Game of Throw-ins Read online

  ‘I was thinking I might wear my Roland Mouret Henderson metallic organza gown with my strappy gold Jimmy Choos,’ she goes – this is at, like, the meet-and-greet porty the night before the wedding. ‘Either that or my Oscar de la Renta turquoise embellished silk-chiffon gown with just, like, wedges? But then, when I was packing last night, I was thinking, Oh my God, it’s still, like, the middle of Morch – am I mad even considering wearing silk, especially on a boat? So that’s why I also packed my Temperly London Sahara pleated chiffon maxi dress with my Nicholas Kirkwood laser-cut sandals.’

  ‘Oh my God,’ Honor goes, ‘you’re so self-obsessed. It’s not even you who’s getting married. It’s someone else’s big day?’

  She still hasn’t forgiven her for giving Caleb the come-on.

  Sorcha goes, ‘Don’t be like that, Honor! Why don’t you and I make a really concerted effort to become friends again during this little break?’

  Honor calls her a sad sack, then wanders off, while Sorcha smiles at me sadly. She goes, ‘I’m still detecting a lot of hostility from her.’

  I’m there, ‘Really?’ just ripping the piss. ‘I’m not getting that at all.’

  ‘She still blames me for the way things ended with Caleb. Ross, he was stealing my underwear!’

  ‘Yeah, I’m well aware of that, Babes.’

  I still haven’t told Sorcha what actually happened – and I doubt if I ever will.

  ‘Anyway,’ she goes, ‘I’m going to go and talk to your mom’s friend Delma, because her daughter, Aodhnait, was in UCD with me studying languages and I haven’t seen her since her Erasmus year in Izmir.’

  Off she focks.

  I have another glass of the old bubbly – no Heineken onboard, by the way – then I tip over to the old dear, who’s loving being the centre of attention, of course.

  The meet-and-greet is a typically over-the-top affair. It happens on the deck of the yacht, under the stors, and it’s, like, a white-tie ball – we’re talking tuxes, we’re talking a seafood buffet, we’re talking an actual thirty-piece orchestra, we’re talking the works.

  There’s, like, a hundred or so guests, we’re talking her friends and then his crew – old farts, most of them – who’ve flown over from the States.

  ‘Fionnuala, I can’t believe you arranged all of this!’ the old man goes, at the same time handing me a Cohiba. ‘You’ve always had class, of course!’

  She hasn’t, by the way. He’s talking out of his hole.

  She goes, ‘It’s wonderful that you came, Charles. You know, you and I remaining friends remains my proudest achievement in life – and that includes all of the books I’ve written and the hundreds upon hundreds of lives I’ve saved in the Third World.’

  He’s there, ‘I could say the same thing, Fionnuala. Better than all the business deals I landed and all the homes I built thanks to material contraventions of the County Development Plan.’

  I’m like, ‘Seriously, you two – get a focking room.’

  He lights my cigor for me.

  And that’s when I spot her – Ari’s granddaughter, Tiffany Blue. I didn’t think she was going to show her face, although I’m happy she did. I think I already mentioned that Tiffany Blue is a ringer for Alana Blanchard. If I didn’t, I’m saying it now.

  The old dear goes, ‘Oh, hello!’ all fake teeth and pretend sincerity.

  The old man reintroduces himself to her. ‘Charles O’Carroll-Kelly,’ he goes, offering her his hand. ‘We met at the engagement party. Fionnuala’s erstwhile consort und partner in crime!’

  That’s what he says – word for word. You’d seriously have to wonder where I got my famous silver tongue from. People are entitled to ask.

  ‘Looking well!’ I go, just to let her know that the O’Carroll-Kelly men aren’t all pathetic saps. ‘Looking very well indeed! Are you having a good night so far?’

  She ignores this.

  The old dear goes, ‘There’s a full cocktail bar. Oh, Tiffany Blue, they have a list of mocktails, too!’ presumably because the girl has a problem with the sauce.

  They did meet in rehab.

  Tiffany Blue just, like, stares her out of it. I’m picking up on the vibe that she’s still Scooby Dubious about the whole prenup thing.

  ‘So you’re very welcome,’ the old dear tries to go. ‘Relax and enjoy the party!’

