While this is going on, roysh, I notice the old pair have, like, retreated into the far corner, with their backs to us, bullshitting away to Hennessy, who’s just arrived, and I’m thinking, If they don’t want to know him, it’s their loss, and then I look back at Erika and she’s still smiling, roysh, like a dog who’s just discovered a new trick, and all the other birds are just, like, staring at her, going, ‘Ohmygodohmygodohmygod,’ with the occasional, ‘OH! MY! GOD!’ thrown in for good measure.
Ronan hands me a present. It’s not wrapped, roysh, except in a Champion Sports bag. I open it and – I am not yanking your chain, roysh – it’s an actual focking Celtic jersey, the old skobie tunic, and I turn around to him and I go, ‘I don’t know what to say,’ and he’s there, ‘Get that faggoty rugby one off you. Have a butcher’s at the back,’ and I turn it around, roysh, and he’s actually got the word ROSSER printed above the number six. I’m like, ‘Ronan, it’s… it’s perfect.’
The next thing, roysh, one of the bormen comes over to me and he goes, ‘I’m very sorry, Sir, but we’re not supposed to have children on the premises after…’ and I’m there, ‘He’s not drinking – can he not just…’ and Ronan goes, ‘Can’t stay in anyhow, Rosser. Buckets of Blood’s out in the car. Told him to keep the engine ticking over, I’d only be a minute. I’ll give you a bell,’ and he gives me a wink and gives Sorcha a peck on the cheek and then he’s out the door.
The old pair take this as their cue to, like, rejoin the porty. All of a sudden Knob Features and Hennessy are up at the bor beside me, bullshitting away to each other how these Chinese will work for nothing and Hennessy’s going, ‘Though not literally,’ and the old man’s like, ‘Well, more’s the pity.’
The old dear’s talking – I cannot actually believe this – she’s talking to Oisinn, who’s going, ‘There she is – heard you’re going to be one of those Page Three stunners,’ and sort of, like, laughs, pretending to be embarrassed basically, and goes, ‘Oh, I wouldn’t have anything worth looking at,’ and I don’t believe it, roysh, she’s actually trying to flirt with one of my mates and I swear to God, roysh, I think I’m actually going to spew my ring. Of course, Oisinn’s loving it and he’s, like, ripping the piss on a major scale. He’s got, like, his orm around her shoulder and he’s going, ‘You’re a very attractive woman, Mrs O’Carroll-Kelly,’ and she’s sort of, like, giggling away like a schoolgirl and I can’t actually take it anymore and I end up turning around and going, ‘HAVE SOME FOCKING RESPECT FOR YOURSELF, YOU HOUND!’ and then I turn around to the old man and I go, ‘Is there a reason why you’re hanging around like a bad focking smell?’
He’s like, ‘Well, there is actually. Okay, can we have a bit of hush, everyone,’ and he storts, like, tapping his Mont Blanc pen off his brandy glass, making a total tit out of himself and, far more importantly, me. He goes, ‘I shall be brief. Since my election to political office, I have to use my voice a bit more sparingly,’ and Hennessy’s going, ‘Shame! Shame!’ and then Oisinn and Fionn join in, because they know I’m bulling.
He’s like, ‘Well, we all know why we’re here – to celebrate the latest birthday of young Ross there. Fionnuala and I are very grateful that we have such a wonderful relationship with him. Non-stop talking and occasional joshing and so forth. We probably don’t tell him enough that we’re very proud of him. He’s made a wonderful success of his marriage – eventually,’ and there’s a big, like, cheer. He goes, ‘He’s been successful at rugby and… well, lots of other things too, I’m sure. Now, Ross, we do have a little surprise for you, if you’d just like to follow me…’
He actually loves the attention. I follow him out of the bor, through the lobby and out into the cor pork, as does everyone else and… OH MY GOD! I cannot focking believe it, roysh, it’s actually a cor. Not just a cor. We’re talking the BMW Z4 here, as in the one that Pierce Brosnan tore the shit out of in Goldeneye, we’re talking six-speed gearbox, we’re talking speed-sensitive power-steering, we’re talking cornering enhancement, we’re talking sports seats, we’re talking leather steering wheel, we’re talking automatic soft-top.
The old man’s going, ‘Precision-engineering, Kicker…’
I don’t know what to say. We’re all, like, standing around outside the Berkeley Court, roysh, and I’m having basic palpitations looking at it, roysh, going, ‘Th… Th… Th…’ and the old dear turns to Sorcha and goes, ‘What’s happening to him?’ and Sorcha’s there, ‘Oh! My! God! I think he’s actually trying to say thank you.’
