“He must have been in a fight last night,” Sorcha goes.
And – yeah, no – she’s talking about my brother slash half-brother, Brett.
I’m there, “Why do you say he was in a fight?”
And she goes, “Oh my God, didn’t you see the bruises on his neck when he came home this morning?”
Brett goes, ‘She’s close to the end, Ross. I was thinking we should arrange a living funeral for her’
I’m always telling Sorcha to tone down the southside when we come out to Bray but she never listens
‘I haven’t really been living before now,’ Brett tells his wife. ‘Ross has slept with more than 800 women’
‘I’m not even a bit stressed,’ Honor goes, ‘I haven’t done a focking tap for these exams’
Seriously, sometimes it’s like she was never young at all.
I’m there, “Sorcha, they’re not bruises – as in, they’re not, like, bruises bruises?”
She looks at me blankly.
I’m there, “Sorcha, they’re hickeys.”
She’s like, “Hickeys? He’s 50 years old, Ross.”
And I go, “I don’t know what to tell you, Sorcha. The dude’s going through something. A midlife crisis. And half the women in Leggs of Lower Leeson Street.”
She’s like, “He has to go, Ross.”
And I’m there, “He won’t go. You heard what he told his wife. He’s staying until the old dear, you know–”
I can’t bring myself to say the words “croaks it”.
She goes, “No, I mean he can’t stay here any more.”
I’m like, “What?”
“He’s out drinking every night, hopping from one woman to the next, coming home at all hours – or not at all.”
She’s just described me between the years 2003 and 2013. I’m wondering is it Brett she’s upset about, or is she having flashbacks to the first decade of our marriage?
“I’m going to pack up all of his stuff today,” she goes, “and leave it in the front gorden. And if it’s still there in an hour, I’m pouring paraffin over it and putting a match to the lot.”
Yeah, no, she’s definitely having flashbacks.
I’m there, “Fine, I’ll tell him to go.”
She’s like, “When?”
I’m there, “We’re supposed to be going to see the old dear today. I’ll tell him when we’re on the way there.”
I think you and I have this, like, understanding – like we’re psychically conjoined
— Brett
So – yeah, no – I wake the dude up and 20 minutes later we’re in the cor on the way to the nursing home. I’m trying to find a way to break the bad news to him but the dude won’t let me get a word in edgeways.
He’s going, “Meeting you was the meridian moment that separated my old and new lives. I define everything in my life now as happening Before Ross or After Ross.”
Of course, I’m a sucker for a compliment and probably have been since the day in January 1999 when Gerry Thornley wrote, in the pages of this very newspaper, “I’ve seen the future. It’s called Ross O’Carroll-Kelly.”
I’m like, “Dude, I’m loving this. And I’m tempted to ask you to say more things. But the truth is – and this is Sorcha talking, by the way–”
“I feel like I’ve known you all my life,” he goes. “Do you know what I mean?”
I’m there, “It definitely feels like you’ve been here a long time all right. On which point–”
He goes, “I think you and I have this, like, understanding – like we’re psychically conjoined.”
Anyway, we get to the nursing home and in we trot. The old dear greets me in her usual way.
She’s like, “Did you bring me a bottle of Tanqueray?”
And I’m there, “No, because you’re not on one of your famous dry meditation retreats. You’re in an actual nursing home.”
“Oh, yes,” she goes. “Of course I am,” and then she looks at Brett and says the most incredible thing. “Who is this person, Ross?”
Brett’s like, “What?”
She goes, “Are you a doctor?”
He’s there, “No, I’m your son.”
She’s like, “Oh, Jesus – am I seeing double now?”
I’m there, “No, he’s, like, your other son?”
“Other son?” she goes. “I have no other son.”
The dude looks hurt.
He’s like, “You do, Fionnuala. I’m your other son. I’m Brett.”
She goes, “Bread? You’re saying I have a son called Bread?”
He’s there, “Brett! I was adopted in the States. We reconnected a few years ago – remember?”
“Bread?”
“Brett!”
“Ross, I have no idea who this person is or what he’s talking about.”
I look at Brett and the dude looks crushed – a bit like me back in the day when Declan Kidney left me out of the Ireland schools team, having seen the future and decided that it wasn’t called Ross O’Carroll-Kelly.
Unlike me, though, he doesn’t argue his case with a lot of finger-pointing and shouts of, “You’re going to regret this for the rest of your life! Focking Cork!”
No, the dude just turns and runs out of there in pretty much tears.
I stare at the old dear and I remember her saying that the reason she kept the two of us aport was because she thought I’d corrupt him.
I’m there, “You did that on purpose – because you want him to go home to the States.”
She doesn’t say shit – just looks straight through me.
I’m there, “I’m going to see is he okay.”
As I’m leaving, she’s like, “Bring gin next time or don’t come at all.”
What’s the point in all of us getting together and saying nice things about her when she’s dead? Let’s do it while she’s still with us
— Brett
I find Brett sitting at the end of the corridor with his head in his hands.
I’m there, “Dude, she has good days and bad days. There’s times when she doesn’t even recognise me.”
Then he says something that, in a way, shocks me?
He’s like, “She’s close to the end, Ross.”
I’m there, “No way. She’s got years left in her. That’s as plain as the love bites on your neck. You should probably think about getting a tetanus, by the way.”
“Ross,” he goes, “trust me. I saw it with my dad. You know, I was thinking, we should arrange, like, a living funeral for her.”
I’m there, “What’s that? As in, like, what pacifically?”
He’s like, “We do them in the States all the time. It’s, like, what’s the point in all of us getting together and saying nice things about her when she’s dead? Let’s do it while she’s still with us.”
I’m there, “So it’s, like, a roast – except you say, like, nice shit about the person?”
He goes, “That’s kind of it. We have to get all of her friends together.”
I’m like, “She doesn’t really have any friends. Just people she worked alongside to stop various things coming to the southside or to move various things to the northside.”
He goes, “Can you draw up a list of names for me?”
I’m there, “Dude, I still say she’s got years left.”
He’s like, “Ross, let me say goodbye to her in this way – and then I’ll happily go home.”
