The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Nightdress

Eleven o’clock in the morning and he’s already on the focking cognac, the tool. He goes, ‘We were wondering, your mother and I, whether you were coming home for Christmas dinner. A hotel’s no place to spend the big day. We were hoping perhaps you’d calmed down by now. Lots of strong emotions expressed on the day, anger and so forth. I spoke to Sorcha’s father, Ross, and the girl’s heartbroken, with a capital H. Can’t imagine what it must have been like, finding out a secret like that at her wedding reception of all places.’

He’s there, ‘I know it was as much of a shock to you, Ross, to find out you had a… well, whatever. We did it to protect you. You had your whole life and rugby career ahead of you. We didn’t want to see you dragged down in the mire by some… well, the only word I can think of, Ross, is hussy. We weren’t to know she’d be serving the food at the reception. I mean, what’s the Berkeley Court coming to that they would hire somebody from that class?’ He’s like, ‘Anyway, Kicker, dinner’s at three. Just wanted to let you know that your mother and I are happy to have you back.’

What a tosser.

The other message is from the Paradise Cove hotel in Mauritius, wanting to know where the fock we are, which puts paid to the rumour that Sorcha ended up going on the honeymoon with Fionn, my so-called friend, who has very kindly offered himself to her as a shoulder to cry on, roysh, obviously trying to get in there while she’s, like, vulnerable. He had the actual cheek, roysh, to ring me up the day after the wedding, the goggled-eyed freak, and go, ‘This is really awkward for me, because you’re both my friends. I want you to know that I’m here for both of you. If there’s any message you want me to pass on to her, I will,’ but I said fock-all to him, roysh, wouldn’t give him the pleasure. I’ll talk to her myself when she storts, like, answering her phone again.

The kid, for what it’s worth, is called Ronan, or Rohnin, after that focking tool out of Boyzone because apparently ‘No Matter What’ was, like, our song, even though we were only together for, like, ten minutes, which, incidentally, was a record for me that lasted three years. Other bits that I’ve been able to piece together are that Tina’s old man rang the gaff when he found out his daughter was up the Damien, told the whole story to my old dear, and Hennessy, the old man’s solicitor, was sent out to Knackeragua with fifty thousand bills in a briefcase and a contract that Tina had to sign, promising never to contact me. Like Knob Features said, what were the chances she’d be working in that hotel on that day?

The phone beside the bed rings. It’s, like, reception. The bird goes, ‘There’s a package here for you, Mr O’Carroll-Kelly.’ I throw on my beige Dockers, my light-blue Ralph and my Dubes and head down to reception. Turns out it’s from, like, Christian, roysh, basically a food parcel. He’s unbelievable, he really is. I could tell, roysh, he really wanted to ask me out to his gaff for Christmas dinner, but of course he couldn’t, what with the whole history between me and his old dear. His old pair are giving it another go now, roysh, like the cheeks of my orse: back together after a whole load of shit.

Inside the parcel, roysh, there’s a turkey, ham and stuffing sandwich, we’re talking toasted, a couple of cans of Coke, a flask of coffee, a piece of Christmas cake and a couple of, like, mince pies and I feel this, like, wet on my face, roysh, and I realize that I’m, like, crying. The bird at reception is staring at me and I don’t want her to think I’m a steamer, so I turn around and as I’m walking away, roysh, she goes, ‘Merry Christmas, Sir,’ but I don’t, like, answer her.

I hop into the old Golf GTI – we’re talking black, with alloys – and I drive out to Killiney and end up eating my Christmas dinner sitting in the cor pork opposite the Dorsh station, just to be near Sorcha’s gaff. I must have tried her number, like, fifty times but she’s not answering. She’ll be watching ‘EastEnders’ now. Phil Mitchell’s going to kick seven shades out of Dirty Den tonight. I watch the clock until I know it’s over, then I ring her mobile from the payphone outside the station. She doesn’t recognize the number, so she answers it.

The second she hears it’s me, she’s straight on the offensive. She’s like, ‘Thirty-seven missed calls? Are you out of your mind?’ and I’m like, ‘As a matter of fact, I am. It’s Christmas Day and I want to be with my wife.’