I’m like, ‘Tha… Tha… Tha…’ and everyone’s out on the road, roysh, giving it loads, going, ‘Go on, Ross! Go on!’ and I’m looking at the old man and I can feel my throat closing over and I’m like, ‘Than… Than… Than… YOU’RE THE WORLD’S BIGGEST FOCKING TOOL,’ and everyone sort of, like, groans, roysh, like when I missed that last-minute penalty in the Leinster Schools Cup final in 1998, and I sort of, like, collapse into Sorcha’s orms and she’s going, ‘Don’t worry, Babes. You did SO well.’
I look at my old man and I go, ‘You’re a focking dick-head,’ and he’s like, ‘Quite right, Ross.’
Sarah Glenny still looks like Sienna Miller. The bird she’s with looks like Eric Miller, but for ten grand, roysh, I’d be prepared to take a bullet, or at least give the impression that I’d take one. Daphne is its name – a complete and utter ditch-pig, if ever there was one – but I’m there giving it, ‘I definitely know you. I never forget a face. Especially one as pretty as yours,’ and I really don’t know how I live with myself sometimes.
She goes, ‘Have you met my friend, Sarah?’ and she does the introductions, roysh, and Sarah’s there, ‘I already know you,’ and I’m like, ‘How?’ and she goes, ‘OH MY GOD, everybody knows Ross O’Carroll-Kelly,’ and I look at Daphne and she seems to, like, consider this a good thing.
The music in Ron Black’s is blasting. I go, ‘I hope you don’t mind me chatting-up your friend,’ and Sarah goes, ‘Oh my God, no! Hey, you know JP Conroy, don’t you?’ and I’m there, ‘Just so happens he’s one of my best friends,’ and she’s like, ‘OH MY GOD! I kissed him the night of the Junior Cert results. Oh my God, SO embarrassing. And then I did the dirt on my boyfriend with him. How is he?’ I’m there, ‘He’s Kool and the Gang. Single at the moment, as it happens,’ and Sarah goes, ‘Oh MY God! This is, like, SO embarrassing – I don’t even know why I’m telling you – but I used to always say to my mum, “He’s the goy I’m going to marry,” and it’s like, Aaaggghhh!’ and Daphne goes, ‘You actually did always says that. I was always like, Oh my God!’
I stand there listening to this shit for, like, twenty minutes, roysh, tanning the Ken of course because you need a seriously good anaesthetic for these two. Then it gets to the stage where I basically can’t take it anymore so I basically make my pitch. I’m there, ‘I’m actually staying in JP’s tonight,’ which is total bullshit, roysh. I go, ‘Do you two fancy coming back with me for a few drinks. Might be a way for you to get reacquainted, if that’s the roysh word, with the goy you’re going to marry,’ and Sarah sort of, like, flicks her hair, roysh, which she does a lot, and goes, ‘OH MY GOD!’ which she also does a lot, and before they have a chance to finish their vodka and cranberries, the three of us are in a Jo Maxi, pegging it out to JP’s gaff, Sarah in the front constantly going, ‘OH MY GOD! I cannot BELIEVE I’m actually doing this,’ and me in the back with Daphne, who keeps whispering to me that she can’t believe I find her attractive because most goys fancy Sarah and she, like, never gets a look-in. I’m just there, ‘I find that very hord to believe,’ trying to keep a straight face.
JP does NOT look a happy camper when he answers the door. He’s like, ‘Ross, it’s half-one in the morning,’ and I’m there, ‘You need to get a life. Look, I’ve brought you a focking carry-out,’ and I just, like, flick my thumb in Sarah’s direction, just so he knows he’s not getting the dud. Daphne, it turns out, is even worse in the full light.
JP goes, ‘Sarah! Wow! I have
n’t seen you since…’ and she’s like, ‘I know,’ and he’s there, ‘Wow!’ and I wonder when he storted saying Wow! instead of Holy Fock! He goes, ‘You look great,’ which is the first sign since we came back from Israel that there is actually still life in his trousers. He goes, ‘And how’s, em…’ and she goes, ‘Tadgh? Oh my God, we finished, like, ages ago. You know what Michael’s goys are like,’ and everyone just, like, nods.
I’m, like, scanning the gaff for evidence of how far this thing has gone. There’s a book opened face-down on the coffee table and it’s, like, The Passion by Geza Vermes and there’s a focking humungous whack gone out of the Baileys, which now has a bottle of focking Crème de Menthe beside it for company. It’s worse than I thought.
