'See, Rosser, she thinks she's me girdle friend. She keeps texting'

When Ro starts going soft on the Mounties, it’s time for some fatherly advice and a demonstration of the rugby-tackle method to deal with them

RONAN'S WATCHING a soccermatch – Manchester Something against, I don't know, one of the others – and he's making pretty light work, it has to be said, of that porkie bag and curry chips. I'd never say it to his face, but he's been piling on the old poundage since he gave up the cigarettes, and it's no surprise, either, eating like an actual plane-crash survivor.

"Oh, by the way," I go, trying to drag his attention away from the old plasma, "how are the rehearsals going? You haven't said. Seven Bridesand blah blah blah?"

“Eh, mustoord,” he just goes, “Ine enjoying it.” And then he turns back to the TV with a big red face on him.

“I bet you are!” I instantly go. “Come on, spill it. How many Mounties have you got off with so far?”

“Leave it, Rosser.”

“Hey, come on. I want the info. Even just give it to me ballpork.”

“Alreet,” he just goes, turning back to me. “One.”

I'm like, "One?" trying to, I don't know, maskmy disappointment?

“Yeah – Yasmin.”

“Oh, she’s called Yasmin? Well, that’s something at least. But what’s the deal, Ro? Presumably, they’re all into you?”

He just shrugs, like he doesn't want to actually sayit? It's called modesty, and he'll hopefully grow out of it. "Yeah," he eventually goes, all embarrassed, then I end up just punching the air – you can picture me, can't you?

“I knew it! What did I tell you? Once Bla put the word about that you were a bastard to women . . . Ro, this is incredible.”

“They’re all over me, Rosser.”

“Of course they are! Because that’s what women are basically like. They want what they’re told they can’t have. Why do you think Visa and Mastercord are forever throwing plastic at them?” I take one of his chips. “Okay, so who’s next?”

“What?”

“On the hit list. Who else do you like? Or I’ll phrase that another way: who’s the best of the rest, in terms of looks?”

He looks like he hasn't even consideredit? "Er, I suppose Filipa."

“Filipa? Jesus, even the names take me back.”

“She’s playing Dorcas.”

“Dorcas. Fantastic. So when are you going to make your move?”

"No need. Shealready asked meout, Rosser."

“What?”

“To Eddie Rocket’s. Next Friday.”

“Empty Pockets! That’s where me and actual Sorcha first got together.” I laugh. “Oh my God, it’s just like history repeating itself, if that’s the phrase.”

“I said no, but.”

“You said what?”

“Well, ’cos of Yasmin.”

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, you're not going outwith this Yasmin, are you? As in, like, boyfriend, girlfriend?"

“No. Well, I never asst her, anyhow.”

“You only, like, kissed the girl, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, then. What’s the biggie? Er, you’re a free agent?”

He looks, I don’t know, down in the dumps about something. I instantly understand when I hear what he says next. “But see, Rosser, she thinks she’s me girdle friend. She keeps texting me, man.” He waves his phone at me. “Keeps buying me fooken credit.”

“She buys you credit?”

“So’s I can always text her back.” They’re un-focking- believable – at any age.

I'm like, "Look, Ro, I've been around the track a time or two. I know you've heard a lot of the stories. Believe me, women have a million ways of getting what they want. And that's why we'vegot to be cleverer than them."

“Reet.”

“Honestly, you smile at a girl the wrong way, the next thing she’s picking out focking songs for a mix tape. Okay, I accept there’s no such thing as tapes any more, but from the sounds of it, it hasn’t made life any easier.”

“It’s heerd to tell her that I don’t want to go out with her, but.”

"But it shouldn't be. Bear in mind, Ro, that down the line, she's probably going to dump you anyway – especially with no rugby," and then I flick my thumb at the TV on the wall. "Can you honestly see three or four hundred Mounties turning up to watch you play thatshit?" And he nods, roysh, like he knows I have a point.

"But howdo I say it, Rosser? What woords?"

I’m like, “It’s like tackling someone in rugby, Ro. It’s got to be firm and it’s got to be fair. Actually, it doesn’t necessarily have to be fair, now that I think about it. I’ll tell you what,” then I stand up, roysh, and whip my phone out of my pocket. “Watch and learn.”

I get this bird Aithne's number up – long story – then I hit "dial". I hold the phone up to my ear and go, "Ro, this is what's called putting the gorbage out." She answers on, like, the second ring and I'm straight on the offensive. " Sevenmissed calls in, what, two weeks? What are you, some kind of stalker?" I wink at Ro. I suppose it's like one of those nature programmes you sometimes see, where the adult animal teaches its, I don't know, offspringby basically example?

She immediately storts muttering and stuttering. “Hello?” she goes. “We arranged to meet two Fridays ago. In Saba? I sat there for a focking hour.” I actually genuinely forgot that. “So pardon me for trying to find out was there a genuine reason or was I just stood up.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” I go, “you’ve no right to stort cross-examining me.”

“What?”

“As in, coming the heavy with the questions. We were only with each other once, bear in mind. I didn’t tell you to stort picking out church music.”

“Church music? What are you talking about?”

“I’m saying it was a use-and-abuse situation. It sounds to me like you need to get over that fact.”

“That’s not what you said the night we were together. You were the one who mentioned the relationship word.” I make the old yabbermouth sign with my free hand and roll my eyes. Ronan smiles. He’s genuinely impressed. “You were the one who said you wanted to finally settle down.”

“Hey, you heard what you wanted to hear. Look, you’re no different to any other girl – you saw something real pretty and you went for it. Good luck to you.”

“You focking . . .”

“We can all say bad words, baby.”

“ . . . dickhead.”

“Get it out of your system. Personally, I think you’d be better off just accepting it. You’ll always have the memory.”

That’s really twisting the knife. But Ro’s looking at me in, honestly, total awe.

"Memory?" she has to go then. "You think that's something I'll actually remember? Your tiny thing? Ross, it was like having a wardrobe fall on top of me with the key still in the door . . ."

I suddenly kill the call.

I’m like, “That’s another lesson for you down the line, Ro. Always hang up before the abuse storts.”

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