As soon as I sit at the dinner table at my parents’ house, I can already sense the piss-taking that is about to descend over me. Ian and Ryan are sitting across from each other, exchanging glances and stifling laughs. I know that their irritating little titters are directed at me.
I ignore them, concentrating instead on the meal in front of me, vaguely listening to everyone’s chatting – mainly centred around the family’s new arrival. The only woman I can love wholeheartedly, who I’ll keep loving for the rest of my life. Every so often, I glance at her, just as everyone else keeps doing; but she’s already worked out that, to survive the O’Connors, you have to pretend to be asleep to avoid everyone else’s bullshit.
“So, Nick…This new…job?” Ian says, barely holding in his laughter.
Speaking of bullshit: now it’s my turn. I keep eating, slowly chewing my meat. “I was giving Jamie a hand.”
“So what do you have to do?” he presses, curious, as Ryan stops eating and leans back in his chair, contemplating his next move.
“I’m helping the kids.”
“Oh,” Mum exclaims, confused.
“It’s the UCD centre’s summer camp.”
My father’s fork hangs in mid-air. “You? Working with kids?” he pipes up too. I guess, deep down, those two dickheads do have his DNA. Well, kind of.
“What do you have to do?” he asks, but I can sense the laughter in his tone, which only spurs on my idiot brothers.
“Jamie’s running the summer camp this year and he asked me to be his vice. We’re teaching the kids how to play.”
My father clears his voice. “Teaching kids.”
“That’s what I said.”
“Hmm.”
“What?” I ask, annoyed.
“Nothing.”
“Go on, say it.”
“Your dad isn’t saying anything, Nick, don’t get wound up. He’s just surprised, like I am.”
“Why are you all so surprised?”
“It’s just…strange.”
I cross my arms and wait, but Mum has no intention of expanding.
“Well, I think it’s a step in the right direction,” Ryan says, clearly trying to shove this even further down my throat. “You’re making a career for yourself.”
“Go fuck yourself.”
“Here we go,” Chris says, rolling her eyes.
“Rugby player, model, coach…What are they going to make you do next? Water boy?”
“Coaching isn’t that bad – and it’s still rugby, right?” Riley tries to jump in to my rescue, but she hasn’t realised yet that when you step out onto the field with the O’Connors, it’s a fight to the death. A massacre, with no prisoners.
“It’s just for two weeks,” I try to clear up. “And it’s actually not so bad.”
“Of course, Nick. I think it’s nice,” Mum comments.
“You could always learn something,” Dad adds.
“I’m actually there to teach.”
