The old dear smiles at me – a smile of pure, pure evil. ‘Isn’t it wonderful?’ she goes. ‘It looks like you’re going to be getting a little brother or sister after all!’
6.
A New and Exciting Interior Make-Over!
Sorcha is on the phone, inquiring about hiring – I shit you not – a bouncy castle. She wouldn’t dream of doing that if Honor was still here. ‘While the cat’s away,’ I go. ‘It’s a definite case of that.’
She covers the mouthpiece. She’s there, ‘What was that, Ross?’
I’m like, ‘Nothing. Carry on ordering your bouncy castle there.’
‘It’s fine. They’ve put me on hold.’
‘I’m just saying, I can’t imagine they’re going to be too happy around here when they see that monstrosity going up in the gorden. Not a good look for the Vico Road, Sorcha. Not a good look.’
‘Which is why I called around to all the neighbours to tell them that my son was being christened this weekend and we were having a porty in the house afterwards with about twenty children there.’
This is Sorcha’s way of trying to make up for having to cancel the big Confirmation bash. She’s – what’s the phrase? – over-compensating?
‘And they’ve no issues with us having a bouncy castle?’ I go. ‘Even though they’re very WC?’
She’s like, ‘I grew up on this road, Ross. They’re not the snobs that you think they are around here.’
She goes back to talking to whoever’s on the other end of the phone then. She’s like, ‘Yes, ten o’clock in the morning would be perfect for delivery. And do you think you could deflate it for us before eight o’clock in the evening? It’s just a rule that the residents association has around here … Oh, that’s great. Thank you so much.’
Then she hangs up. I look out the window of the kitchen. Fionn is out in the gorden with Sorcha’s old man – the two of them thick as thieves, talking about fock knows what. Sorcha’s old dear is holding Hillary and pointing out the names of various trees to him – yeah, like he’s going to remember them!
Actually, he probably will remember them.
I’m there, ‘I’d say they’re already doing their nut around here about us having that Shomera out there. Focking eyesore of a thing.’
Sorcha goes, ‘She’s having the time of her life in Australia, Ross.’
‘How do we know that?’
‘I’ve been talking to Erika. On WhatsApp.’
Honor’s been gone, like, two weeks now and I haven’t heard a word from her, aport from a text to say that she’d landed safely; then, a week later, an email saying she was an important social media influencer with over 100,000 followers and if I didn’t send her free beauty products she would absolutely rip me aport on her YouTube channel; then, ten minutes later, another email saying sorry, that last email was meant for Ross at Estée Lauder and not me.
Other than that, it’s been basically radio silence. I’ve phoned her and I’ve texted her I don’t know how many times. I spent the whole afternoon yesterday WhatsApping her photos that I found online of celebrities without their make-up. Perrie Edwards was the funniest – walking back from the shops with a corton of milk and a box of Frosties. That girl would frighten flies off a focking corpse. But nothing back. Not even a smiley face or a ‘lol’.
‘Erika said Honor has fallen in love with horse-riding!’ Sorcha goes.
I’m there, ‘Honor hated horses. Do you remember the time she got us focked out of the RDS? I loved that day.’
‘Well, she apparently doesn’t hate them now. Erika says she’s a real natural with them. They go horse-riding in the morning. Then they have lunch out somewhere and they go shopping in the afternoon. Then, in the evening, Erika is showing her how to put a proper business plan in place for her YouTube channel with a view to, like, monetizing it? It’s exactly what Honor needs, Ross – discipline and structure.’
‘Did she say if she got the picture I sent her of Perrie Edwards? The focking state of her.’
‘She didn’t say.’
‘The odd text back would be nice. That’s all I’m saying.’
‘You have other children, remember?’
Yeah, no, I can hear them upstairs, absolutely killing each other.
I’m there, ‘Yeah, they’re no focking good.’
‘Did you just describe your children as –’
‘I’m sick of them, Sorcha. I can’t even bring them out any more because we’ve been borred from everywhere.’
‘What about Tayto Pork?’
‘Yes, Sorcha – even Tayto Pork.’
‘Well, you can’t sit around the house moping all day. By the way, aren’t you supposed to be meeting Ronan for coffee?’
