The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Nightdress

by Ross O'Carroll-Kelly

  He’s actually storting the engine when Lauren stands in front of the cor and makes this, like, motion to the goy to turn it off. He opens the door and goes, ‘What the fu–’ and then he’s like, ‘Lauren? Hey, Lauren, how are you?’ and Lauren’s like, ‘I’m fine, Martin,’ and he’s like, ‘Hey, I was sorry to hear about your dad. I’m sure they can’t prove anything. He’ll be out for the summer, you mark my words.’

  Lauren sort of, like, shrugs her shoulders, roysh, then goes, ‘That guy you just took a picture of… he’s a friend of mine,’ and the goy looks at me, roysh, and goes, ‘Oh, shit!’ I’m there, ‘Who hired you?’ and he looks at Lauren and goes, ‘You know I can’t divulge that,’ and I go, ‘Edmund Lalor?’ as in Sorcha’s old man. He looks at me and goes, ‘Look, it’s just another job to me. I was told to get pictures of you in, shall we say, compromising positions,’ in other words with my hand up some bird’s skirt.

  Lauren – cool as fish’s fart – goes, ‘But you’re not going to give him that film, are you, Martin? You’re going to give it to us,’ and suddenly the goy’s got a face on him like a focking poodle shitting a peach stone. He’s going, ‘Lauren, please don’t ask me to do that,’ and she goes, ‘That time you broke into that accountant’s office. You were arrested on the premises, Martin, with a torch, a crowbar and a confidential file in your hand, and it was my dad who got you off. He even got you an apology from the Gordaí. Come on, Martin, you owe me this,’ and I’m looking at the goy, roysh, and he’s, like, humming and hawing and, like, basically wrestling with his conscience and eventually, roysh, he whips out his camera, tips the film into his hand and, like, hands it to me and I just, like, crush it under one of my Dubes.

  Lauren goes, ‘Thanks, Martin,’ and the goy’s like, ‘I can tell him I decided not to take the job – conflict of interest or something,’ and then he turns to me, roysh, and he’s there, ‘This guy really hates you. Don’t know what you did, but you’d better watch your back,’ and then he gets into his cor and heads off down Dawson Street.

  I turn around to Lauren and I go, ‘Hey, thanks,’ and she looks at me and just, like, shakes her head and goes, ‘What were you doing with that girl anyway?’ and Christian’s like, ‘Lauren’s roysh, Ross. You’ve got to sort this thing out,’ and they go back into Ron Black’s, roysh, and I end up sitting down on the step outside SamSara, whipping out the old Theobald Wolfe and, like, belling Sorcha. She answers on the third ring and straight away she’s giving me the Ice Queen act. She’s like, ‘What do you want?’ It is half-eleven, I suppose. I’m there, ‘What do I want? An explanation would be nice. There was a goy in Ron Black’s tonight taking photographs of me,’ and she goes, ‘Maybe Hello! are doing a special feature on you and your latest… conquest,’ and I’m there, ‘Don’t give me that. Your old man hired a private dick to follow me around.’

  She goes, ‘My father is a family law barrister, remember? So he knows what he’s talking about. Evidence of infidelity will copperfasten my case for an annulment,’ and I’m there, ‘So it’s dirty tricks now, is it?’ and she’s like, ‘I take it you were in flagrante with some little slapper tonight, then?’ interested all of a sudden in what I’m getting up to, a sure sign that she actually still wants me.

  I go, ‘How’s Fionn?’ and she’s there, ‘Meaning?’ and I’m like, ‘Did you have a nice time in Paris? Romantic, was it?’ She goes, ‘HELLO? We didn’t go to Paris, Ross, I went to Paris. Fionn went to the Ardennes, if you must know. He’s still there. He’s doing his PhD on Arthur Rimbaud, if you must know,’ like I’m supposed to know who the fock that is.

  She goes, ‘You hurt me, Ross,’ and she just, like, bursts into tears and I don’t know what it is, roysh, but I suddenly stort talking, I don’t know, straight from the hort. I’m like, ‘I know you’re basically hurting, Babes. And I know it’s going to be pretty much impossible to put what we had back together. But do you think we could try?’ and I swear to God, roysh, the girl’s weakening, because she goes, ‘I miss you, Ross,’ but then, roysh, for no reason she suddenly storts losing it, going, ‘You ruined my life. You ruined the happiest day of my life. Do you know what people are calling me?’ and I’m like, ‘Whoa, one mood at a time, Babes,’ and then I hear her old dear in the background going, ‘Hang up, Sorcha. I told you not to speak to him. Hang up!’ but before she does, roysh, she goes, ‘They’re calling me Britney, Ross. Her wedding was a joke, too. But at least she made it beyond the reception.’

