Amie with an ie says she can’t believe he’s gone. Sorcha blows her porty horn and everyone cheers.
"I was thinking tonight," Chloe goes, "that it's like that time in The West Wing when Jed Bortlet had to step down after Zoey was kidnapped and John Goodman became the president and he was – oh my God – such a d**k."
“I said that!” Sorcha goes. “I said that four years ago after Hillary was robbed.”
Chloe’s there, “did you?”
"Er, yeah? I said I hated Donald Trump even more than I hated Glen Allen Walken. I said it in this very room."
"Well, the point I'm trying to make is that the relief I feel now is the same as the relief I felt when Zoey was rescued and president Bortlet returned to the Oval Office."
"Yeah, that's pretty much the same point I made? Again, four years ago. You've just, like, reframed it?"
Sophie is like, "Oh my God, you two, does it matter who said it first? Surely all that matters now is that he's gone!" And then she blows her porty horn.
Chloe's there, "You're actually right – er, why are we fighting?"
Sorcha goes, "That's the thing about . . . actually I'm going to stop saying his name. He's totally poisoned our minds so that we think of – oh my God – everything in terms of conflict."
And then she mutes her Zoom call and goes, “Ross, you heard me say that, didn’t you? About John Goodman?”
I’m there, “Er . . .”
"It was four focking years ago, Ross! We were all in this room. Honor was walking around with the blond wig and the Make America Great Again sweatshirt, trying to upset me."
I'm like, "Er, yeah, no, it's all coming back to me now," because she's three-quarters of the way through a bottle of Moet & Chandon and she was getting by on two hours sleep a night while they were still counting in Pennsylvania. "What a total wagon."
That's when Honor sticks her head around the door of the living room and goes, "Er, the kitchen's on fire?"
And Sorcha's like, "Yeah, nice try, Honor. Oh my God, you are so not ruining this night for me?" and she goes back to her Zoom porty.
Honor looks at me and goes, "Dad, the kitchen really is on fire."
And I’m there, “Like she said, maybe don’t push her buttons tonight. You know what a cranky drunk she can be.”
Honor just goes, “Fine,” and off she focks.
Lauren’s there, “Do you know what I did tonight? I made Jill Biden’s pormesan chicken for dinner – the recipe was on the Forbes website. And – afterwards? – we had Ben & Jerry’s peanut butter cup ice cream!”
A long moment of silence follows and you can tell that Sorcha and the others are wishing they’d thought of it themselves.
"Oh my God," Chloe, in fact, goes, "we should have all done that!"
Sorcha's like, "Is that his actual favourite dinner, though? Because I read a piece years ago in the New Yorker – you've probably all forgotten that I was a major fan when he was, like, vice-president? – and it said his favourite food was pasta fra diavolo and that's not me being a b**ch, Lauren."
“I’ve just googled it,” Amie with an ie goes, “and it just says his favourite food is pasta with red sauce.”
"Er, that's what focking pasta fra diavolo is?" Sorcha goes and I move the Champagne bottle beyond her reach.
“I’m just saying, it doesn’t say that specifically,” Amie with an ie goes. “And his favourite ice cream is actually salted peanut butter with chocolate flakes.”
“Yeah,” Lauren goes, “but that was the nearest thing to it in Donnybrook Fair, Amie with a focking ie.”
Again, it's Chloe who goes, "Oh my God, will you listen to us! You'd swear we lost or something?"
And Sorcha's like, "I know. That's how bad he was for the world – it's, like, we've forgotten what happiness actually feels like?"
Honor sticks her head around the door again. She goes, “Okay, I’ve managed to get the boys outside and I’ve phoned the fire brigade.”
Sophie’s like, “Oh my God, what’s that about?”
“Oh, don’t worry,” Sorcha goes, “it’s just Honor looking for attention as per usual.”
Lauren’s there, “Do you remember when we had the wake for Hillary and she was walking around with a Donald Trump mask and a MAGA sweatshirt?”
"It was actually a Donald Trump wig," Sorcha goes, "and your kids are hordly focking perfect, Lauren."
Well, <em>I </em>was making the point that I have <em>actual</em> Mayo blood in my veins – again, that's just between ourselves
Honor’s there, “Okay, I’m going outside now.”
"Honor," I go, "have you ever heard the story about the boy who cried wolf? If there was an actual fire, the smoke alorm would have gone off."
"Except you took the batteries out of it last Christmas to put them in the rock 'n' roll Santa Claus who played the drums. And, secondly, do you know what happened at the end of the story of the boy who cried wolf?"
I don’t as a matter of fact. There’s not a lot in my head – focking bingo balls.
Off she focks again.
Sophie's there, "My grandmother was originally from Mayo, even though we kept it quiet for obvious reasons."
"That's nothing," Chloe goes, "my dad knows a woman whose maiden name was Blewitt, even though they're the Enniscorthy Blewitts rather than the Ballina Blewitts and I think they might even spell their name B, L, U, E, T."
"I'm sorry, what is the point of that story?" Sophie goes.
“I just thought it was interesting, that’s all.”
"Well, I was making the point that I have actual Mayo blood in my veins – again, that's just between ourselves – and you interrupt me to tell some bulls**t story that has, like, zero relevance to me possibly having the same, like, genealogy as the president-elect."
Sorcha’s phone all of a sudden beeps. It’s, like, a text message. She reads it and she goes, “Oh! My God!”
I’m there, “What’s the Jack? What’s wrong?”
"It's Joy Felton next door," she goes. "She says our kitchen is on fire."