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big party, going from pub to pub, all looking for love.” He sighs. “If I were single again, it’s where I’d be goin’.”
    Aunty Ger throws a toad testicle at her husband’s head. “Watch it there, Casanova. I’ve got ears on over here.”
    Uncle Miley ducks as the ball bounces off his shoulder and lands in Erin’s dad’s pint glass.
    We all watch as it sinks to the bottom and then floats up to the top.
    “Huh. Whatddya know?” says Aunt Ger. “Toad testicles float.”
    I have to hold my legs together with all my might to keep from pissing my pants.

CHAPTER FIVE
    ERIN

    WINDING THE SNAKING SHOWER HEAD back between my legs, I try to regain my balance. How did I ever live like this? This thought crosses my mind not for the first time over the weekend. There is no shower to speak of in the family bathroom, just a stubborn shower head that insists on twisting its coiled hose round to drench you, no matter at what angle you stand. I say ‘family’ bathroom, but really it’s just for me; Mum and Dad have what was known as an ensuite when they bought the house way back when. They’ve had a power-shower recently installed, but the ensuite was always off limits to me.
    “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!” I scream in frustration.
    “You okay in there?” It’s Ridlee at the door.
    “No.” I sound like a petulant child.
    She comes in and stops to take in the ridiculous sight of me, shower head coiled around my legs and water spraying my eyes, desperately trying not to lose my balance and hit my head on the side of the pink porcelain bath. I have already put the shampoo in and now it’s stinging my eyes.
    “Turn it off Rid, please.” I feel her lean in and then the water goes icy cold. “Arggghhhhhhh! Ridleeeee! What the fuck?”
    I try to cover my face with my hands, dropping the shower head. It snaps and weaves like a live wire, sending freezing cold water everywhere. Frantically, Ridlee twists the tap back in the other direction until she manages to shut the water off.
    “Oops.” She doesn’t dare laugh, but I can see that it’s costing her not to.  
    I have a mega ice-cream headache. “What the hell, Ridlee? Did you do that on purpose?” I reach for something to wipe my eyes.  
    “No, I swear I didn’t.” Ridlee passes me a minuscule facecloth.  
    “Cheers,” I say, standing in the bath, starkers, dripping with freezing cold water and sarcasm.  
    Opening my eyes, I find my friend looking much better than she has all weekend. She hadn’t faired well with the corned crubeens and tripe that Mum had prepared for our first meal, ‘to give Ridlee a taste of traditional Irish fare.’ It was the first time that crubeens had been served at our table, though I did suffer tripe as a kid on more than one occasion.  
    “Everything but the grunt,” declared my father tucking into one of his crubeens.
    Mum passed a plate to Ridlee with a huge grin on her face.
    It was obvious that my friend, whose idea of adventurous cuisine is a new type of salad dressing, was trying hard to hide her horror when presented with a full set of pig’s trotters and a good portion of its stomach. She gamely picked up her knife and fork as Mum and Dad watched her out of the corners of their eyes, and taking the tiniest bite of tripe, enthused, “Yummy, Mrs. O’Neill. Go raibh maith agat .”
    Mum almost burst with joy. “ Tá fáilte romhat, Ridlee. You’re very welcome indeed.”
    “Ridlee, darlin’, you are welcome in this house anytime,” boomed my father.
    I told her that she didn’t really have to eat it, but she’s going through a phase where she’s determined to experience everything. Unfortunately, Ridlee then spent last night dry-retching into one of my mum’s old saucepans. It was not a pretty sight. Uncle Miley says that she must have had a bad pint.
    So, that being what it is, I don’t want to be too hard on her over the shower head — she’s been through enough.
    “So what’s the plan,