‘Ross, do you remember I told you I would break up your marriage even if it was my last act in this life?’

Sorcha’s old pair are here. Yeah, no, Honor brings the news to me while I’m doing my morning sit-ups. As you probably know, they’re not exactly fans of what I would call my whole act?

“God, I hate them,” Honor goes, because she’s such a daddy’s girl. “Do you know what I should I do? I should wait until one of them goes to hug me and then smash them over the head with the wok.”

She’s so sweet.

“Or push them down the stairs into the basement,” she goes. “I’ll just say that I saw that ad, then the two of them came at me with their big, non-consensual arms outstretched, so I had no choice but to kill them both where they stood.”

I’m like, “Honor, I actually feel sorry for people who don’t get you. Here, are you still counting, by the way?” because – yeah, no – she’s spotting me this morning.

She’s like, “Yeah, you’re at 30.”

I’m there, “Thirty?”

“Are you deaf or are you just stupid of hearing?”

“All I’m saying is it definitely felt like more. Are you counting backwards from 100 or are you counting–?”

“Forwards from one.”

I’m there, “Right, well, either way, I think that’s enough for the morning,” as I climb to my feet. “I wonder what they want anyway. Hey, didn’t he have his NCT this morning? His shitty little Daihatsu whatever-the-fock.”

She cracks up laughing. She loves when I have a pop at that 06-WW bucket of rust, so I go on saying more things.

I’m there, “I hope it failed. Actually, no, I hope it passed and he has to go on driving it. I mean, 06 – that’s, like, literally the last century, isn’t it?”

She goes, “Not quite, Dad,” because the girl has brains to burn. “Anyway, it did fail. Well, I think it failed? Judging from the atmosphere in the kitchen.”

I’m like, “Misery. The focking usual.”

Honor laughs, then she goes, “Oh! My! God! Do you know what would be so funny?”

I’m like, “Go on, this’ll be good,” because I’m her number one supporter.

She goes, “If the two of us walked into the kitchen singing Time To Say Goodbye!”

I end up laughing. Zero choice in the matter.

She goes, “You be Andrea Bocelli and I’ll be Sarah Brightman. It’ll be hilarious.”

I’m there, “Will it?” because she has a better feel than me for these things.

She’s like, “Do you want me to teach you the words?”

I’m there, “Weirdly, I actually know the words? Me and the goys always sing it at the Italian fans once the Bonus Try has been secured.”

So – yeah, no – that’s what we end up doing. We tip downstairs and we stand in the hallway while, in my head, I run through the handful of random words that I know and try to put them in the right order so that I can just blurt them out the second I walk through that door. Memories of the Irish Oral come flooding back.

Honor wasn’t wrong about the atmos in the kitchen. Sorcha’s old pair are just staring at the floor and Sorcha’s got, like, tears streaming down her face. She gets very sentimental about things like that. I seem to remember her crying when the bank took his BMW X5 back in the early days of the crash.

I launch straight into the song, with a big smirk on my face, going, “Time to say goodbye, Il Duce, Belushi, linguini, bellini …”

And I realise very suddenly that I’m singing solo here. Yeah, no, Honor is just staring at me with a look of, like, horror on her face – as are the other three, by the way, except theirs is, like, genuine?

“What the fock is the matter with you?” Sorcha goes.

I’m there, “Come on, Sorcha, its time is up. I was half-expecting the thing to just pack in on the Stillorgan dualler one day.”

And that’s when Sorcha says it. She goes, “Ross, my dad has to have open hort surgery,” and then she turns around to Honor and she’s like, “Did you not tell him?”

Honor’s like, “I did. I’m just wondering is he in, like, shock?”

I give the girl an absolute filthy. When I think of the number of child psychologists I’ve defended her to over the years.

Sorcha’s old dear goes, “He’s a disgusting animal,” referring to me by the way?

Sorcha goes, “He needs a new mitral valve, Ross.”

And I’m like, “Right,” not even daring to ask whether we’ve moved on to the subject of the NCT. I try to keep my response vague. “Well, if it buys him another 12 months –”

Sorcha’s old man speaks for the first time. He goes, “Ross, can I have a word with you outside?” and he nods at the back door.

I’m like, “Er, why don’t you and Mrs Lalor give Honor a hug first?” and I’m nodding at the wok hanging from the overhead pot rack, offering the girl a chance to redeem herself.

“It won’t take more than a minute,” the dude goes and I end up having no choice but to follow him outside.

He goes, “Do you remember the time I told you that I would break up your marriage even if it was my last act in this life?”

I’m there, “Dude, it was in your Father of the Bride speech. There’s not many who’ll forget it, in fairness to you.”

He’s like, “Well, when I was sitting with my cordiologist, receiving the bad news, my only thought was that I could die at any moment and my daughter would still be married … to him.”

I’m there, “If it’s any consolation, I’m as surprised as you that she keeps taking me back.”

He goes, “So I’ve decided to renew the vow I made that day. If I make it through this surgery–”

I’m like, “You’ve tried everything. The girl is crazy about me. I’m tempted to use the word addicted.”

“– I’m going to kill you,” he goes.

I’m like, “Excuse me?” thinking I possibly misheard him?

“I’m going to kill you,” he goes. “And when I do, I’ll be too old and too ill to ever go to jail.”

Then he laughs like a lunatic.

I’m there, “Can I just remind you that your wife is a minister for the Eucharist?”

“And maybe I’ll end up in hell,” he goes. “But at least I’ll have the consolation of seeing your face when I get there.”