Over at the B&B, which Evan only visits when he wants to whinge endlessly about Fia, he’s, well, whingeing endlessly about Fia. Máire is today’s unfortunate audience, and his complaint is a two-headed snake involving a) how irresponsible Fia is and b) how it’s all very inconvenient and upsetting to him. Fia and her hangover lurch into the kitchen, which is Evan’s cue to be loud and snotty, and while I’m sure dealing with her has not been easy lately, I don’t think his being a complete tool about it all the time is the best way to improve the situation. Fia ignores him for a while until she can’t take it anymore and then puts him in his place with a one-sentence verbal smackdown, but he’s too high up on his soapbox to realize what’s going on. Máire encourages Fia to go upstairs and take a nice hot shower, which we are going to hope is to sober her up rather than because she smells bad, and Evan just sits there sulking. I like Evan, but the saintly prig act he’s learned from his mother isn’t the best color on him.
Speaking of Saint Berni, she’s standing in the middle of her living room squirming, pulling faces, and making “Ewww!” noises as if she’s just seen a fist-sized spider or found Dracula’s head on the floor. It turns out, however that this is her way of expressing, “The house is untidy and I am unable to cope with it.” She announces that the place is too small for the four of them and that she’s going to have to ask Briain to move out. Well, that didn’t take long. Amusingly, Bobbi-Lee suggests they kick Evan out instead since he’s contributing nothing to the place, unlike Briain, who conveniently jogs in at this moment wearing the world’s tightest shirt and thin, translucent athletic shorts that seriously, erm, lift and separate. She looks on appreciatively as he does squats and bends and nuclear splits while apologizing to Berni about the mess and offering to wash the dishes as soon as he finishes flexing and bulging. Here’s a man who knows his audience. He thanks Berni for letting him stay there, saying he’d be out on the street without her, and I will let you imagine the manner of thing Bobbi-Lee says in response, but will advise you that whatever you picture her saying, you should then make it about 160 percent more sexual. He laments how hard it is to find work these days as he heads off to take a shower, and then Bobbi-Lee tells Berni she can’t possibly throw him and his various parts out on the street, at least until she is finished ogling them.
Back at the B&B, Fia has managed to get herself dressed and brush her hair, so we’re making definite progress. She’s hanging Liam Óg’s laundry on the drying rack, or possibly the extremely tiny compression tops she wears to the club with Adam, and Máire walks in and assures her that things look bleak now, but they will get easier. For example, Liam Óg will grow up and move away in only 17 more years, or maybe the earth will be blown up next month. We live in an age of possibilities. She continues that perhaps it would help Fia to get out and meet people, such as by attending the mother-child group in Spiddal, or working at the imaginary radio station Micheál keeps talking about. Given that the last new person she met was Pól, I think Fia may need to take a break from meeting new people right now. Máire offers to look after the baby so she can go talk to Micheál, which leads to a brief reprise of the circular argument in which Fia pretends not to see the difference between Máire watching Liam Óg for an hour while Fia pops out to the shop and Máire raising Liam Óg for a year while Fia is in another country. Potayto, potahto. She agrees to go talk to Micheál, and we’re sure she will enjoy working as Muireann’s indentured servant.
At the pub, Bobbi-Lee, Mo, and Gráinne are complaining about the bread Tadhg is serving now, which looks like desiccated cactus segments somebody drove a car over. He snaps that it’s perfectly good bread, and that a little choking to death never hurt anybody, but they all think Maggie’s homemade bread is a lot better, and he should go back to serving that. Meanwhile, at a table, Fia is overwhelmed by a complicated series of events including texts from Evan and an aggressive Post-It note, and she seems about thirty seconds away from going completely crackers.
We cut to the café, where Briain sighs to Berni that he’s looked for jobs everywhere, but nobody is hiring. You can tell he’s serious because he’s wearing, like, a tie over his football kit. He kisses her ass for a while, something Berni can never resist, and then we return to the pub, where in all the chaos, Gráinne has ended up looking after Liam Óg. She’s hesitant at first, but turns out to be a dab hand at it. Mack tells her she’ll make a great mother someday, but when he goes, she laments to herself that she’ll never know. Somebody needs to give Fia Gráinne and David’s address so she can leave Liam Óg in a basket on their doorstep. Maybe she can cram Evan in there, too.
Tadhg is trying to read his newspaper at the café when Briain interrupts to ask him to look at his CV. At the top, it says his special skills are “kicking,” “running,” and “shakin’ it.” Tadhg tells him he’s not hiring and to buzz off, so he goes over to the counter and bats his pecs at Berni for a while until she decides to hire him as a waiter, presumably in anticipation of the flood of new business she’ll be getting once her adverts start running on Radio Money Laundering. Things seem to be getting off to a fine start in that Briain is able to carry a glass of water and a basket of bread at the same time, which already makes him the most skillful food-service employee in the entire town. Maggie arrives, which reminds Tadhg that he left Bobbi-Lee choking on a piece of bread back at the pub, so he asks her if she can become his official bread supplier again. Unfortunately, she says she can’t, because her oven isn’t working properly, which may or may not be a euphemism. They exchange meaningful glances, and then Briain brings over her takeaway coffee and she leaves. You can tell he’s a trained waiter because he walks around with one arm folded behind his back and the other folded across his torso, like Manuel on Fawlty Towers.
David comes home and Gráinne tells him about being attacked by the Brigid’s cross, which they agree is shocking, because he’d followed all the instructions in the owner’s manual when he nailed it to the wall. His problem was not signing up for the extended warranty. He reminds her that St. Brigid is the patron saint of women, and is the most powerful saint after St. Patrick, and then for some reason she starts counting months on her fingers, ending with October, which is nine months. Maybe we are supposed to know exactly what’s going on here, but I’m busy worrying that Fia is across town taking off her tights for Pól, so I am only semi-paying attention.