‘Yeah, no, he rang me about an hour ago and asked did I fancy meeting him and Huguette in the Orts Café. He’s absolutely convinced that if I spend enough time around the girl that we’re going to suddenly hit it off.’
Sorcha goes, ‘Ronan seems really keen on her. I hear she’s President of the UCD Students’ Union!’
I’m there, ‘She’s a pain in the hole, Sorcha – she’s a human tut.’
‘What does that mean?’
‘She thinks eating spaghetti is racist. But she thinks not eating spaghetti is even more racist?’
‘Well, I can see her point.’
‘She actually reminds me of someone, but I can’t put my finger on who it actually is.’
The back door suddenly opens and in they walk – Fionn, holding Hillary, followed by Sorcha’s old pair.
Fionn’s going, ‘Yeah, they say that dancing is a good way for a father to bond with his infant son or daughter. So I’m taking Hillary to our first Daddy Dance Porty in the Town Hall in Dalkey tonight.’
I can’t believe my wife thought it was a good idea to let this man ride her.
Sorcha’s old man glowers at me. ‘Have you got something to say?’ he goes.
I’m like, ‘No.’
‘You muttered something under your breath there.’
‘I meant to say it in my head.’
He laughs, then goes, ‘Oh, he’s a lot less cocky now, isn’t he? Now that he hasn’t got his little friend here to fight his battles for him!’
I end up having to get out of there before I say something I regret. I turn to Sorcha and I’m there, ‘I’m going to go and meet Ro.’
My eldest son is one seriously, seriously smitten kitten. He’s sitting in the Orts Café with the famous Huguette and a big, dumb smile on his face. She’s smiling as well, something I haven’t seen her do in the, I don’t know, two or three times I’ve met her.
I pull out a chair and I sit down with them. I’m there, ‘How the hell are you?’ deciding to make the effort, if even just for Ronan’s sake.
Her smile disappears straight away.
Ro goes, ‘We’re great, Rosser. We’re cedebraton, so we are.’
I’m like, ‘Celebrating?’ suddenly worried in case it’s another engagement. I look at Huguette’s left hand. No diamond to be seen. Thank fock.
‘Thee’ve put sushi back on the medu,’ Ronan goes, ‘in the main resterdoddent.’
Back on the menu? Where it was three weeks ago? Before she stuck her focking hooter in? Still, like I said, it’s nice to be nice. I’m there, ‘That’s, er, great news.’
‘Spaghetti as well,’ Ronan goes. ‘They’re calden them Foods of the Wurdled, Rosser.’
I’m like, ‘Foods of the Wurdled? You’d have to say fair focks, wouldn’t you?’
But Huguette goes, ‘I don’t think they deserve praise for abandoning their policy of what was essentially culinary aportheid. Because that’s what it is when you push the cultural agenda of a single social or ethnic group to the exclusion of all others.’
‘A focking disgrace,’ I go. ‘I’m totally agreeing with you.’
Ronan’s like, ‘What’ll you hab, Rosser?’
And I’m there, ‘Yeah, no, I’ll just have a coffee.’
He
goes, ‘Amedicado?’
I’m like, ‘An Americano, yeah,’ and then of course I can’t resist the temptation to go, ‘That’s as long as it’s not racist to drink coffee! It’s not racist to drink coffee, is it, Huguette?’
She gives me a filthy. She’s a girl who seriously needs to learn to laugh at herself. Ronan goes up to the counter to order and there ends up being that awkward moment when you’re left sitting with someone you don’t really know and you have literally fock-all to say to each other.
I’m like, ‘This place used to be called Hilpers,’ because I wouldn’t be a big fan of silence. ‘I spent a lot of time in here back in the day … Hilpers. It’s one of those words that sounds more and more random the more times you say it … Hilpers … Hilpers … Hil-pers … Hil-pers …’
She goes, ‘Ronan’s slept with a lot of girls, hasn’t he?’
And I’m like, ‘Excuse me?’ because it comes, like, totally out of the blue?
She’s there, ‘We had a conversation the other night – about how many people we’d both slept with. He said he’d had sex with about forty women.’
I’m thinking, For fock’s sake, Ro! You never give a girl your stats.
