

  Flidais sighs, like she’s – I don’t know – suddenly resigned to something? She goes, ‘Not again, Caleb.’

  I’m like, ‘Excuse me? Are you saying he has previous for this kind of shit?’

  ‘With Ainukka.’

  ‘Who the fock is Ainukka?’

  ‘She was our nanny. From Finland. I should have possibly said something the last day.’

  It’s actually Sorcha who ends up having the conniption fit. She actually roars at Flidais. She’s like, ‘Yes, you should have said something! I can’t believe you would keep something like that from us!’

  Flidais go
es, ‘I fully understand why you’re angry.’

  Caleb goes, ‘I swear. I didn’t do it this time. Honor asked me to get something from the bedroom – didn’t you, Honor? Remember the chocolate, Honor? Your mom keeps a bor of Galaxy at the bottom of her underwear drawer.’

  Through her tears, Honor goes, ‘I did! Mom, please! I sent him upstairs to your room to get chocolate! You’ve got to believe me!’

  Sorcha sad-smiles Flidais and goes, ‘Flidais, I don’t even like Galaxy chocolate.’

  ‘Dad!’ Honor goes. ‘Please don’t send him away!’

  Flidais shakes her head and goes, ‘Ross, Sorcha, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you everything. All I can do is apologize to you again,’ then she sort of, like, frog-morches the famous Caleb with his big Bieber head outside to her Audi TT.

  Honor’s screaming like a focking banshee, going, ‘Nooooooo! Caleb! Come back! Pleeeaaassseee!’

  Into the cor they jump, then twenty seconds later, they’re gone.

  Honor spends the next fifteen minutes just, like, sobbing her hort out, going, ‘I hate my life! I hate my life and I hate myself!’

  I try to console her by going, ‘He was a weirdo, Honor. I said it from day one.’

  But it’s no good.

  She goes, ‘What you did was entrapment. I can’t believe you had the whole thing planned. To get me out of the house, so he could go upstairs.’

  Sorcha’s there, ‘You’ve had your hort broken, Honor, and you’re going to feel sad for a while. But you’ll get over this and one day you’ll meet someone else.’

  ‘I don’t want someone else. I want to be with Caleb.’

  ‘He’s not right for you, Honor.’

  I go, ‘He’s not right at all.’

  Honor whips out her phone and goes, ‘I need to ring him. I need to talk to him.’

  But Sorcha snatches the phone out of her hand. ‘You are not ringing him, Honor, and that’s the end of it.’

  Sorcha goes into Honor’s contacts and she deletes Caleb’s name and number.

  Honor suddenly roars at her. ‘You bitch!’ she goes. ‘You had no right to delete his number!’

  Sorcha goes, ‘I’m thinking of you, Honor. I’m thinking about your welfare.’

  ‘You’re thinking about yourself! You were jealous, that’s all. You were throwing yourself at him right from the stort.’

  ‘That’s ridiculous!’ Sorcha goes.

  I don’t comment either way.

  ‘You’re ridiculous!’ Honor goes. ‘And you’re a focking bitch and a focking slut! And you might be pretty, but your orse is focking huge!’

  She stomps up the stairs to her room.

  Sorcha shouts up after her. She goes, ‘What happened to that beautiful little girl who let me show her how to do contouring a couple of weeks ago?’

  Honor leans over the top banister and goes, ‘She’s focking dead!’

  Honor is refusing meals and calling her mother a fat, peroxide blonde heifer through her locked bedroom door. It’s good to see that things are finally returning to normal around here.

  I’m downstairs in the gym, doing an unbelievable number of sit-ups, especially for a man who’s basically bruised from the neck down after the Barnhall match.

  As I’m doing my sit-ups, I stort for some reason thinking about Christian and I stort to feel suddenly guilty. Lauren might have had a point when she said I’ve possibly abandoned him. I’ve just been, I don’t know, doing my own thing, following my dream of playing rugby again, while he’s been out there, drinking himself to an early death.

  As I switch from sit-ups and bicep curls, I stort to get this weird feeling in my head that I recognize straightaway as my conscience. And that’s when I come up with the idea of doing maybe an intervention with him. It’s apparently a big thing in, like, the States? You sit down with someone in a safe and comfortable environment and you tell them straight out that you’re worried about them and you’re concerned about the way they’re living their life.

  Kielys wouldn’t be a bad call in terms of a venue, I’m thinking. Somewhere he feels at home. If I was being a little bit selfish, I’d point out that it’s a Saturday night and I wouldn’t mind going out for a few pints, especially after the drama of this morning.

  I finish up and I give the dude a ring while I’m, like, towelling myself off. It goes straight to his voicemail. I leave him a message. It’s just like, ‘Hey, Christian – how’s it going, Dude? Just wondered how you were. Wanted to see did you maybe want to catch up, have a few sensible pints? Give me a shout back. It’s Ross, by the way.’

  Then, just as I’m hanging up, the phone rings in my hand. I can see from the screen that it’s not Christian – it’s actually Senny?

  I answer by going, ‘Not a great time, Dude – I’m in the gym.’

