“Okay,” the old man goes, “here’s another one you, Kicker!” because – yeah, no – he’s written a book of his Fifty Years of Letters to The Irish Times, which Honor has helped pull together for him. “Listen to this one! Dear Madam. Whilst sorting through the vegetable tower in the kitchen the other morning, I discovered an oval-shaped tuber with a pale yellow flesh. Is this a record?”
No one laughs – except him, of course?
He goes, “I remember the precise moment when I decided to write that one. Might be worth putting a note in the book about it, Honor. I was in the Horseshoe Bar with Mr Hennessy Coghlan-O’Hara Esquire – who else! – and we were a bit tipsy and I just said the damned thing – don’t even know where it came from! – and Hennessy said, ‘Charlie, you’d humour a dying man! You know you could fashion that joke into one of your famous missives to the paper of record?’ Which is what I did! Well, it was the talk of the Horseshoe for weeks afterwards!”
He has to make everything about him – although I think it’s actually his nerves that have him gibbering away like a rhesus monkey. Because we’re all gathered around the old dear’s bedside – we’re talking me and Brett, we’re talking Sorcha and Honor and we’re talking – like I said – the old man, except the old dear keeps mistaking him for Conor, her first boyfriend.
I get this sudden flashback to when I was six or seven and I’d hold the wheel steady for the old dear while she drove home, half-cut
The old dear goes, ‘Sorcha? I don’t know anyone of that name. Is she one of your tarts, Ross?’
Oisinn goes, ‘Dude, you’re saying goodbye. You do realise that? You’re saying goodbye to your old dear’
Brett goes, ‘She’s close to the end, Ross. I was thinking we should arrange a living funeral for her’
She keeps pointing at Brett and going, “Look at our lovely boy, Conor! Hasn’t he grown into a beautiful young man?”
And the old man is, like, morto. He goes, “Absolutely first-rate, Fionnuala! Anyway, these letters are going to bring back a lot of memories for a lot of people, Ross!”
Sorcha goes, “What a beautiful day, Fionnuala,” and then a second later, louder this time, “I’m just saying, Fionnuala, it’s a beautiful day out there.”
The old dear’s like, “Ross, who is this person?”
And I’m there, “That’s Sorcha, my still somehow wife.”
The old dear goes, “Oh, yes – her father is that awful, awful man.”
I’m like, “Yeah, no, that’s him. An absolute pr**k with ears.”
Sorcha glowers at me.
“Why couldn’t they just leave well enough alone? I’ll have a Bloody Mary with an extra shot of Grey Goose”
I’m there, “What? The nurse said not to contradict her in case it confuses her.”
That’s when the old dear – totally out of left field – goes, “Ross, I’d like to go to The Gables. Can you take me to The Gables please?”
I’m there, “The Gables?” and I’m suddenly looking at the others. “I’m not sure if you’re allowed to leave the–”
Honor looks at me across the bed. She’s like, “Dad, can I talk to you for a second – outside?”
I’m like, “Er, cool, yeah,” and then – yeah, no – I follow her out into the corridor.
She goes, “Why don’t we just tell her that we’re taking her to The Gables?”
I’m there, “Er – as in?”
She’s like, “We’ll make the visitors’ room up to look like a restaurant and we’ll tell her that it’s The Gables.”
So – yeah, no – long story short, that’s what we end up doing? We go in there and we put three long tables end to end to form a bor. Then we separate all of the chairs into groups of four and put them opposite each other with a table in between. Honor grabs four or five laminated sheets of cord with Basic First Aid instructions on them and goes, “We’ll tell her these are the menus.”
I’m there, “She always orders the same thing anyway. Bloody Mary with an extra shot of voddy.”
Honor smiles at me.
She’s like, “Are you going to be okay?”
I’m there, “I don’t know. I think so. Maybe.”
“You know the doctor said–?”
“I know what the doctor said. I know what the doctor said.”
She nods, then she looks around. She’s like, “I think we’ve done well here.”
I’m there, “You did well. Will we go and get her?”
She nods.
Twenty seconds later, we step back into the ward. The old man is going, “A record, Brett! It’s a type of potato, don’t you know! Wonderful for roasting!”
I’m there, “Okay, Mom, let’s hit The Gables.”
Sorcha goes, “What? Did you ask the nurse if it was okay?”
I’m like, “Of course I did,” and I give her a big wink, then I throw back the old dear’s bedsheets and she swings her legs out of the bed and manoeuvres herself into an upright position.
Twenty seconds later, we’re helping her down the corridor towards the visitors room.
“I don’t like what they’ve done with the place,” she goes on seeing the room. “Why couldn’t they just leave well enough alone? I’ll have a Bloody Mary with an extra shot of Grey Goose.”
She sits down.
She goes, “What was I talking about again?”
I’m there, “You were talking about Sorcha’s old man and what an absolute piece of work he is.”
Sorcha’s like, “Ross, please.”
Honor puts a glass of tomato juice down in front of the old dear. She takes a sip and goes, “That’s not a double.”
Honor’s there, “It’s definitely a double, Fionnuala.”
“Ross, do you remember that time you won the big thing?” I’m there, “Do you mean the Leinster Schools Senior Cup?”
I get this sudden flashback to when I was, like, six or seven years old and she’d keep me off school so that we could have lunch together. She’d send me back and forth to the bor for gin mortinis – she’d even give me a little sip when the borman wasn’t looking – and then I’d hold the wheel steady for her while she drove home, half-cut, to Glenageary slash Sallynoggin. Great days.
The old dear suddenly recognises the old man for the first time in about a week.
“Oh, Charles,” she goes, “you came! Are you going to have steak and eggs?”
“Steak and eggs,” the old man goes, sitting down opposite her. “Yes, of course! My usual!”
The old dear looks around her. She’s like, “Why couldn’t they have left well enough alone?”
Brett goes, “Hey, I’m sure you’ll get used to it.”
She’s there, “I’m sure I will. Ross, do you remember that time you won the big thing?”
I’m there, “Do you mean the Leinster Schools Senior Cup?”
She’s like, “Do I? I don’t know. I just know that I was very proud.”
I’m there, “It should have been a springboard towards something.”
But she doesn’t answer. And I notice that the old man is just smiling at her, his eyes all glassy and tears spilling down his face. And straight away, in that moment, I know that my old dear is dead.