  Tiffany Blue goes, ‘I’ve spent holidays on this boat since I was a little girl. I don’t need your permission to enjoy myself.’

  Something happens then. Something very subtle. The old dear switches her Champagne glass from her left to her right hand. She puts it to her lips and Tiffany Blue’s eyes go suddenly wide.

  ‘Oh my God,’ she goes, ‘what is that?’

  ‘It’s the Krug Clos d’Ambonnay,’ the old dear goes. ‘It’s a pity you can’t have any, Tiffany Blue. It’s made with Pinot Noir.’

  ‘I’m not talking about your drink. What is that on your finger?’

  It’s a diamond, by the way. The second biggest one I’ve ever laid eyes on. The biggest one is on her other hand.

  ‘Oh, this?’ the old dear goes, with a big fock-you smile on her face. ‘It was a gift from your grandfather. A celebration ring – it sort of balances out my engagement ring, doesn’t it? My other hand was beginning to feel a little light!’

  Tiffany Blue goes, ‘That was Grandma’s ring.’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘I said that was Grandma’s engagement ring. Grandpa promised it to me.’

  ‘Oh, I had no idea! He didn’t mention it!’

  It’s almost like she’s trying to provoke her?

  ‘That’s because he doesn’t know what day it is,’ Tiffany Blue goes. ‘Give me that ring.’

  My old man tries to act as, like, peacemaker. He’s there, ‘Could I humbly suggest that this is neither the time nor the place to argue about the whos, the whats, the whys and the what-nots?’

  Tiffany Blue just, like, stares the old dear out of it. She goes, ‘Don’t think for one minute this is over!’ and off she goes in the direction of the bor.

  The old man goes, ‘I’m going to go and see what Helen and Sorcha are up to,’ then off he heads as well, leaving me alone with the old dear, the hog.

  I’m there, ‘You did that on purpose.’

  She’s like, ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘You flashed the ring so she’d see it. I watched you do it.’

  ‘Oh, please, Ross – this is supposed to be a happy occasion.’

  She smiles. She has a face like a busted zip.

  She goes, ‘I’m so pleased that it’s you who’s going to give me away tomorrow.’

  I’m there, ‘I still can’t believe you’ve found someone mad enough to want to marry you.’

  ‘Oh, look, I know what people are thinking, Ross. I’d probably think the same thing myself if I heard about someone else in her fifties marrying a man in his nineties.’

  Fifties? She’s got some focking cheek. I’m letting an awful lot go here.

  She’s there, ‘That’s why I insisted on the prenup, so no one can impugn my motives. When Ari dies, I won’t inherit a cent. Everything will go to Tiffany Blue.’

  ‘She still doesn’t seem to trust you.’

  ‘I try not to judge her too harshly. She’s had a tough life. She lost her parents when she was just a little girl. An awful, awful car crash. Or maybe it was a house fire. Something. Ari’s the closest thing to a father she’s ever had.’

  ‘Er, yeah, no, bummer.’

  ‘She’s a nice girl. She’s just got a lot of problems. The drink and the drugs and, well, the other thing.’

  ‘What other thing?’

  ‘Oh, she’s one of these – what are they called – sex addicts?’

  I feel my face break into a smile. I can’t help it. It’s automatic.

  I’m like, ‘You’re shitting me.’

  She goes, ‘That’s if you believe in that kind of thing.’

  ‘I thought I noti
ced her checking me out. I thought it was just because I look well in a suit.’

  ‘When we were in that place – rehab, whatever you want to call it – she claimed to have slept with a thousand men.’

  ‘A thousand is a decent number. I’m saying that as a player myself.’

  ‘Well, apparently, when she’s drunk, she turns into a complete nymphomaniac.’

  I turn my head, my eyes suddenly seeking her out. She’s up at the bor.

  ‘Anyway,’ I go, ‘I can’t sit around here listening to you gab on all night, you focking moose. I need to go and mingle.’

  ‘I’m on your side,’ I go. ‘I hate her more than anyone. She’s my mother, bear in mind.’

  Tiffany Blue is drinking just, like, water. I ask the borman for a bottle of Champagne.

  She goes, ‘Grandpa promised me that ring. I can’t believe he gave it to that … woman!’