He goes, ‘Girls, would you mind if I had a quiet word with Ross, in private?’ and he sort of, like, grabs me by the orm, roysh, and pulls me into the kitchen and goes, ‘What do you think you’re doing, Ross?’ and I go, ‘When did you stort drinking Crème de Menthe?’ and he goes, ‘I asked you first.’ I’m like, ‘Are you focking slow on the uptake all of a sudden? That bird’s gagging for you out there. And not the ugly one either.’
He just looks at me, roysh, and shakes his head, like he’s all disappointed in me and shit, then he goes, ‘Jesus was led by the Spirit into the desert to be tempted by the devil. After fasting forty days and forty nights, he was hungry. The tempter came to him and said, “If you are the Son of God, tell these stones to become bread?”,’ and I’m like, ‘Meaning?’ and he goes, ‘Ross, I thought you understood what I was doing. And why.’
He’s actually good at focking guilt-tripping you, this goy, which will make him a huge hit in the priesthood. I’m there, ‘JP, I thought you needed a bit of fun. You don’t stort in Maynooth for another couple of months. There’s nothing in the Bible to say you can’t get your rock and roll between now and then,’ and he shakes his head and goes, ‘I’ve no interest, Ross. And I’ve no interest in that… filth you’ve been sending me either,’ and I’m there, ‘Oh, so you won’t be wanting your Carol Vorderman DVD back then?’ and he doesn’t even flinch. He goes, ‘I’ve promised myself to the Lord, that’s the way it is.’
Fair focks to him, roysh, he goes back into the sitting-room and actually explains the situation – in other words God, etc. – to Sarah, who takes it pretty well, it has to be said. She’s a bit embarrassed, roysh, and she storts, like, moonwalking her way towards the door, throwing out the odd, ‘OH! MY! GOD!’ on the way.
I’m looking at Daphne, roysh, she doesn’t know what to do – does she leave with her friend, or does she stick around for the loving of a lifetime? – so straight away I just, like, relieve her of that little dilemma. I’m there, ‘I hate long goodbyes,’ and, being a nice goy, I slip her ten bills and I go, ‘Get yourselves a Jo,’ and it’s all happened so fast, roysh, she doesn’t know how to respond. She’s standing there with her mouth open so I just go, ‘Take the hint. Beat it,’ and her eyes just, like, fill up with tears.
JP shows them both to the door, apologizing all the way, the sap that he is, while I pour myself a glass of Crème de Menthe, just to see what all the fuss is about. He comes back in and he goes, ‘That was nasty, Ross, if you don’t mind my saying so,’ but I’m reading the label on the bottle, roysh, and I go, ‘Focking hell, this shit is 5 o per cent proof!’
We’re sitting in my new cor, BMW Z4, outside this gaff on Newtownpork Avenue, roysh – we knocked back the one in Greystones – waiting to give it the old once-over. JP’s old man finally arrives and he’s, like, all apologies for being late, then he storts the tour. He goes, ‘Although I know you’d do a better job than me,’ and he’s sort of, like, reminiscing I suppose you’d have to call it, about the time I worked for him as well and I’m wondering is he, like, dropping the hint that he wants me to come back now that he’s, like, lost JP to God.
I ignore it and we stort following him around. He’s going, ‘It’s a solid three-bed semi-d with adjoining garage extension situated on a highly regarded road in upmarket Blackrock, close to a range of top schools – including your own alma mater – shops, public transport and just five miles – a two-hour drive to you and I – from St Stephen’s Green…’ He’s giving us the whole spiel, roysh, but I have to say his hort doesn’t really seem to be in it. It’s like he’s going through the motions. Not only has his son and heir gone bonkers, but the word is that he’s going to have to shell out some serious wedge to some secretary bird who’s doing him for sexual harassment – supposedly he grabbed her orse and went, ‘Is this seat taken?’ and I’d say he actually definitely did do it, roysh, knowing him like I do and seeing the way he’s copping an eyeful of Sorcha’s rack every time he thinks I’m not looking.
Sorcha goes, ‘I’m not being rude, Mr Conroy, but would you mind if I had a look around… without the commentary?’ and JP’s old man just, like, shrugs his shoulders and goes, ‘Hey, you guys can see through my bullshit anyway. Feel free…’nd he sort of, like, looks at me and nods in the direction of the kitchen and I follow him in there, roysh, leaving Sorcha to go exploring by herself.