She’s not in the best of form, it has to be said. She goes, Which wife would this be?’ and straight away I’m there, ‘The one who promised to love, honour and obey me just three days ago.’ She goes, ‘HELLO? We left that bit out of the ceremony, remember?’ I’m like, ‘Well, the one who promised me, ‘til death do us port,’ and she goes, ‘Were you even listening during the service, Ross? Or were you too busy looking around for other girls to impregnate?’ which is way harsh, it has to be said.

Then the waterworks come on. She goes, ‘You ruined what should have been the happiest day of my life. You’ve done a lot of shitty things in your time, but this was easily the worst,’ and without thinking, roysh, I end up going, ‘Yeah, roysh, what about the time I was with your sister?’ which, luckily for me, she doesn’t hear, roysh, because she’s, like, blowing her nose.

She goes, ‘So, have you seen him yet?’ and I’m like, ‘Who?’ and she’s there, ‘OH! MY! GOD! HELLO? Your son,’ as if I’m supposed to be, like, psychic or something. I go, ‘Sorcha, please. This shit happened years ago. Before we even knew each other. I only found out about it the same time as you. It’s not my fault,’ and she’s there giving it, ‘It is your fault, Ross. You’ve spent the last seven years of your life having indiscriminate sex wherever you could get it. Now you’re reaping what you’ve sown. Literally.’

I go, ‘Sorcha, can I remind you that we’re still married,’ and she’s there, ‘Daddy says I can get an annulment,’ and I’m like, ‘Don’t change the subject,’ and there’s this, like, silence on the line, roysh, then she goes, ‘OH MY GOD! You don’t know what an annulment is, do you?’ and I don’t answer. She goes, ‘It’s something that you get from the Vatican to have your marriage declared null and void when you find out that it’s based on a lie.’

I actually thought it was some kind of surgical procedure, like a tummy-tuck or some shit. I tell her that I still love her and she tells me not to make her laugh and then the pips go and I’ve no more change.

I’m there, ‘He’s just being there for her, as, like, a friend and shit? I mean, they go way back. They represented Dublin together in the All-Ireland Irish debating championships,’ and she sort of, like, rubs the top of my orm, roysh, and goes, ‘Sure, Ross. Whatever works for you.’

I just, like, change the subject. I nod at her shopping bags and go, ‘Buy anything nice?’ and she’s there, ‘A fabulous dress in BTs. The Hunt Ball is tomorrow night.’ I make the mistake of going, ‘Need a date?’ and she’s like, ‘With one of Sorcha Lalor’s cast-offs? I don’t think so,’ and I’m there, ‘Fair enough.’ Her loss. She goes, ‘The goy I’m going with is actually a stockbroker. Drives a BMW 5 Series, automatic. Owns, like, eight houses,’ and I’m there, ‘Cool,’ and she goes, ‘Yes, it is rather. What are you doing here anyway?’ I go, ‘Here?’ and she’s like, ‘Yes, Ross, here. Outside the Powerscourt Townhouse Shopping Centre, where your wife, or whatever she is to you, just happens to work?’ I’m there, ‘I basically have to see her. Is she, like, in the shop?’ and Erika goes, ‘She’s in Paris, Ross. Supposedly picking up some new designs for the spring,’ and then, roysh, her eyes become little slits and she gives me this, like, evil smile and goes, ‘Fionn’s gone with her,’ and I can feel my face go all, like, hot, roysh, like I’m embarrassed or something, but I’m not, roysh, I’m basically focking angry.

I just turn around, roysh, and stort walking back towards Grafton Street. Erika goes, ‘ROSS!’ and I turn around, roysh, and she goes, ‘Did you know there’s a video of the wedding reception doing the rounds? Oh my God! It’s, like, SO funny. It’s like something from “Emmerdale”.’