  He laughs and goes, ‘I’ve just come from the gym. How are you feeling after last night?’

  ‘Bit sore,’ I go. ‘Bit bashed up. But I’m working through it. You played unbelievably well, by the way.’

  He goes, ‘In terms of?’

  I smile to myself. I think I’m becoming a bit of a guru to him.

  ‘In terms of your kicking,’ I go, ‘in terms of your decision-making, in terms of the way you ran the match.’

  He’s there, ‘We didn’t get the result, though.’

  ‘We got a result.’

  ‘Yeah, but we need wins. I can’t believe Bucky decided to just take the point.’

  ‘Your worst enemy is your memory.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Yeah, no, it was one of Father Fehily’s sayings.’

  ‘Your worst enemy is your memory?’

  ‘Yeah, no, it means don’t be always looking back and regretting shit.’

  ‘Your worst enemy is your memory.’

  ‘He always used to say it to me when I’d be replaying old games, even just moves that didn’t come off, in my head.’

  ‘You’re actually right. You know, I think I’m going to make that quote the cover photo on my Facebook page.’

  ‘Yeah, no, you do that. Actually, Johnny loves it as well – that quote.’

  ‘Johnny Bliss?’

  ‘No, not Johnny Bliss. Johnny Sexton.’

  ‘Johnny Sexton?’

  I can tell he’s surprised to hear me drop his name.

  ‘And that’s not just me name-dropping,’ I go.

  He’s there, ‘You’re actually mates with Johnny Sexton?’

  I laugh.

  I’m there, ‘You could say that, yeah. I think if you asked him, he’d say he possibly sees me more as a mentor.’

  He’s like, ‘Really?’

  ‘I text him on the morning of every match he plays. First thing. Same message – eat nerves, shit results. It’s become an actual port of his routine. Even when he left Leinster for Racing, I still did it. I said it to him: “You’re still getting the focking texts, Dude. They’re nailed on.” ’

  ‘I actually did a training camp with him when I was, like, eleven or twelve.’

  ‘Well, if things had been different, I could have been giving that training camp. Another kicker who admires me, of course, is Mads?’

  ‘You know Ian Madigan as well?’

  ‘Know him? Jesus, I practically raised him. Yeah, no, he’s been coming to me for advice since he was a kid. He’s acknowledged that in interviews – the role I played in his development. He says he wouldn’t have become the player he is today if he hadn’t seen me totally fock things up for myself before him. Words to that effect. I think what he’s trying to say is that I showed the likes of him, Johnny and even Ian Keatley where the landmines lay. And I did that by walking on every focking one of them.’

  ‘Hey, but you’re back now, Rossi. Imagine how you’ll feel if we manage to stay up. We were gone before you arrived. We’d given up.’

  ‘Yeah, no, I know that, but sometimes … ah, look, I envy you, Senny, that’s all. Being twenty-one, twenty-two …’

  ‘I’m actu
ally twenty.’

  ‘Twenty? Jesus, you’ve got it all ahead of you. Like I once did. What I wouldn’t give to be in your position again. I’d do everything differently.’

  He goes, ‘Your worst enemy is your memory.’

  And I end up having to laugh. I’m like, ‘Yeah, I could do with taking my own advice once in a while! By the way, what are you up to now?’

  ‘I’m heading home.’

  ‘Yeah, no, I’m talking about after that? It’s been a pretty emotional day here today. My daughter got her hort broken for the first time. I was wondering did you fancy hooking up for a few pints?’

  He goes, ‘I was actually thinking of having a quiet one tonight, Rossi.’

  I’m there, ‘You mean staying in?’

  ‘Netflix and Chill,’ he goes. ‘Know what I’m saying?’

  I laugh. I’m there, ‘Oh, I hear you, Dude. I know exactly what you’re saying!’

  I hang up, then I tip down to the kitchen.

  ‘I’m heading out,’ I go.

  Sorcha’s like, ‘What? Where?’

  ‘I’m going to pop around to Senny’s gaff,’ I go. ‘We’re just going to watch a box set and relax.’

  She’s there, ‘Who’s Senny? It better not be a girl, is it?’

  ‘Sorcha, you wouldn’t have to ask me that question if you actually listened when I talked about rugby. He’s our kicker. You’ve got to come and see us against Sunday’s Well next week. I want you to bring the boys as well.’

  She’s just put them to bed and she’s sitting at the island, having a glass of Sancerre and reading, literally, a book.

  She goes, ‘So how old is this – what did you say his name was?’

  I’m there, ‘Senan Torsney. We call him Senny. I don’t know – twenty. But I think I’m becoming a bit of a hero to him. It’s nice. I’ve always seen myself as a role model.’

  ‘So, what, you’re hanging out with him, are you?’

  ‘Yeah, so what?’

  ‘Nothing. I just think it’s, I don’t know, random, that’s all.’

  ‘No more random than you and your book club. A living room full of angry-looking women drinking Pinot Grigio on the third Tuesday of every month. Pack of focking weirdos.’

  ‘Why are you being so defensive, Ross? All I said was that it was random. So you’re leaving me here with Honor, are you?’