He leans against the island and he goes, ‘It’s my birthday today, Ross. Know what he bought me?’ and I’m like, ‘Happy birthday… what?’ and he’s there, ‘A gift voucher… for Veritas,’ and I go, ‘What kind of a sick…’ and he’s there, ‘I’ve given up hope.’
I can hear Sorcha upstairs, admiring the back bedroom, which looks out onto a south-facing, landscaped rear garden offering total seclusion – it’s amazing how that shit never leaves you. She’s going, ‘OH! MY! GOD! This can be Ronan’s room when he sleeps over,’ and I know she’s already made her mind up on the gaff.
I’m there, ‘I’ve tried everything. I’ve even sent him a few, shall we say, exercise magazines through the post,’ and he goes, ‘Hey, great minds… I thought of that too. It’s just… well, you hear things. There’s rumours doing the rounds,’ and I’m there, ‘Rumours?’ and he’s like, ‘Ross, you’re JP’s friend. Remember, by telling the truth, you’re helping him… is it true he’s started drinking Baileys?’ and I sort of, like, turn away. I can’t look the dude in the eye. He goes, ‘I thought so,’ and even though it’s probably in JP’s best interests, roysh, I can’t bring myself to tell him about the Crème de Menthe – no father needs to hear that about his son.
He goes, ‘Can’t you just, I don’t know, stick a couple of Viagra in the bottle?’ and I’m wondering why the fock I didn’t think of something like that. I’m like, ‘Where would I actually get Viagra?’ and he goes, ‘Here,’ and pushes these two pills into my hand. He’s like, ‘That’s the last of them,’ and then he sort of, like, leans in close to me and goes, ‘Seeing this broad tonight. Air-hostess. Tits like udders. Now I’m in serious danger of disappointing her,’ and I’m thinking, He really is a perv.
I slip the pills into the Davy Crocket of my chinos and we go back out into the generously apportioned, skylight-lit hallway. Sorcha’s coming down the stairs. She goes, ‘oh my God! We love the house,’ and I’m there thinking, What’s this we, Paleface? when she turns around and goes, ‘We’ll take it,’ and I’m there, ‘Er, okay,’ and that’s how I end up agreeing to pay eight-hundred-and-twenty Ks for a house that I haven’t even looked around.
Well, my old man’s paying.
Ronan’s out somewhere. Walking, by the sounds of it. He goes, ‘Got me at a bad time, Rosser. I’m on me way up Henry Street. Get the cheap tobacco,’ and though I used to think he said those things to, like, scare me, roysh, now I’m not so sure. I’m there, ‘When are you off?’ because Tina and this Anto she’s going out with – he’s actually called Decker – are taking him to Ibiza for two weeks and Tina’s old pair are going as well. He goes, ‘Seven o’clock tomorrow morning. Probably won’t get to see you before you go, will I?’ and it’s nice, roysh, because he actually sounds disappointed.
I’m there, ‘Not to worry, we’ll do something together when you get back,’ and he goes, ‘Game b
all. And no messin’ around behind Sorcha’s back while I’m away. I heard you left Reynard’s with two a couple of weeks back. One was bet-down, I hear,’ and I’m there, ‘Nothing happened,’ and he goes, ‘I hope not. You know I’m not bluffin’ when I tell you I’ll find out, don’t you?’ and I’m there, ‘Yeah, I know that. Hey, we bought a gaff. In Blackrock,’ and he goes, ‘That’s good. Stability’s what you need in your life, Rosser,’ and in the background I hear him ask for six pouches of tobacco. Then he goes, ‘I’ve got to go,’ and I tell him to have a good time, roysh, and I’ll see him in two weeks.
7. A Cheap Holiday
The old dear rings me – there’s no focking fear in her, I can tell you that – and she goes, ‘Your father and I wanted to invite you and Sorcha over for dinner on Friday night. We want to celebrate your new house, we’re so pleased for you and Sorcha, Ross,’ and I’m there, Why would we want to go to your house for dinner?’ and she’s like, ‘Because it’s borlotti bean, pancetta and rosemary risotto – Sorcha’s favourite,’ and I’m there, ‘Excuse me while I spew.’
I’m there, ‘Sorry, is there anything else?’ and she goes, ‘Oh, yes. I got the proofs back,’ and I’m there, ‘Proofs? What the fock do you mean, proofs?’ and she’s like, ‘From the photo shoot. I think I know which one I’m going to choose. It’s the one Sally likes as well. I’m leaning over the chair and my legs are—’ and I’m like, ‘I DON’T WANT TO FOCKING KNOW!’ and I hang the fock up.
The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Nightdress Page 20