Sorcha says she can’t help thinking about something Jackie Onassis once said. That’s the thing about my wife. You sit down to talk to her about one specific thing – five minutes ago, it was the whole, like, North Korea slash South Korea situation – and the conversation could go literally anywhere. It means you always have to be concentrating on what she’s actually saying.
“Jackie Onassis?” I go. “Okay, give me the quote, Babes.”
She’s there, “She said that if you bungle raising your children, then whatever else you do in your life doesn’t matter very much at all.”
It's obvious that Honor is on her mind – even though we're supposedly out on, like, a date tonight?
I’m there, “I genuinely don’t think we’ve done a bad job raising our daughter. I’ve heard you say it yourself, Sorcha – girls can be out-and-out bitches. I just think nowadays they’re becoming out-and-out bitches from a much younger age. That’s all it is. Are you eating that last bit of bruschetta?”
“No,” she goes, “you have it.”
I’m there, “I actually think we should be proud of the job we’ve done.”
I'm stuffing the last piece of Sorcha's storter into my mouth when I suddenly notice a familiar face three tables away. Her name is Cora, I don't know, something or other and we had, like, a brief scene about a year ago before me and Sorcha decided to have a second crack at the whole marriage thing. She was a terrific girl and a cracking little rattle but it was never supposed to go anywhere? It was purely One Night Only. Except she turned out to be one of those girls – what I call the terminally hord of accepting. She practically stalked me – we're talking text messages, we're talking phone calls . It couldn't go on. So I ended up having to give it to her straight. That's right. I told her I thought I was possibly gay.
Of course, there isn’t a man in the world who hasn’t used this line at some point to get out of something potentially messy. I know a thing or two about the deadlier of the species and one thing they hate being told is, “It’s not you, it’s me.” But one thing they don’t actually mind hearing is, “It’s not you, it’s your gender.”
Anyway, back in the restaurant, Cora and I notice each other at pretty much the same time. Our eyes actually meet? She smiles at me and I sort of, like, raise my eyebrows to acknowledge her, then she storts checking out Sorcha, obviously wondering what the deal is with her.
It's at that exact point that Sorcha reaches across the table, lays her hand down on top of mine and goes, "I'm so happy I have you, Ross. I'm, like, so a lucky girl."
I pull my hand away like it’s just been burned. I don’t want there being a scene. And Cora was staring straight at Sorcha’s hand on mine. I see this look of sudden confusion on her face, then she says something to the dude she’s having dinner with.
Sorcha acts all offended.
She’s like, “What’s wrong?”
I end up having to go, “Yeah, no, nothing – my hands are just greasy from the bruschetta, that’s all.”
She smiles at me. “I don’t mind a bit of grease,” she goes. “Give me a kiss.”
She’s a bit mashed. In fairness, she’s been tanning the Bordeaux since we walked through the door. That’s what I get for offering to drive.
I’m like, “Sober up, Babes – there’s people possibly looking.”
She’s like, “ Excuse me?”
“I’m just saying, you know – decorum isn’t just that cheap deodorant that Ronan wears.”
She takes this as, like, an immediate challenge. She half stands up and leans across the table to me. She’s like, “Give me a kiss.”
I’m there, “Sorcha!”
She goes, “Ross, I want a kiss!”
Like I said, she's a bit shit-faced, so I just do it – anything for a quiet life. But it ends up being more than Cora can basically handle ? The girl stands up. I hear the dude she's having dinner with – presumably her boyfriend – go, "Cora, don't!"
But she does. She morches over to where we’re sitting and goes, “Hello again!”
Sorcha turns her head, sees Cora and goes, “Ross, do you know this girl?”
I’m there, “Er, I’m just trying to place her, Babes.”
The girl goes, “I’m Cora.”
I’ve a pretty good idea where this conversation is headed, so I decide to just come clean. “We were on a break,” I straight away go.
Cora offers Sorcha her hand and goes, “And who are you?”
Sorcha's like, "I'm Sorcha," in a definitely defensive way? "I'm Ross's wife."
“His wife?” Cora goes. “That’s funny. Because when I was with him, he told me he didn’t think he liked women.”
Sorcha laughs. She knows how ridiculous that sounds. She knows only too well!
“It’s a line,” Sorcha goes. “He sometimes uses it when he’s trying to get rid of someone.”
“In my defence,” I go, “you were very slow to take the hint. Two weeks after the event, you were still hanging around like the smell of cabbage.”
Cora goes, “Would you mind, Sorcha, if I threw a glass of wine over your husband?”
And Sorcha – 60 seconds after telling me what a lucky girl she was – goes, “Be my guest.”
As Cora tips a full glass of Chateau Blahdy Blah down the front of my shirt, I reali se that the sad look on my wife's face comes from that port of her hort that will possibly never fully trust me.
ILLUSTRATION: ALAN CLARKE