Sorcha gives me one of those long, hord looks – the kind that could make a man with a guilty conscience wonder whether she actually knows something. “I don’t know what you’ve heard,” I go, “but I can honestly tell you, hand on hort-.”
She’s like, “Stop babbling - it’s nothing you’ve done.”
“Well, that’s a relief,” I go. “So what’s with the death stare?”
She’s there, “It’s worse than we thought.”
I’m like, “What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about Cillian and that girl he’s supposedly marrying.”
“Her name’s Sunneva - and there’s no supposedly about it.”
"I had lunch with him today, Ross. Oh my God, he's so miserable."
“That’s why God invented relationships, Sorcha. It’s not good for us to be walking around happy all the time. Very little would get done.”
To bring you up to speed, Cillian is an ex of Sorcha’s who got in touch recently to say he was marrying a woman – the famous Sunneva – who he met through some online dating site. We had dinner with them a couple of weeks ago and Sunneva talked to him in much the same way that my old dear talks to her cleaning staff.
I myself personally think we should stay out of it. But Sorcha's like a dog with a chew toy. She goes, "She's really, really mean to him - oh my God - all the time? The other thing is, he thinks she might be cheating on him."
I laugh. I’m there, “Look, I’ve seen the girl, Sorcha. With the greatest will in the world, I’d be surprised if the opportunity presents itself too often. Shocked, in fact.”
“Well, Cillian says she flirts a lot with other men and he thinks she might do something if she got the chance.”
She goes back to giving me that look - and that's when she says it. "Can you ring her?"
I’m like, “Excuse me?”
“Ring her and, you know, flirt with her a bit. Then ask if she wants to maybe go for a drink.”
I'm in, like, actual shock? I'm there, "I literally can't believe you're asking me this. It feels like you're-."
“What?”
“I’m going to use the phrase ‘pimping me out’.”
“I’m not pimping you out, Ross. I’m just asking you to flirt with her a little bit on the phone and see what her reaction is.”
“I don’t have her phone number.”
“I do. I took it from Cillian’s phone when he went to the bathroom.”
I don't actually believe this. Look, you know where I stand on the whole feminism thing. I own two versions of Alanis Morissette's Jagged Little Pill – the original and the 2005 acoustic retrospective – and whenever I see a woman struggling to change a tyre, I always drive by and leave her to it. That's the CV. I love women - too much sometimes - but there's no denying they're devious. Even the slowest of them would be about six moves ahead of the greatest chess player who ever lived.
“I’m not doing it,” I go. “Like I said, I don’t even fancy the girl.”
She’s like, “I’m not asking you to go to bed with her, Ross. I’m just asking you to flirt with her on the phone.”
Before I can say another word, she’s dialed the number into my phone and she’s handed it to me. “There,” she goes, “it’s ringing.”
I hold it to my ear. This is going to tricky - I haven’t had time to prepare any of my famous lines.
Sunneva answers of the fourth ring. She’s like, “Who’s this?” because she obviously doesn’t recognize the number.
I’m there, “Hey, Sunneva, it’s Ross.”
“Ross?” she goes. “I don’t know anyone called Ross.”
“Ross, as in Sorcha’s husband. You remember Sorcha, Cillian’s ex?”
“Oh,” she goes. She’s a real chormer. “What do you want?”
I’m like, “Yeah, no, I was just giving you a ring to say how much I enjoyed meeting you that night.”
“What? You barely looked at me. You rolled your eyes every time I spoke.”
“I disagree. I thought we had a definite connection.”
“Why are you ringing me? What do you want?”
“I’m just ringing because, you know, I’d love to get to know you a bit better. One-on-one basis - blah, blah, blah. Where do you tend to do your socializing?”
Sorcha shakes her head like she’s never been more disappointed with me. I could remind her that a lot of these lines worked on her back in the day.
Sunneva goes, “What do you mean ‘my socialising’?”
I’m there, “Hey, I’m just making conversation here. Are you a rugby fan? Would you be interested in coming to one of the Autumn internationals with me? I was thinking in terms of the Canada match.”
Sorcha puts her head in her hands. I’m just out of practice, that’s all.
Sunneva goes, “Are you coming on to me?”
I’m like, “Maybe - would that be such a bad thing?”
“Yes, because I’m engaged. And you’re married. Do you know how creeped out this conversation is making me feel?”
“Hey, I just thought there was a definite attraction between us that night at dinner. I’m sorry if I’m not strong enough to resist it.”
She just groans, then the line goes suddenly dead.
I’m there, “I think she’s hung up.”
Sorcha actually laughs in my face. Then she does a pretty cruel impression of me. She goes, I was thinking in terms of the Canada match. "
I’m there, “Well, I wasn’t going to offer her the All Blacks game, was I?”
“I’m talking about your pathetic attempts to chat her up. Are you telling me that girls genuinely fall for that kind of talk?”
“A lot of them. You’d be surprised.”
“If that’s the case, I think women still have a long way to go.”
And the moment she says it, my phone beeps. It’s a text message. From Sunneva. “Ok,” it says, “that was creepy. But you can make it up to me by buying me a drink.”
I laugh and show the text to Sorcha. She goes, “Oh my God, I take it back.”
I’m like, “So is that it? Do you have al the proof you need?”
And she’s there, “No, not yet. You have to go and meet her and see what happens.”