  The old Jack and Jill is proving to be a bit of an issue with the management of the hotel, roysh, we’re talking four measly Ks and they’re, like, on to me practically every day, roysh, giving it, ‘Your credit card won’t swipe, Sir,’ and of course I’m there, ‘No shit, Sherlock,’ because the thing is maxed to the focking gills. But Friday night, roysh, one of the birds at reception – a ringer for Keira Knightley, except taller – she phones the room and tells me that the management are offering me an ultimatum, roysh, and of course I, like, misheard her and thought I was getting, like, a massage or some shit.

  I end up going, ‘So, do you come to the room for that, or do I have to go to the health centre?’ but she thinks I’m being Jack the Lad, roysh, and she just, like, blanks me, and I have to say, fair focks to her, roysh, because she wants me bad, but all she does is just remind me again how much dosh I owe, roysh, and it’s actually five-and-a-half Ks now. Probably what pushed them over the edge, roysh, was last Saturday afternoon when I had all the goys over – we’re talking Christian, we’re talking JP, we’re talking Oisinn. We went on the total lash and the fockers put about eight hundred lids worth of booze on my tab, not to mention nosebag and focking cigars.

  I go, ‘It’ll be paid. Don’t you worry your pretty little head about that,’ but she’s in no form to be sweet-talked, roysh, and she just goes, ‘You have until midday tomorrow to settle your account. Thank you, Sir,’ and she hangs up. So I’m left lying there on the Margaret, watching ‘Coronation Street’ of all things, and I’m thinking that Gail looks like your face when you look at, like, your reflection in the back of a spoon. Basically bored off my tits, roysh, I head over to the little shelf in the room where they keep, like, the kettle and the cups and saucers and the little miniature packets of Bourbon Creams – there was none this morning, which was the first sign that the management were losing the rag with me – and I grab the teaspoon to, like, test my theory. Like I said, I was bored off my tits. Anyway, roysh, Gail and Sara Louise are going at it hammer and tongs and Sara Louise is telling the old trout to basically butt out of her business, roysh, and warning her that if she doesn’t, she’s never going to see her granddaughter again, we’re talking Bethany.

  And I swear to God, roysh, I get this sudden flash of, like, inspiration, if you’ll pardon the big words. I ring Orse Wipe on his mobile. He’s out for dinner with the old dear, we’re talking Roly’s. He goes, ‘Ross, what a wonderful surprise. I was just telling your mother the latest about Prisoner C080973, a.k.a my former inverted-commas friend. He’s requested day release so he can go and watch the Schools Cup final. There’s confidence – thinks Clongowes are going to make it that far. I said to a couple of the chaps out in Portmarnock, that alone should entitle him to compassionate leave.’

  I’m there, ‘Shut the fock up, you complete tool,’ and he’s like, ‘Right away. What’s on your mind?’ I’m there, ‘My five-and-a-half-grand hotel bill. The fockers won’t restock the minibor until I pay up and my cord’s maxed out,’ and you’re not going to believe this, roysh, but he actually storts humming and hawing, like he’s thinking of not actually paying it, the tightorse that he is. He goes, ‘Five-and-a-half grandingtons? It’s a bit, er, steep, isn’t it, Ross?’ and I’m there, ‘It’s not my fault that I have to live in a hotel. I didn’t ask for you two as parents,’ and he’s like, ‘Fair enough, I suppose.’

  I give him the old Sarah Lou manoeuvre then, roysh, except the opposite. I go, ‘Here’s the deal, roysh. If you don’t settle that bill within th
e next hour, I’ll make sure that you see your grandson,’ and there’s, like, silence on the other end of the line. I’m there, ‘You wouldn’t like that, would you? Skeletons coming out of the closet? What would the chaps say if they found out that your son had a working-class saucepan?’ He goes, ‘We’re in the area. I’ll swing by and settle up as soon as we finish dinner,’ and I’m there, ‘Very wise. And don’t focking ask for me at reception. Just pay the bill and scram.’

  I’ll give him an hour, then I’ll phone down, get Keira Knightley to bring me up a packet of Bourbons. I’m actually Hank Marvin.

  *

  Fionn looks at me as if I’m the one with the problem. He’s like, ‘Sorcha is as much a friend to me as you are, Ross,’ and I go, ‘Correction. I’m not your friend, dude,’ and he’s there, ‘Well, I shall just have to reach an accommodation with myself over that,’ and he thinks he’s basically it with all his big words, the tosser.

