‘When you’re as rich as we are, you can believe in all sorts of rubbish. That’s why we’re all off gluten’

T he old man is at the door at ridiculous o'clock in the morning with a face like a double bass. He's there, "I came as soon as I read it," and I presume he's talking about the major interview Sorcha did for this morning's Irish Times, because it's tucked under his orm. "Is she upset?"

I’m like, “Er, why would she be upset?”

"Because she's been misquoted all over the bloody well place. Well, I'm here to tell her not to worry, because I've got your godfather on the case," and he flicks his thumb in the direction of Hennessy Coghlan-O'Hara, who, as it happens, is porking the Jag. The old man doesn't wait to be invited in, just steps past me into the gaff, as does Hennessy, then the two of them tip down to the kitchen, where Sorcha is busy making gluten-free challah bread French toast.

The old man’s opening words to her are: “Now don’t you worry about a thing, Sorcha. I’ve already instructed Ross’s godfather here on next steps with regard to our friends in the – inverted commas – paper of record.”

Sorcha looks confused – like the time I tried to explain rugby’s offside laws to her. She goes, “What are you talking about, Charles?”

He’s like, “The interview, of course! We’ll wipe the bloody floor with them. Hennessy, what was inscribed on those cufflinks I bought you to celebrate 30 years in the law business?”

Hennessy holds up his two wrists in turn. “A good lawyer knows the law,” he goes. “A great lawyer knows the judge.”

“Profound words,” the old man goes, “the meaning of which our friends in What’s It Street are about to discover – to their considerable cost!” Sorcha flashes him her Mount Anville Head Girl smile – all teeth, no sincerity. “Charles,” she goes, “the interview was fine.”

He’s like, “Fine? What are you talking about, fine? They’ve quoted you as saying you believe in people before profit.”

She’s there, “I do.”

When you’re as rich as we are, you can believe in all sorts of rubbish. That’s why we’re all off gluten. Hennessy gets in on the act then. He’s there, “You mean this is something you actually told this interviewer?”

“I’m not ashamed of it,” she tries to go.

The old man's like, "Think of what you're saying, Sorcha. People before profit, for heaven's sakes!"

“Charles, you told me at your New Year’s Day Political Think-In that you were anti-austerity.”

"I'm anti-austerity in so far as it affects People Like Us. But I certainly don't believe in People Before Profit. At a push, I'd say I was People Almost But Not Quite On A Par With Profit And That's Aspirational More Than Anything Else. And even as I'm saying that to you, I feel this urge to call the chaps in Garda Special Branch to inform them that there's a dangerous radical spouting crazed revolutionary rhetoric within the environs of Vico Road, Killiney – id est, me!"

Hennessy is suddenly like, “No more interviews unless I’m in the room.”

Sorcha goes, "Excuse me?" the way she does when a Maitre D's in an empty restaurant tries to seat us next to the jacks.

I end up pulling up a chair, thinking this could actually be good. Hennessy jabs his chest with his finger and goes, “I am New Republic’s Special Adviser with Responsibility for Public Enlightenment.”

“In which role,” Sorcha goes, “you are trying to silence me.”

“In which role I am trying to tell you that it is politically detrimental, in what is almost certain to be an election year, for our members to be expressing views that run counter to party policy.”

“But our party doesn’t have any policies – on anything.”

The old man goes, “Exactly! That’s why we’re riding so high in the opinion polls.”

"On gay marriage," Sorcha goes. "On water-metering. On gender quotas in Government. On a woman's right to have, like, political control over her own body. We haven't expressed a single view. It seems to me the only reason we're offering people to vote for us is that we're not Fine Gael, we're not Fianna Fáil and we're not Labour. "

The old man’s face lights up. “You see, that’s exactly the kind of thing we should be putting on our campaign posters,” he goes.

Hennessy’s there, “It’s certainly better than…” and he opens out his copy of the paper and storts scanning through Sorcha’s interview. “The Power of We. I mean, what the hell does that even mean?”

Sorcha goes, "I just think we need a campaign slogan that's the equivalent of Barack Obama's 'Yes We Can' – something that says that actual people are the solution – as in, like, people working together?"

“The Power of We,” Hennessy goes, “makes me nostalgic for the days before my prostate got so large it started impeding my urine flow.”

He can terribly funny, Hennessy, as well as deeply evil.

The old man goes, “We’re Not Fianna Fáil. We’re Not Fine Gael. God, I love those. Better do up a Sinn Féin one as well, Hennessy – they’re doing awfully well. Let’s put them on badges, coffee mugs, mouse mats, what’s-its. You see, Sorcha, this is the kind of work to which I’d like you to apply that astute political mind of yours. The last thing New Republic needs so close to a General Election is a lot of opinions on things.”

Sorcha goes, “If you’re asking to remain silent on issues that actually concern me, Charles, then I’m sorry to tell you that you’re wasting your time.”

But the old man just smiles and goes, “I trust you, Sorcha, to do the politically expedient thing,” whatever the fock that even means, then he turns and he walks out the kitchen, leaving Hennessy behind.

He fixes Sorcha with a look and goes, “Just so there’s no confusion, what Charlie’s saying is that if you go on a solo run like that again, New Republic is going to be looking for a new candidate for Dublin South-East.”

Sorcha looks at me, her mouth gaping like a goldfish. I think she’s expecting me to say something in her defence.

“Don’t look at him,” Hennessy goes. “He’s got nothing but whale song in his head. This is your first and last warning. You sound off like that in an interview again and you are off the ticket. Now tell me you understand.”

And after a moment’s hesitation, to my huge disappointment, Sorcha goes, “I understand.”