  I’m there, ‘You don’t know that he did give it to her?’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘I’m just saying, we’ve only got her word for that, haven’t we? She might have just taken the ring, then told him that he gave it to her. You were the one who said he was senile – he wouldn’t know his orse from a hole in the forest floor.’

  Tiffany Blue turns around and stares at the old dear, who gives her a smile and a little wave. She’s like, ‘What a sick … bitch.’

  I’m there, ‘Hey, if you want to talk about it, I just want you to know that I’m here for you.’

  I’ve always been a good listener when it comes to women. When I say a good listener I mean that I’m very good at just sitting there and not interrupting while they bullshit on.

  I’m there, ‘You don’t know the half of it. I could tell you stories about her that’d make you lose your faith in the human race. Will you have a glass of this shit with me?’

  ‘No,’ she quickly goes. ‘I’m supposed to be on the wagon.’

  I’m like, ‘Fair enough. Whatever you’re into. I’m just trying to be a friend to you here.’

  ‘I should have done more to stop this thing happening.’

  ‘I take it you’re not convinced by the whole prenup thing? She definitely signed it. I can tell you that for a fact.’

  ‘I still don’t trust it. She’s up to something.’

  ‘You’d be right to think that. Like I said, I’ve got stories about the woman that’d make your eyeballs bleed. She’s definitely up to something – you just don’t know what it is yet. If we both put our heads together, we might be able to figure out what it is, though. Come on, have a drink with me.’

  She thinks about this for a few seconds, then her face just, like, visibly relaxes? ‘You know what?’ she goes. ‘I don’t think I can get through this weekend sober.’

  I get another glass from the borman and I pour her a glass of bubbles. Then I go, ‘Like I said, I’m on your side. As a matter of fact, when I look at your grandfather, I automatically think of Alma Goad.’

  She’s like, ‘Okay, who the hell is Alma Goad?’

  ‘I’m actually glad you asked me that question. Alma Goad was this woman the old dear worked for. She had a florist shop in Stillorgan – this was, like, back in the day. She was about the same age as your grandfather. Half-blind, losing her morbles, same as him. Here, let me top you up there.’

  ‘So what happened?’

  ‘Yeah, no, the old dear worked for her for a couple of years – in this – like I said – flower shop. Anyway, the whole time she was there, she was thieving from her. Her hand was never out of the till, the hideous-looking troglodyte.’

  Honor suddenly arrives over to us. She goes, ‘Can I ask you a question?’

  I’m there, ‘It’s a bit difficult at the moment, Honor. I’m just telling Tiffany Blue here one or two funny anecdotes about the woman who’s marrying her grandfather tomorrow.’

  ‘Can I have Champagne?’

  ‘I don’t know. Did you ask your mother?’

  ‘No, because she’ll only say no. That’s why I’m asking you.’

  In other words, the cool one! I actually laugh. She knows how to get around her old man alright.

  ‘Here,’ I go, handing her what’s left of our bottle. ‘There’s probably a glass and a half in that. I’m going to get another one anyway.’

  Off she goes with it. Champagne, I think to myself. She’s going to grow up with some expensive tastes!

  I nod to the borman to get us another bottle, which he does.

  ‘I don’t think the two things are the same at all,’ Tiffany Blue goes. ‘One is stealing money from a store. Jesus, we’ve all done that. This is, like, marrying an old man to steal the money he spent his whole life earning.’

  I’m there, ‘If you’d let me finish, I could tell you just how deeply evil the woman is. You see, she wasn’t just dipping into the till for the sheer joy of robbing. I mean, that kind of thievery she’s always associated with the poorest of the poor. Yeah, no, she was robbing the till to make it look like the business was going down the tubes. She did it for, like, a year or two – every week, helping herself to a little bit more of the take, until poor Alma couldn’t pay the electricity anymore, never mind the repayments on a bank loan my old dear persuaded her to take out.’

  She necks her second glass in one go, then pours herself a third. I’m wondering how many it’ll take before she storts getting slutty.

  She’s there, ‘Keep talking.’

  ‘Well,’ I go, ‘eventually the bank called Alma in and told her she’d have to sell the business. Oh, did I mention that the bank manager was actually my old dear’s father?’

  She’s suddenly, like, goggle-eyed listening to this.