  I go, ‘Same again?’ pointing to his empty glass and he’s like, ‘Same again,’ and I order two pints of Ken and I go, ‘So, how was France?’ and he’s there, ‘Great. I think I might be able to shed some new light on why Rimbaud gave up writing poetry at the age of nineteen. And not only that, but also his state of mind before Paul Verlaine shot him,’ and he sort of, like, pushes his glasses up on his nose, roysh, and I give him this look, roysh, as if to say, What a focking waste of time.

  I’m there, ‘So you didn’t see Sorcha over there, then?’ and he’s like, ‘No,’ and I go, ‘Both of you in France at the same time and I’m supposed to believe that you didn’t, like, bump into each other?’ and he just, like, shakes his head, like I’m a child and he’s trying to be, like, patient with me. He’s going to have to have those focking specs surgically removed if he keeps that shit up. He’s like, ‘France covers an area of 547,000 square kilometres, Ross,’ and I nod and I go, ‘Big, in other words,’ and he’s there, ‘Well, it’s not exactly Termonfeckin. Sorcha was in Paris. At a fashion show. I was in Charleville, working on my PhD. Okay with you, Ross? You know, you really need to get over yourself.’

  And I end up totally losing it then, roysh, and we’re talking totally here. I’m there, ‘Don’t focking yank my chain, dude. You’re trying to get in there. You’ve always had a thing for her. I’ve seen the way you look at her,’ and he goes, ‘You focked up what you two had, Ross. Stop looking around you for people to blame,’ and I’m like, ‘So you don’t deny it, then? That you have feelings for the girl?’

  And he goes – get this, roysh – ‘Oh Venus, oh Goddess, I long for the days of antique youth, of lascivious satyrs, and animal fauns, Gods who hit, mad with love, the bark of the boughs, and among water-lilies kissed the Nymph with fair hair…’ and naturally, roysh, I’m looking over my shoulder to make sure no one else in the bor is listening. I’m like, ‘What is that shit you’re saying?’ and he goes, ‘It’s actually a poem that Sorcha and I both like,’ and I go, ‘Doesn’t even rhyme – how can it be a focking poem?’ which he basically has no answer to, roysh, so he ends up going, ‘Thank you, Edgar Allan Poe,’ and I pick up my pint and knock back a mouthful, as if to say, basically, game, set and match.

  So the two of us are just sitting there at the bor, roysh – we’re actually in Gleason’s in Booterstown – and all of a sudden I turn around and go, ‘What do you mean, it’s a poem that you and Sorcha both like? You mean you’ve been calling around to her focking gaff reading her poetry?’ and he’s there, ‘She needed somebody,’ and I’m like, ‘That’s total BS and you know it. You’re trying to bail in,’ and he thinks about this for a few seconds, roysh, and then he goes, ‘I’m in love with her, Ross.’

  He’s lucky I’ve still got half a pint in front of me, roysh, otherwise I’d be, like, SO out of there. I end up just, like, looking away, roysh, and shaking my head. He goes, ‘So now you know. I’ve always loved her. From the day I met her. For what it’s worth, I don’t think she feels the same way about me,’ and I’m like, ‘How could she? Look at you, with your, I don’t know, glasses and your big focking words and all that useless shit you have in your head…’

  He’s like, ‘Ross, I can understand you being upset, but I can’t help the way I feel,’ and I’m there, ‘Answer me this one question – have you actually been there, or even tried to be?’ and he just, like, throws his eyes up to Heaven and goes, ‘Do you have to be such a Neanderthal? No, Ross, I haven’t. That’s sex, Ross. I’m talking about feelings,’ and I’m like, ‘And you’re talking about my wife. Stay away from her or you can consider yourself decked.’

  He goes, ‘You know, I’ve watched the way you’ve treated her over the years. The number of times you broke her heart, humiliated her, left her in tears. I mean, the reception was a microcosm of your entire relationship… she can do better than you, Ross,’ and I’m like, ‘Meaning you, basically?’ and he’s there, ‘When you look at her, I’m not sure you see what I see. If you did, you wouldn’t hurt her like you do.’

  I can’t listen to this shit anymore. I’m there, ‘You’ve had your warning, Fionn. Stay away from her,’ and I get up to go. He’s like, ‘Well, I won’t be making any promises I can’t keep. She’s cooking for me tonight,’ and then, roysh, to hammer the point home, he goes, ‘Wild boar casserole… with herb dumplings,’ which she’s obviously told him is my favourite.

  So I end up totally losing it. I knock back the rest of my pint and I go, ‘I’m going to get you for this. I’m going to get you in a major way,’ and he laughs and goes, ‘Not another war, Ross. You always end up losing,’ and quick as a flash, roysh, I go, ‘I might lose the war, but I’ll win the battle,’ which I have to say, roysh, I’m pretty pleased with. And then I just go, ‘You’re totalled. And we’re talking totally totalled here.’