She goes, ‘Forty just seemed like a lot for someone who’s only just turned twenty.’
I’m there, ‘You’re very hung up on numbers, aren’t you?’
‘I’m just saying I was surprised. But then I was talking to my aunt – as in, my mom’s sister – last night and it turns out that she knows you.’
Shit. I hate conversations that go this way. This city is littered with the unexploded mines of my past romantic misadventures.
I’m there, ‘So who’s your aunt? Not that I’m worried.’
And she goes, ‘Croía Ní Chathasaigh?’
I end up just laughing in her face. I’m there, ‘That’s who you remind me of! Oh my God, it’s been focking killing me!’
Okay, bit of background here. Croía Ní Chathasaigh was a friend of Sorcha’s from her time in UCD – we’re talking Vice-Captain of the Irish Debating Team, auditor of the LGBT Society and one of the Rossmeister General’s horshest critics. Yeah, no, the girl hated my guts – and she fell out with Sorcha after performing a failed intervention to try to stop her from marrying me.
Anyway, she reappeared in our lives last year and Sorcha appointed her as one of her Special Advisers in the Seanad. Possibly the most special piece of advice that Croía gave her was that she should lead a campaign to have the name of Grafton Street changed to Markievicz Street. It got passed as well, but lasted only a few weeks until the traders refused to pay their rates and Dublin City Council saw sense and switched it back. It didn’t end well between Croía and Sorcha.
But – yeah, no – I can see the physical resemblance now, especially the anger. And the underbite.
I’m like, ‘You’re so like her – do you know that?’
She’s there, ‘I’ll take that as a compliment.’
‘Don’t,’ I go. ‘I’m saying she’s zero craic – like you.’
‘Well, she had a few things to say about you as well.’
‘Oh, I’m sure she did. She’s a bit of a role model to you, is she?’
‘She’s actually my godmother.’
‘Yeah, no, it’s all beginning to make total sense. I can see why you’d think spaghetti was racist now. She was full of shit as well. Still is, I’d imagine.’
Ronan arrives back with the coffees then. He goes, ‘Look at you two, getting on great, what? Hee-or, Huguette, did you tell Rosser that your addenty knows him?’
I’m like, ‘Yeah, no, she did – and I can see the definite similarities, Ro.’
‘Small wurdled, idn’t it?’
‘It certainly is a small world.’
I sip my coffee and Ronan sips his. Huguette just sits there and lets hers go cold. Ronan asks me if I’ve heard from Honor and I tell him no, but Erika told Sorcha that she’s having the time of her life, which I’m doubtful about because it sounds like it’s mostly just horse-riding, which is obviously boring, and shopping, which she could just as easily do in Dundrum.
Then he asks after Sorcha and I tell him about the christening this weekend and the bouncy castle coming to the Vico Road. And all the time I can feel this girl staring at me – yeah, no – hating me?
All of a sudden I hear my name called from the other side of the Orts Café. It’s like, ‘Ross! O’Carroll! Kelly!’ and I look up to see another face from my distant past. It ends up being Phinneas McPhee, a dude who was on the same – hilariously – Sports and Exercise Management course as me back in the day. He went to Michael’s but he was still sound.
I stand up. I’m like, ‘Phinneas! McFocking! Phee! How the hell are you?’
We high-five. We chest-bump. We hug and tap out. Yeah, no, it’s just like old times.
He goes, ‘How long has it been?’
And I’m there, ‘It must be, what, sixteen or seventeen years?’
‘It must be. So what are you doing with yourself these days?’
‘Literally fock-all, I’m proud to say. What about you? Jesus, you’re not still repeating, are you?’
He laughs. He’s there, ‘No, I’m actually lecturing here now. Strategy and Operations Management in Sport.’
I’m there, ‘Jesus Christ, is that an actual thing?’
‘Yes, it’s an actual thing.’
‘It does sound like an actual thing, in fairness to you.’
I make the introductions.
I’m like, ‘Ronan, this is a goy I was in college with – we’re talking Phinneas McPhee. One of the best second rows I’ve ever shared a pitch with and I’m saying that as someone who played against Devin Toner in a Castlerock Legends v Castleknock Legends match in aid of the IRFU Charitable Trust. Phinneas, this is my son, Ronan. And this is his friend – em, sorry, I’ve forgotten your name.’