I get chatting to Sophie and Chloë, as in Sorcha’s friends, roysh, who just happen to be in Ron Black’s. I make a point of not asking how she is, roysh, just so it goes back to her that I’m, like, getting on with my life and, like, living the dream. Chloë’s saying that her points have gone – OH! MY! GOD! – way off the board today because she had, like, a Quarter Pounder with cheese and fries in town and that’s, like, twenty-three points, which is, like, five more than she’s supposed to have in the whole day.

Sophie goes, ‘Oh my God, that’s not even counting the packet of M & Ms you had for breakfast. That’s, like seven points,’ and Chloë goes, ‘HELLO? It’s, like, five. And I had, like, points saved up from yesterday anyway,’ and Sophie’s there, ‘Not five, though,’ and Chloë gives her a filthy and says she’s going outside for a cigarette and when she’s gone, roysh, Sophie goes, ‘OH MY GOD, we went to see Aoife today, in, like, hospital. I know she’s, like, sick and everything but – OH MY GOD! – she is, like, SO, thin. The bitch.’

I turn around to Christian and ask him how the job-hunting’s going. He goes, ‘I got one. Storted work this morning. In, like, Forbidden Planet,’ and I’m like, ‘Forbidden Planet? As in the shop where all the focking nerds hang out?’ totally forgetting, of course, that Christian spends half his life in there. I’m like, ‘Hey, no offence, dude,’ and Lauren goes, ‘It’s only while you’re waiting for George Lucas to discover you, isn’t it, sweetheart?’ and I’m there thinking how great the two of them are together, and how shocking it is that she’s actually Hennessy’s daughter.

I go, Yeah, how’s the script coming along?’ and Christian’s like, ‘Ah, only so-so,’ and Lauren’s there, ‘Don’t listen to him, Ross. It’s incredible. I know the goy’s gone on the record saying there isn’t going to be a Star Wars seven, eight and nine, but when he reads this he is definitely going to think again,’ and I look at Christian and I think how much more confidence he has since he met her.

She turns around to me and she goes, ‘How are you doing, Ross?’ and I’m there, ‘Let’s just say I’m back in the morket place. You know me, Lauren. I think it’s pretty much accepted that I’m a love cat… and tonight I’m back on the prowl. Big-time.’ But of course Lauren has no time for that kind of shit, roysh, she goes, ‘Oh, quit with that macho crap, Ross. This is me and Christian you’re talking to,’ and then she looks over my shoulder and goes, ‘I take it you’re talking about Chloë and Sophie?’ who everyone knows, roysh, aren’t exactly Lauren’s cup of tea.

She’s there, ‘They’re shallow people, Ross.’ She’s a straight shooter, there’s no doubt about that. She’s like, ‘Come on, going off with Sorcha’s friends? You’re better than that,’ and Christian’s, like, nodding his head. He goes, ‘Have you spoken to her, Ross?’ and I’m like, ‘I’ve tried. She’s more interested in Fionn these days, from what I hear,’ and he goes, ‘That’s total bullshit. You two are meant to be together – you know it and she knows it. Just be patient, young padwan. Don’t do anything that’ll make the situation worse,’ and I end up having to go, ‘Yeah, I know you’re talking basic sense.’

So of course, typical me, roysh, I’m full of good intentions, but what happens? I hit the can – I have to drop anchor in Porcelain Bay – and on the way back I end up bumping into, like Maoliosa, who’s, like, repeating second year Social Science in Trinity, nipped her a couple of times in, like, Reynord’s and once in the Ice Bor last summer, we’re talking Jolene Blalock here, except with blonde hair. So we get chatting, roysh, and, not blowing my own trumpet or anything, but I can pretty much tell straight away that she fancies another shot at the title.

The only thing is, roysh, she storts boring me focking senseless, telling me she SO wants to travel when she finishes college and would – Oh my God! – SO love to do the whole Australia thing when she graduates, which will be a major miracle at this rate because she is going to have to get her finger out in a major way if she’s going to pass her summer exams, blah blah blah, the usual bullshit you get from nineteen- and twenty-year-olds, but of course the stud muffin here’s cracking on to be totally interested.