  I’m there, ‘And guess who bought the shop at a knockdown price? That’s right – her! Within, like, two or three years, she had a whole chain of flower shops, which she ended up selling for an absolute mint.’

  ‘And what happened to this old lady she screwed over?’

  She’s throwing back the Champagne like it’s shots now. It doesn’t seem to be making her any more amorous, though.

  I’m there, ‘What do you think? She died a broken woman. She had two daughters. They hadn’t a clue what was going on. It was only after Alma died they found out that she’d sold her home to one of these equity release companies – on my old dear’s advice, by the way. So there was no gaff. They got nothing from the will. As in, there wasn’t anything?’

  She doesn’t say anything for a long time. Eventually, she turns and looks at me. Her eyes are pissed. She goes, ‘So are we going then?’

  I’m like, ‘Going? Going where?’

  She rolls her eyes, like I’m slow on the uptake. I am, of course.

  She’s there, ‘To my room. I presume you want to have sex with me?’

  I’m like, ‘Errr,’ because I literally haven’t used any of the chat-up lines I prepared. ‘That’d be nice, yeah.’

  At the same time, I’m looking over my shoulder to make sure Sorcha isn’t watching. She’s isn’t. No one’s watching. They’re all too busy fussing over my old dear.

  Tiffany Blues slips away from the bor. Ten seconds later, I follow. As I’m catching up with her in the corridor, I tell her she looks genuinely well tonight. A compliment often gets the ball rolling – that’s something I’ve learned with women.

  But Tiffany Blue isn’t interested in my observations.

  As soon as we get into her room, she shoves me backwards onto the bed, then kicks off her shoes. She unzips her dress at the back, takes it off over her head and sits astride me, then she tears open the fly of my tux trousers like an Irish emigrant with a bag of focking Tayto.

  She goes, ‘Hey, before we do this, maybe we should get some coke.’

  I laugh. I’m there, ‘We’re at an old people’s wedding. Where are we going to get coke? It’s not 2002.’

  ‘I heard the barman say he could get some.’

  ‘I’ve never really been into it, to be honest. My life’s a natural high.’r />
  Like I said, she’s sitting astride me. She reaches back and has a rummage around in the old toy box and finds what she’s looking for. It’s hord to tell from her reaction whether she’s impressed by it or not.

  ‘You better not disappoint me,’ she just goes.

  And I’m thinking, I almost certainly will – but it’ll be a testament to how turned on I am by you.

  Anyway, the usual rules apply. Mister Discretion and blah, blah, blah. All I will say is that the girl knows a few moves and I’ll leave it at that. She twists herself into all sorts of shapes over the next, well, however long it lasts. She bites my earlobes and she mutters instructions and threats and she slaps my thighs like she’s up on a chorger with the Indians giving chase.

  I give a pretty good account of myself, and I say that in all modesty. I bend her this way and that way and the whole sweaty business comes to a glorious end with her pulling various rollercoaster faces, whacking her head repeatedly off the headboard and honking like a kicked pig.

  I’ve possibly said too much.

  When the transaction is completed, I do my usual thing of drifting off. I don’t know how long I end up being out for, but it feels like several hours. In that dozy period between being asleep and being awake I’m suddenly aware of, like, voices in the room?

  ‘Did you get it?’ one voice goes – it’s Tiffany Blue.

  ‘Yeah,’ a man’s voice goes. ‘I’ve got it here.’

  Without even opening my eyes, I instantly know it’s the borman.

  Thirty seconds later, I hear this, like, long, snorting sound and I realize that they’re doing lines of coke off the vanity unit.

  ‘How was he?’ the borman goes, in a slightly mocking voice, obviously referring to me.

  Tiffany Blue just laughs – cruelly, I would have said?

  She goes, ‘He kept shouting, “Allez les Bleus!” ’

  ‘Allez les Bleus? What’s that?’

  I wouldn’t mind, roysh, but the dude sounds like he’s local. Learn about your focking heritage, I feel like nearly telling him.

  Tiffany Blue goes, ‘Who knows what weird shit goes on in you men’s heads when you’re doing it … [sniff] … Whoa, this is good shit … Hey, I should wake him up. Asshole. I should wake him up and demand that he fucks me properly.’