She ends up being seriously focked off by that. She goes, ‘It’s Huguette.’
And Phinneas is like, ‘Huguette?’ and then he laughs as the penny drops. ‘Ah, you’re the sushi girl!’
And I end up having to laugh then?
I’m like, ‘The sushi girl! There you are, Huguette – that’s what people think of you around here now!’
Phinneas turns to Ronan and goes, ‘Your father was some player. I still can’t understand how he didn’t go on to do something in the game.’
I’m there, ‘Listen to the man, Ronan! Yeah, no, my son sometimes thinks I’m exaggerating when I tell him how much talent I had but unfortunately pissed away.’
Phinneas goes, ‘Do you play rugby yourself, Ronan?’
Ro’s like, ‘I did when I was a young fedda. I geb it up, but. I play the odd birra Gah now.’
‘Ah, for UCD?’
‘Nah, joost for the local club – nee-or where I lib.’
‘And where do you live?’
‘Figglas.’
‘Finglas? So your club must be –’
‘Edin’s Oiled.’
I’m there, ‘He’s trying to say Erin’s Isle. You sometimes have to listen very closely.’
‘Yeah, no, the only reason I asked,’ Phinneas goes, ‘is because I played a little bit of football with Naomh Mearnóg. We actually had some cracking battles with Erin’s Isle. They’ve got a good set-up out there. Anyway, I better go. I’m supposed to be giving a lecture in fifteen minutes.’
A lecture? Hilarious.
He’s there, ‘Great to see you again, Ross.’
And I’m like, ‘Yeah, you as well, Phinneas,’ even though I’m a little bit disappointed to hear that he’s been playing Gaelic football.
‘The sushi girl,’ I go, chuckling to myself. ‘I’d have given him a round of applause for that – except clapping is obviously banned!’
Ro’s there, ‘Rosser, leab it, will you?’
Huguette just stares at the back of Phinneas’s head as he walks out of the café. And under her breath, I’m pretty sure I hear her go, ‘He’s going t
o focking regret that!’
Sorcha’s old man loves being the centre of the attention. He goes, ‘My daughter – the good Senator – has very kindly invited me to say a few words to formally welcome our grandson into the Catholic community and also into the Lalor family. Hillary Pius Flannan de Barra has been a wonderful, if unexpected, addition to our family. In his short time with us, I think it’s fair to say, he has enriched all of our lives in a whole multitude of different ways …’
Jesus Christ, you’re supposed to be toasting the kid, I think, not proposing him for membership of Milltown Golf Club.
I feel a hand on my shoulder then. I turn around and it ends up being JP. I haven’t set eyes on the dude since the night he was on the Late Late.
He goes, ‘Hey, Ross, sorry I’m late.’
I’m there, ‘Don’t apologize to me,’ because I skipped the – as Sorcha calls it – churchy-churchy bit myself.
‘I’ve a got a gift here,’ he goes, holding up – like he said – a present. ‘I, em, probably should give it to Fionn, should I?’
Given that he’s the father and that the kid has fock-all to do with me, yeah, maybe you should. I manage to say all of that with just a look.
Then I’m there, ‘I saw you on the Late Late. I just wanted you to know that I saw Tubs in The Butler’s Pantry in Monkstown the other day. I pretended to hold the door for him, then at the last minute I slammed it in his face. He dropped a Gateau Lawrence, you’ll be happy to hear!’
He goes, ‘What? Why?’
‘Er, because he stitched you up?’
‘I thought the interview went well.’
‘Yeah, no, that wasn’t the consensus in Kielys. Most people thought he made you look like a complete tit.’
‘Ross, I expected people to laugh. People laughed at the idea of lightbulbs.’
‘Did they, though? I mean, you keep saying shit like that but did they actually?’
‘Yes, they did. I actually had quite a few inquiries about the bed after the Late Late. Although most of them turned out to be people just ripping the piss. I’m pretty sure one of them was Simon Zebo.’
Focking Zebo. I mean, I love him like a brother, but, at the same time, he can be one sick fock.
Schmidt Happens Page 21