I get a text message and it’s from, like, JP, who I notice has just arrived in, obviously straight from work, wearing a tin of fruit that must have cost at least a thousand bills and it’s pretty obvious he’s coining it in selling those gaffs in Camolin, in other words focking Bogsville. I read the message and it’s like, HE SHOOTS! HE SCORES! and I look over, roysh, and him and Oisinn give me the thumbs-up and of course now I’ve totally forgotten Christian and Lauren’s advice and I’m playing the big-time Jack the Lad.

Maolíosa asks me who the text was from, roysh, because I did the usual trick for making birds jealous, which is you read it and then, like, halfway through you just stort smiling to yourself. Then when she asked who it was from, roysh, I just went, ‘Oh, it’s, em… no one,’ and then stared off into space with this, like, half-smile on my boat. Birds are, like, SO easy to read, roysh. To try to make me jealous, she storts, like, banging on then about her ex, some dude called Eanna, who she says is such a dickhead and who – Oh my God! – SO thinks he’s it.

So I’m there, trying to sound all concerned about her, roysh, going, ‘You’ve just got to move on,’ making my move early. There’s a goy at the other end of the bor and he’s giving us loads, staring straight at us basically, and I’m wondering who he is. Maolíosa goes, ‘It’s, like, difficult to put that kind of hurt behind you,’ and I slip the old hand onto her knee, roysh – cool as a polar bear’s knob-end – and I go, ‘It does get better, Babes. Believe me. I had a marriage that broke up.’

I look back at the goy and he’s still, like, staring at us. Might just be that he fancies me. I decide it’s best to ignore him, roysh, not give him any ideas.

She goes, ‘A marriage? OH MY GOD! I had literally no idea. I am SO sorry,’ and slowly, roysh, my left hand sets off on an expedition up the side of her skirt – how does JP put it? – trekking the uplands of her tights. I go, ‘Let me be your guide. It gets better, believe me. Time is a great healer.’ She goes, ‘How long has it been for you?’ and I’m like, ‘Two weeks. Nearly,’ and she suddenly pulls away from me, like I’m some kind of freak, roysh, and I’m storting thinking that I might have actually blown this.

Then all of a sudden, roysh, the goy who’s been, like, staring at me suddenly whips out this camera and, like, takes a photograph of me. Of course, at first, roysh, I think nothing of it. There’s rumours doing the rounds that Blackrock, of all teams, are about to ask me to play for them next season. I mean, they’re basically focking dreaming, roysh, but there’s bound to be interest in the story, that’s a fact of life. But the next thing, roysh, Lauren arrives over. She’s like, ‘Ross, that goy…’ and I’m like, ‘Hey, it’s fine, the papers are always going to be interested in me,’ and Lauren goes, ‘He’s a private detective, Ross. He used to do work for my dad. Surveillance mostly,’ and I’m storting to feel Moby Dick all of a sudden. She goes, ‘Ross, cheating husbands were his speciality,’ and I’m just like, ‘Oh, fock!’ and Christian’s there, ‘Come on, there’s still time to catch him,’ and the three of us end up pegging it out of Ron Black’s and I see him straight away, roysh, getting into a silver Peugeot 206 opposite Bleu.

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.’

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 the 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.

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.’

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.’

‘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.

We sit on two high-stools and watch the couple do their last few, I suppose, rotations, then Trevor sort of, like, claps his hands together – like a girl, it has to be said – and shouts, ‘Bravo… Bravo,’ then turns to me and goes, ‘They had a good coach, of course.’ I go, ‘Do you want a pint?’ and Trevor’s there, ‘What’s up with your voice, Ross. Is it deeper or something?’ and I’m there, ‘Not that I’ve noticed. Pint?’ and he’s like, ‘Heavens, no, Dorothy,’ and he turns to the borman and goes, ‘I’ll have a Slow Screw Against The Wall, please. Make that two,’ and a couple of minutes later these two Angel Delight glasses arrive with straws and umbrellas and focking fireworks sticking out of whatever piss it is we’re about to drink.