  *

  The old Wolfe rings, roysh, and I answer it and all I hear is this music in the background and it’s, like, ‘Deutschland, Deutschland über alles, Über alles in der Welt…’ and I’m thinking, that can be only one man.

  Eventually, he’s like, ‘Von der Maas bis an die Memel,’ and I automatically go, ‘Von der Etsch bis an den Belt,’ as in, straight back at you, dude. He goes, ‘Hello, my child,’ and I’m there, ‘Hey, Father Fehily, how’s it going?’

  He turns off the record – he’s got one of those old, like, gramophone things – and he goes, ‘Like the fight put up by the l’Armée de Paris, Ross. I’m going to be brief,’ and I’m there, ‘Sure. What’s up?’

  He goes, ‘You heard about our defeat last week?’ and I’m like, ‘Pres. Bray, yeah, that’s pretty embarrassing,’ and he’s there, ‘Embarrassing? It’s a humiliation, Ross. I’m going to level with you. In the six years since you left Castlerock College, this once-proud institute of learning has become the laughing-stock of Leinster schools rugby,’ and I can hear him in the background, roysh, slamming his fist down on his desk. Then he goes, ‘It’s time the laughter stopped!’

  I’m trying to, like, work out what he wants from me. I’m there, ‘Are you asking me to come back and, like, repeat again?’ but he cracks up laughing, roysh, and he goes, ‘Lord, no. According to our records, you’re twenty-three years old. Birth certificates can be doctored, of course. We’ve one or two past pupils working in the Births Registry, you know. Problem is, everyone remembers you from the great team of 1999. I mean, you were its heartbeat,’ and I go, ‘I suppose I did pretty much rock. So what can I do for you now?’

  He goes, ‘I want you to come back to coach the S this year,’ which leaves me, like, totally speechless and we are talking totally here. He goes, ‘Time is not our friend, child. Our first match is a mere two weeks away. It’s de La Salle, Churchtown. We’ll pay you €2,000 a week, Ross, for every week that Castlerock stays in the competition,’ and what can I say, roysh, but, ‘I’ll do it,’ and he goes, ‘Excellent,’ and then he’s like, ‘I have to go to Rome for a few days – ecumenical business. Come to the school next week. Monday’s good. Meet the players. Don’t expect too much,’ and I’
m there, ‘I’ll see you then. Hey, thanks for the job,’ and he goes, It’s more than a job, Ross. I’m offering you… immortality.’

  It’s, like, six o’clock on a Thursday night in the Berkeley Court, roysh, and I’m bored out of my tree – I swear to God, roysh, if I watch that Paula Abdul’s Cardio Workout DVD one more time I’ll go focking blind – so I’m just, like, having a nosey around the hotel, just to, like, kill time I suppose and for whatever reason, roysh, I end up heading around to the Grafton Suite, where we had our reception, roysh, where it all went wrong, and through the doors, roysh, I can hear a band playing, ‘Nothing’s Gonna Change My Love For You’.

  ‘I’d recognize that pretty little ass any where.’ That’s what I hear this goy’s voice go, roysh. It’s like, ‘Ooh, I’d recognize that pretty little ass anywhere,’ and it’s a real, like, gay voice, roysh, and I’m seriously getting ready to deck whoever said it. But when I turn around, roysh, it’s, like, Trevor, as in the choreographer that me and Sorcha went to when we were, like, learning the steps for our first dance. He is actually gay, roysh, but he’s still sound. His old dear sent him to ballet lessons when he was, like, five, so he can’t help what he is, I suppose.

  I’m like, ‘Hey, how the fock are you, Trevor?’ and I’m sort of, like, subconsciously – if that’s the word – making my voice deeper, just so he doesn’t get any ideas. He goes, ‘Oh, you know this old queen – I’m never happy. I do have a fabulous new boyfriend, though,’ and he sort of, like, leans close to me and goes, ‘It’s like a baby’s arm holding an apple, in case you’re wondering. It’s his sister’s wedding I’m at. Are you coming in?’ and before I get a chance to answer, roysh, he goes, ‘Ooh, Glenn Medeiros! Quick, we’re missing the first dance,’ and he sort of, like, grabs me by the hand, roysh, and before I know it he’s dragging me into the reception and there’s all these, like, amazing-looking birds staring at me, giving me loads, and of course I don’t want them thinking that I’m, shall we say, not their type – a steamer, in other words – so I’m sort of, like, mouthing the word, ‘Friends,’ as Trevor drags me up to the bor.