Conor Hession sits on the terrace, nursing a vodka lorge enough to put a grizzly bear to sleep.
He’s like, “She was quite the most conniving, the most calculating, the most manipulative person I’ve ever met. And completely devoid of human feeling, of course.”
I’m there, “Careful, Dude. I haven’t come here today to listen to you badmouth my mother – the focking axe-faced old trout. I’m here to find out if I have, like, a brother or sister out there?”
He’s like, “All in good time. I haven’t had nearly enough to drink yet.”
‘I haven’t come here today to listen to you badmouth my mother – the axe-faced old trout’
‘My old dear said you had a kid together. Well, I’m its half-brother. Or half-sister if it’s a girl’
‘Only cheat with someone who’s married. It’s the principle of mutually assured destruction’
‘I strip down to my boxers. I can always drive home commando. Wouldn’t be the first time’
He tries to put that right straight away. Knocks back a throatful of the old giggle juice, then pulls his lips back over his teeth.
Sorcha recycles and launches another phase.
She goes, “So how long were you together?”
And he’s like, “Seven, eight years – something of that order. The last two years of school and then, well, most of the way through college.”
“Oh my God, same as me and Ross!” Sorcha goes. “Although Ross was cheating on me for most of that time.”
Conor’s there, “Fionnuala was also a cheat.”
I’m like, “Did you hear that, Sorcha?” wondering is my urge to stray genetic, in other words fock-all to do with me.
But Conor goes, “Oh, not a cheat in that sense. A cheat in the sense that she pretended to be in love with me. But that woman isn’t capable of love – either giving or receiving.”
I’m there, “Dude, I’ve been saying that since I was a saucepan.”
He goes, “What she was capable of was manipulating people into believing that she was as much in love with them as they were in love with her.”
[ ‘You wouldn’t last one day as a girl,’ Honor tells meOpens in new window ]
A woman’s voice calls out from the direction of the house: “Is everything all right, Conor?”
“That’s Abigail,” Conor goes. “She knows nothing about, well, you know.”
I’m like, “My brother slash sister?”
He goes, “Yes, everything’s fine, darling!” to Abigail obviously, not me. And I’m suddenly wondering, is she hotter than my old dear? I wouldn’t mind a look at her – old habits die hord – except she goes back inside.
Sorcha picks up the ball and goes again. She’s like, “You must have felt something for her once, Conor – if you asked her to, like, marry you?”
Sorcha is such a romantic slash sap.
The dude stares into the distance like a man who’s seen terrible things and is being asked to remember them. I’ve been there. I was that soldier.
He goes, “She even manipulated me into getting engaged. Of course, my father despised her and he made that very clear. He saw her for what she was. He used to call her The Prospector. We fell out over her. Very badly in fact. He slapped me hard across the face – it was after I bought her the ring – and told me I was a stupid boy.
I’m like, ‘Er, why wouldn’t he wish to have contact with me?' and I feel like nearly decking the dude
“Anyway, as time went on, and there was no talk of an actual wedding, Fionnuala started to become impatient. Eventually, I was presented with the ultimatum – marry me or I’m gone. I didn’t give her the reaction she was looking for and so she said that was that.”
I’m there, “So are you saying she was, like, knocked up at that point?”
Sorcha goes, “Oh my God, Ross!” because I’d have more of a direct style than her?
I’m like, “Hey, I’m entitled to ask the question.”
Conor goes, “A few weeks later, I had a letter from her. She said she was pregnant. She said, ‘You will never, ever get to meet your child.’ Of course, I didn’t know whether or not to believe her. She was capable of saying or doing anything. I considered her to be quite mad. And at that time, I was just relieved that she was out of my life.”
I’m there, “So, like, was it true?”
He goes, “About 10 years ago, I received a letter from a chap in America, who’d been given up for adoption as a baby and had hired a private investigator to try to trace his birth father. He asked me to take a DNA test. And, yes, it turned out that he was in fact my son.”
Sorcha puts her hand on top of mine and goes, “Oh my God! Oh! My actual? God!”
I’m there, “So it was a dude? I have, like, a brother?”
“Yes,” he goes, “you have a brother. Well, half-brother. I am most certainly not your father.”
If that’s a dig at me, I choose to ignore it.
Sorcha’s like, “So what’s his name, Conor?”
And he’s there, “His name is Brett.”
I’m like, “Brett? And whereabouts in the States can I find him?”
He goes, “I don’t wish to say at this point.”
“Suit yourself,” I go, standing up. “I’ll just hire a private investigator myself. There can’t be that many Bretts in the States.”
Sorcha’s there, “Sit down, Ross,” which is what I then do.
Conor goes, “I can’t give you his details. I mean, it wouldn’t be fair.”
Sorcha’s like, “Conor, Ross is entitled to know his brother.”
The dude goes, “I understand that. But I can’t share his details with you without checking with him first.”
I’m there, “Well, send him a text there.”
He goes, “I can’t do that. Not with you sitting there. I shall contact him by letter–”
I’m like, “Letter? The fock is this – the 17th century?”
He’s there, “And I shall ask him if he wishes to have contact with you.”
[ ‘You’re both loved and feared, Honor – and I’m so proud’Opens in new window ]
I’m like, “Er, why wouldn’t he wish to have contact with me?” and I feel like nearly decking the dude.
He’s there, “Perhaps he doesn’t want to go disinterring the past.”
I’m like, “Hey, like Sorcha said, he’s my flesh and blood.”
He goes, “One thing I would say to you is that Brett is very content in his life right now. The last thing he needs is someone going over there and turning everything upside-down. Do you understand me?”
I’m there, “Whatever.”
But Sorcha goes, “Yes, Conor, we fully, fully appreciate what you’re saying.”
He’s like, “Like I said, I shall write to him this evening.”
I’m there, “Write to him – fock’s sake.”
“And now,” he goes, “if you don’t mind – and please don’t take this personally – I would like the two of you to leave.”
