I end up pretty much not sleeping for, like, five nights straight. And I know Honor is exactly the same.
I’m there, “Can you just explain to me again what you saw and heard — illegibly.”
“There’s no illegibly about it,” Sorcha goes. “I saw the ghost of an old man.”
I’m like, “Jesus Merrion Centre!”
She goes, “He was standing right there — in front of the sink.”
I’m like, “And who was he?”
She’s there, “He didn’t say. He just said he had a message from the other world.”
I’m literally shaking.
Honor goes, “And what was it again — as in, like, what actually?”
Sorcha rolls her eyes. She’s there, “I told you what he said. I’ve told you, like, 50 times.”
Honor goes, “Well, focking tell us again!” and she actually roars it at her. “Because I haven’t slept in, like, nearly a week.”
I’m like, “Me neither.”
Sorcha’s there, “He said that my husband and my daughter were in grave danger.”
Honor looks at me. She’s, like, white in the face. I honestly haven’t seen her this frightened since we drove her through Bray as a child to try to make her grateful for what she had in life. Didn’t work, by the way.
I’m like, “Why are we still here?”
By here, I mean Terenure, where we’ve been renting ever since we were run out of Killiney. Yeah, no, me and Honor stuck a cockroach in the polenta, hoping that it might scare Sorcha into returning to the old Vico Road. Little did we know there was something even more terrifying lurking in the kitchen.
Honor goes, “Exactly. It’s Halloween week and we’re living in a house that’s, like, haunted — literally?”
Sorcha’s there, “I didn’t feel threatened at all — as in, he wasn’t, like, a scary ghost?”
I go, “Oh, so what was he like — focking Casper?”
“I actually felt like he came here to help,” Sorcha goes. “That’s why he was bringing this message from the spirit world.”
I’m there, “That’s easy for you to say. You’re not the one who’s in — what were the words again? — grave danger?”
Honor goes, “I’m moving into a hotel. Dad, let’s go the Shelbourne.”
The focking Shelbourne. You wouldn’t blame her.
Sorcha’s there, “Don’t go yet. Claire is on her way.”
I’m like, “Claire from Bray of all places?”
She goes, “Yeah, no, she thinks she can help.”
I’m there, “What’s she going to do — scare the ghost away with her accent?”
“No,” Sorcha goes, “Claire happens to be a medium.”
I’m like, “She’s a what?” at the same time laughing.
“She’s a medium,” Sorcha goes. “Oh my God, Ross, you’re trying to come up with a joke involving her bra size, aren’t you?”
I’m like, “No, I’m not,” even though I actually was?
Anyway, 15 minutes later, the girl shows up. I let her in and she’s got, like, a humungous smirk on her face. She’s like, “It’s so random to see you living in Terenure, Ross, given the terrible things that you said about it in the past. And Bray.”
I’m there, “I’m not taking anything back. Just sit down at the table there and find out what this dickhead ghost wants, okay?”
She does what she’s told.
Sorcha goes, “Claire has a gift for communing with the shadow world.”
I’m like, “Yeah, no, I remember when she was elected chairperson of the Bray Traders Association.”
Claire doesn’t say anything. She’s got her eyes closed and her two palms flat on the table.
“Okay,” she goes, “I’m getting something. I’m getting something. Let’s create a circle here. Everyone, sit down and put your hands flat on the table, with your little fingers touching the little fingers of whoever’s next to you.”
I’m like, “Er, okay,” and we all do what she says.
She goes, “I can hear a voice. It’s the voice of an old man. He’s talking to me.”
Honor goes, “Dad, let’s get out of here. I’d even stay in a four-stor hotel.”
That’s how terrified the girl is.
I’m there, “Let’s give Claire a minute or two to try to find out the Jack here.”
She goes, “He’s telling me his name ... It’s ... Sorry, the voice is very faint. His name is David ... No, it’s Denis.”
I’m like, “Denis? The only Denis I know is—”
“Denis Fehily,” Claire goes.
I end up nearly falling off my chair.
I’m like, “What the focking fock?”
“Father Denis Fehily,” Claire goes.
I look at Sorcha. I’m like, “How the fock did you not recognise Father Fehily?”
She goes, “I only met him, like, once or twice.”
I’m there, “There were photographs of him all over the gaff in Killiney. Claire, tell him I said hi. Actually, ask him what the future holds for me, will you? Will I ever become a port of the Leinster coaching set-up or does Leo Cullen still see me as the piss-head who pulled up his top and invited him to punch me in the stomach on Rob Kearney’s stag?”
Claire still has her eyes clamped shut. She goes, “Ross, he says to forget about rugby.”
I’m there, “That doesn’t sound like him. Are you sure you’ve got the right Father Denis Fehily?”
“Ross, he’s saying you and Honor are in danger,” she goes. “Mortal danger.”
Honor’s like, “Mortal danger? Oh my God, he said it was, like, grave danger the last time.”
“Well, now he’s saying mortal danger,” Claire goes.
“That’s right,” Sorcha suddenly goes, “because if you ever try another trick like that with the cockroach in the polenta, I will focking kill you both.”
I open my eyes. She’s, like, glowering at me.
I’m there, “You focking made it up? The thing about seeing a ghost?”
Sorcha — I shit you not — is just, like, laughing in my face across the table.
Honor’s there, “Oh my God, you freaked the shit out of me!”
I look at Claire. I’m like, “I take it you’re in on it as well. As in, you’re not an actual medium?”
Claire’s like, “No, I’m not.”
Sorcha goes, “I hope that’s taught you two a lesson.”
I’m there, “Yes, it focking has. Come on, Honor — we’re going to stay in the Shelbourne.”
