So this is what they call a bookies.

He's down the back of the shop, with one of those little pens tucked behind his ear, concentrating really hord on what's known as the form page in The Stor.

I'm like, "Hey, Ronan, " and without even looking up at me he goes, "Make it quick. I've a few bob on the 2.20 at Folkestonef" I'm like, "Er, I just wanted to have a little chat with you, Ro, " and I look around and I'm thinking, I can't believe I'm about to do this in here.

I'm there, "This is going to be difficult for you to hear, on account of the fact that really like her butf" "I already know, " he goes.

I'm like, "Know? As inf" and he's there, "You and Sorcha . . . Roy Orbisonf" I'm like, "Roy Orbison?"

And he's there, "It's over."

Of course, I'm in shock. It's like, bad news travels fast.

"I rang the gaff, " he goes. "To find out what the story was for Easter . . . was I invited out to yours. See me little sisterf" I'm there, "Look, adult relationships can be pretty complicated, Ro. See, when a birdf" Without batting an eyelid, he goes, "You were caught burying the baldy lad, weren't you?"

I can't lie to him. I look away and just nod. Then I'm there, "Sorcha told you, I take itf" He's like, "No . . . you just did.

Sorcha never breathed a word."

"Too much pride, " I go.

"No, " he goes. "Too much class, " and he suddenly steps past me and storts heading for the door, suddenly not giving a fock about the race.

I'm like, "Ronan, come back, " but he doesn't, roysh. Instead, he walks a few paces, then turns around and goes, "You fooked it up, Rosser!" and I notice he's crying.

I realise it's the first time I've ever seen my son cry.

"You fooked it up and now I'm not going to see Sorcha or me sister ever againf" I try to run after him, roysh, to tell him he's wrong, that Sorcha and Honor will always be port of his life, whether me and Sorcha are, like, together or not, but he's too fast for me.

He totally burns me over, like, fifty metres and afterwards, roysh, I'm there trying to catch my breath, thinking, if Eddie O'Sullivan could see me now, I could kiss goodbye to whatever chance I have of making the squad for Argentina.

It's just as I'm thinking this, roysh, that a Lexus LS 460 skids to a sudden stop beside me. The window goes down and I can see that it's Hennessy.

"Ross, I need to talk to you, " he goes.

I'm there, "Is it the old man?

Has something happened?"

thinking, I could have a few squids coming to me here.

He goes, "Charles is fine, Ross.

Well, in the physical sense. Look, get in, " and I climb into the front passenger seat.

"Ross, " he goes, "I've got bad news for you. A lot of bad news. I hope you're big enough to take it. . ."

I'm there, "Well, my wife has focked me out. My BMW Z4 has been repossessed. My son hates my actual guts. My old dear is writing pornographic books and banging her agent. And Leinster are out of the European Cup.

How much worse could it get?"

"Sorcha's solicitor has been on, " he goes.

"She wants to make the separation formal, pending the initiation of divorce proceedingsf" I'm like, "Divorce?" and I swear to God, roysh, it's like every bit of energy has suddenly been sucked from my body.

"Divorce? Fock, it's only a few weeks. I didn't think it was going to get this heavy so soonf" Hennessy reaches inside his jacket and whips out this massive cigor. He runs his nose along the length of it, then storts patting his pockets for his lighter.

"Look, " he goes, "are you sure this thing is beyond rescuing, because, from what I hear, you're not without your charms. Why not go up there tonight and give it to her . . . ham and eggs, baby, coming at you!"

I'm like, "Something tells me this one's going to take a lot more than the usual f" He nods. He's about to light the cigor but then he stops and goes, "You've got to understand, Ross, that in any divorce, she's getting custody of that kid . . . whatever she's called . . . and she's getting the housef" I'm there, "It's Honor."

He's like, "Whatever. If you think there's even the slightest chance of you could go up there, pull the old one-eyed pant python on her . . . yeah, baby . . . you do it.

This is me talking to you now, been your old man's solicitor for thirty years . . . you don't do it, it'll be the most expensive ride you never hadf" I'm there, "I'll think about itf" He's like, "Think about this, too. There's a hundred grand missing from your current account and Sorcha's people, they're obviously curious as to its whereaboutsf" I'm like, "Yeah, I, erf Well, I bought a couple of aportments.

In Bulgaria."

For a few seconds, he's in, like, total shock.

I go, "It's in Eastern Europef" and he's there, "I know where Bulgaria is, Ross. You're telling me you invested your joint life savings in overseas propertyf without telling your wife?"

I don't know why, roysh, but I end up going, "Sorry."

"Sorry?" he goes. "You don't know sorry yet. You know that 750Ks you got . . . your stake in Lillies? Well, you don't. I mean, you don't got it no more. It was in your dad's name. CAB have taken it. Well, them and the Revenue."

My hort is suddenly pumping like a souped-up focking Punto.

I'm like, "Are you shitting me?

That's all the money I've got in the worldf" Of course Hennessy doesn't give an actual fock?

He goes, "I told you. Your father settled. He's given them everything. Your mother will get to keep the house. Not that she needs it . . . she's financially well off in her own right now . . . but everything elsef" I'm like, "What do you mean by everything, " and he goes, "I mean the money, the cars, the boat, the golf club membership, the apartments in Villamoura, the box at Leopardstownf It's sure to knock some time off his sentence, though I'm not convinced that's why he did it. I think he just wanted to make a clean breast of things. Changed man since he went insidef" He holds the cigor out in front of him and goes, "The only thing he asked for were these babies . . .

twenty pre-embargo Cubans.

Worth a grand a pop . . . can you believe that? He told me I could have one. Said to offer you one toof" He can shove his focking cigors up his orse.

"You want a lift to your mother's?" he goes.

A lift to my mother's . . . five words that sum up what's become of my life.

On the way back to Foxrock, I say only one thing. I go, "What am I going to do for, like, money?"

Hennessy's there, "Might sound a touch old-fashioned, but have you considered working?"

I sink back into the seat and go, "Fock . . . are things really that bad?"