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I watch the old dear totter into court in her high heels, sunnies perched on top of her head, a scowl of disapproval on her face, like she's ordered a Tom Collins and she can tell from the smell that the borman has stinted on the gin.
It’d be impossible not to feel sorry for the woman.
I'm remembering the night a few years ago when she invited me around to watch the final of The Big Painting Challenge and she phoned for a takeaway for, like, literally the first time in her life? When I got to the gaff, she had the Deliveroo courier in the kitchen, plating the food, polishing the glasses and recommending an off-dry Alsace Riesling to pair with the chicken Jalfrezi.
You were, like, four days from the end of your quarantine, why don't you just agree to go back?
She genuinely thought it was some sort of dial-a-waiter crowd. I think she tipped the dude, like, a grand in the end. Then – delighted with the service, if not the way he dressed – she ended up using him for all of her porties for, like, years afterwards, basically paying for his studies to become a sommelier.
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The point I'm making is that the woman hasn't a clue what's going on half the time. She shouldn't even be allowed out in the world. Literally, as it happens. I mean, that's why she's in court this morning – chorged with unlawfully leaving Mandatory Hotel Quarantine under the Health Act 2021.
“Thank you for coming,” she goes.
I’m there, “Put your mask on, will you? You’re only making things worse for yourself.”
“But I’ve just had my make-up done.”
“Hey, a mask would hide your five o’clock shadow just as well as the two pounds of foundation you pay them to trowel on your face.”
She thinks about this for a few seconds, then she whips her mask out of her pocket and she puts it on.
I’m there, “Why does everything have to be a major production with this family?”
She’s like, “What on Earth are you talking about?”
“This,” I go. “You in court. Sauntering in here like it’s the Veuve Clicquot tent in Taste of Dublin.”
"Hennessy thought I should look my best. You know, many, many moons ago, the judge invited me to the UCD Law Ball. "
“And did you go?”
“No, I turned him down. But for years afterwards, he wrote me long letters telling me how much he desired me.”
Seriously, I’m right on the point of spewing here.
“You were, like, four days from the end of your quarantine,” I go. “Why don’t you just agree to go back?”
You're not qualified to give out legal advice. Fionnuala, come with me – and open another button on that blouse
She’s there, “I would rather spend the next 12 months of my life in prison than endure one more night in a limited services hotel, Ross.”
“You’re being used – you know that, don’t you?”
“Used? By whom?”
"Er, by the old man and Hennessy? They're trying to turn you into a mortyr for their anti-lockdown cause."
Suddenly, I spot Hennessy glowering at me from, like, 10 feet away. He's there, "I must have missed the bit where you got your Practising Certificate from the Law Society, did I?"
I’m like, “Excuse me?”
“You’re not qualified to give out legal advice. Fionnuala, come with me – and open another button on that blouse.”
It’s, like, an hour before the old dear’s case is finally called. Then Hennessy gets up and does what Hennessy does.
He’s like, “Judge, this is a very unfortunate case, involving a woman from an excellent background, who returned from a brief trip abroad, only to find herself forced to submit to a form of civil detention. My client intends to sue the State for infringing her right to liberty and freedom of movement.”
"Guaranteed under the Constitution of Ireland! " the old man shouts from the back of the public gallery. "Nineteen-hundred-and-thirty-seven!"
“That is not a matter for this court,” the judge goes, barely even looking up. “Your client accepts that she left Mandatory Hotel Quarantine, an offence for which the penalties are clear.”
Hennessy's there, "Judge, my client was being detained in conditions that would shock even Amnesty International – namely, a so-called no-frills hotel, catering for business people travelling on a tight budget. After 10 days of detention, and symptom-free, she exercised her right under the United Nations Declaration of Human Rights, to leave. Since then, she has taken a Covid-19 test and has tested negative for the alleged virus. And yet, for reasons of vindictiveness, the State is attempting to force her return to the hotel to face, well, God knows what horrors."
“Single-ply toilet paper,” the old dear goes.
The judge’s head instantly shoots up and he looks at the old dear for the first time.
“Single ply?” he goes and it’s obvious that he suddenly recognises the woman behind the mask. “How… awful for you.”
“It’s not in any way absorbent,” the old dear goes. “It just sort of spreads the mess around a wider area.”
A rare voice of reason in a country sliding inexorably into fascism! Exclamation mork, exclamation mork, exclamation mork!
The dude’s like, “Yes, of course – it would, wouldn’t it?”
She’s there, “They only gave us one roll per day too.”
And hearing her voice, it’s as if all the years since they last saw each other suddenly fall away.
“It sounds like you’ve had quite the ordeal,” the dude goes, looking at her all gooey-eyed. “Been through the proverbial mill – em, Fionnuala.”
She’s like, “There wasn’t even a turn-down service, Judge. I shall be having flashbacks for as long as I live.”
“We will be seeking damages for Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder!” Hennessy goes.
The judge is, like, red in the face. I still find it incredible that anyone could find the rubber-faced horse-beast even remotely attractive? But there's no accounting for taste, I suppose.
“Mandatory Hotel Quarantine is not a prison sentence,” the dude goes. “It’s a preventative measure aimed at stopping the spread of Covid-19, for which, em, Fionnuala has tested negative. I don’t see what public interest is served by sending this woman – clearly a person of exceptional character and, as you say, from an excellent background – back into this fearful budget hotel that has been described in such harrowing terms here today. Neither do I see this as a case in which the penalties provided by the legislation should apply. I’m dismissing this case. Fionnuala, you may leave this court without a stain on your character.”
“A rare voice of reason,” the old man shouts, “in a country sliding inexorably into Fascism! Exclamation mork, exclamation mork, exclamation mork!”