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I'm watching Ronan working four mobile phones at the same time, plus the – believe it or not – house phone?
“Ine soddy,” he’s going, “I habn’t addything for the Choorch of the Apostoddles for this Sunday. You’re arthur leaving it veddy late in the day, so you are. I can get you into St Alphonsus and Columba Choorch, if that’s addy use to you. Yeah, it’s the one in Baddybrack Viddage.”
The old man, I notice, is just, like, staring at him – we're talking, like, totally mesmerised?
I’m there, “What’s going on?”
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“Well,” he goes, “it seems that young Ronan here is doing a line in black morket tickets for Masses and other church services.”
I'm like, "Excuse me?"
“You see, the 50-person limit on indoor gatherings has apparently made tickets for Sunday Masses the most sought-after commodity in Ireland today – even more than hand sanitiser and face masks. I’ll tell you something for nothing, Ross – this country won’t stay down for long, not with entrepreneurs like your son around.”
Ronan puts a caller on hold to answer another one of his phones. “Mass tickets,” he goes. “Buying or selling?”
He listens for a few seconds, then he’s like, “Foxrock? You’re habbon a laugh, ardent you? I habn’t addything for Foxrock until the Twenty Sixth Sunday in Ordinary Time. I’ll tell what I’ve got for this Sunday, but. I’ve two for 10 o’clock mass in the Choorch of the Guardian Angels on Newtownpeerk Abenue. They’re for the South Transept. Hodestly, I’ve nothing for the Nave this side of the Assumption. Although I can put you in the Nave in the Choorch of St Thérèse in Mount Meddion at midday if you’ve addy inthordest in that?”
I end up just shaking my head.
“Okay,” I go, “speaking of things that are wrong on every possible level, I need to talk to you about what happened the other day.”
"The other day?" the old man actually tries to go. "What happened the other day?"
I’m there, “Are you genuinely going to make me say it? You and Sorcha’s old dear were bumping uglies in the back of my rented RV.”
“Oh,” he goes. “That.”
And I'm like, "Yes, Dad – that!"
He’s there, “I thought I explained at the time, Ross, that nothing untoward happened. Sorcha’s mother and I were merely looking around the vehicle, admiring the leather upholstery and so forth. Then the thing started moving. We tried to alert you to the fact that we were inside, but you couldn’t hear our shouts. I expect you were listening to the famous Snoopy and the Doggy Dogs with the volume up high.”
I'm there, "The bed had been slept in and you had lipstick all over your ear. Don't even try to bullshit me of all people."
Ronan’s going, “I’ve two Premium Seats for the Choorch of the Hody Tridity in Doddamede this Sunday. Eleben o’clock Mass. They’re 50 eurdos each, but – not a woord of a lie – they’re so close to the altar, you’ll practically be saying Mass yisser selves.”
I'm there, "I seem to be the only one in this family with a working moral compass. I mean, how did that happen?"
“Okay,” the old man goes, “I admit it. We were both of us seized by a moment of passion.”
“Jesus.”
“We were but hapless slaves to our animal desires.”
“Seriously, I’m going to get sick all over you.”
“Obviously, though, we’d both appreciate it very much if Sorcha never found out about what happened.”
“Your sordid little tryst in the back of a camper van?”
“There was nothing sordid about it.”
“Er, it’s incense, Dad.”
“Yes, you’ve reached for a word there, Ross, and taken the wrong one down from the shelf. For the record, there was nothing incestuous about it either. Sorcha’s mother and I are not related except through the marriage of our children.”
“Well, you can rest easy, Dude. I’m hordly likely to shout about it from the rooftops. Although Honor is the one you need to worry about. She’ll almost certainly blackmail you.”
“She did blackmail me. I gave her a thousand euros this morning.”
“A thousand yoyos?”
“Your children really are a credit to you, Ross.”
Ronan’s on the landline, going, “Foxrock? For when? You’re pudding me woyer! Are thee Nave? How far back? Much do you waddant for them? What do you think I am – greeyun?”
“Enterprise!” the old man shouts.
I’m there, “Dude, I just need to know that what happened was a one-off.”
“What do you mean?”
“Er, I need to know that it’s not going to happen again. As in, you and her. Okay, it might not be incense, but it’s certainly weird.”
“Look, Ross, the last few months have been hord on us. Your mother and I are going through one of our famous separations, while Sorcha’s mother is absolutely adamant that her marriage to Sorcha’s father is finished. We both have needs, Ross.”
“Don’t.”
“Physical needs that demand satisfaction. Sorcha’s mother is a very attractive woman – I don’t know if you’ve ever noticed.”
“I don’t think about my mother-in-law in that way. Because I’m not a deviant.”
“Well, it’s a fact, Ross. You know, in a certain light, she’s always reminded me of Diane Keaton, except with obviously thicker legs.”
Her legs aren’t her best feature, in fairness to her.
I'm there, "My point is, whatever needs you two supposedly have, you're going to have to find some other way to meet them. Because that is definitely not going to be happening under my roof."
He goes, “Like I said, Ross, it was a moment of pure lust. Two lonely people making a desperate grab for each other in a time of existential crisis.”
I’m there, “I’m glad to hear it.”
"I've only got standing tickets for St Odiver's in Navan this Sunday," Ronan goes, "but you'd be way down back, practically in the Narthex. Now, I can let you have two Premium Nave seats for nine o'clock Mass in St Mary's. Only thing is, but, they're part of a Combi Package. You'll have to block book them until the Thirtieth Sunday in Ordinary Time."
The old man goes, “There’s just one small problem, Kicker.”
I’m like, “What’s that?”
“In the midst of our more than satisfactory lovemaking, romantic fool that I am, I may have mentioned that I loved her.”