So Trevor claps his hands together again and goes, ‘I want to know everything, Ross. How’s the delightful Sorcha? Ooh, that girl – she’s just like a young Judy Garland.’ and I’m there, ‘Oh, em… we broke up. But it’s Kool and the Gang. I’m getting on with my life. I’m actually going back to rugby, in a coaching capacity,’ and his jaw just, like, drops. He goes, ‘Broke up? No! So there was no wedding?’ and I’m there, ‘No, no, we actually got married. It just didn’t work out, I suppose,’ and he’s like, ‘Didn’t work out? Ross, you got married three weeks ago. When exactly did you discover that you were growing apart?’ and I’m there, ‘Oh, about two-and-a-half hours after the ceremony, I’d pretty much have to say,’ and he turns to the borman and goes, ‘You’d better fix us a couple more of those.’

I don’t know what it is, roysh, but I just find it so easy to talk to Trevor and I end up spilling my guts out to him about everything, roysh, we’re talking the night I broke my duck with Tina, my old pair buying her off when they found out she was up the Ballyjames and the whole thing coming out at the reception. Trevor goes, ‘Your father sounds like quite a man,’ and I go, ‘No, he’s actually a total penis,’ and it’s only after I say it that I realize he’s being, like, ironic, if that’s the roysh word.

He goes, ‘Well, you know what you’ve got to do, don’t you?’ and I’m there, ‘Well, I’ve already phoned her a couple of times and tried to explain. I suppose I could send her flowers, if push comes to shove,’ and he goes, ‘I’m not talking about Sorcha. Ross, you’ve got to go and see your boy,’ and it’s probably the way he says it, roysh. Your boy. Not my kid, or my saucepan, or – as JP calls him – the fruit of my overactive loins. He’s my boy. My boy. I have a boy. A son, I suppose you could call him.

So suddenly, roysh, I stort getting all, like, emotional and out of nowhere, roysh, I’m suddenly bawling my basic eyes out. So Trevor – he’s funny, you have to give it to him – he leans over and, like, stirs my drink with the straw and goes, ‘Ooh, don’t, Ross. People’ll start talking,’ and I sort of, like, laugh and go, ‘I should go and see him, I suppose,’ and he’s there, ‘Believe me, this isn’t a time for sadness. Your parents, probably your friends as well, have been telling you that this is something to be ashamed of, when it’s not. It’s life. Life, Ross. Wonderful life.’

And I realize, roysh, that Trevor’s roysh, he’s totally roysh, and now the only questions going through my head all of a sudden are: What does he look like and is he good in school and is he into rugby and do all the girls in his class love him and… Trevor goes, ‘Sorcha will come round, Ross,’ and I’m there, ‘What if she doesn’t, though? What if she can’t handle the idea of me having a kid with another bird?’ and he’s like, ‘That’s not the Sorcha I know. I dare say it’s not the one you know either. She’ll come round. Soon as she sees you facing up to your responsibilities. You know what you’ve to do, don’t you?’ and I’m there, ‘Go and see Ronan?’ and he’s like, ‘More than that. Be a man, Ross. It’s time,’ and I just, like, nod my head.

He goes, ‘But before we say goodbye… a dance,’ and he jumps down off the stool, roysh, and gets everyone to clear the dance-floor, then he says something to the band and all of a sudden they strike up the first notes of the song me and Sorcha had for our first dance, that pile of shite from Dawson’s Creek, ‘Kiss Me’, or whatever. Trevor stands opposite me, roysh, with a big smile on his face and he goes, ‘It’s been three weeks, Ross. Let’s see how much of this you remember,’ and I go, ‘Prepare to be amazed.’

And she totally flies off the handle when I say that, roysh. She goes, ‘OH! MY! GOD! I’ve seen him, like, once, Ross, since he got back from France. I cooked him dinner. Oh my God, what is your problem?’ and straight away I’m there, ‘I actually don’t like him,’ and she’s like, ‘He’s your friend, Ross,’ and I go, ‘Well, I don’t trust him then. He has a thing for you. As in, the big-time hots,’ and she’s there, ‘HELLO? He’s a friend, Ross, that’s all,’ and I’m like, ‘He doesn’t see it like that,’ and she goes, ‘Why am I even – oh my God! – discussing this with you? We’ve nothing to do with each other anymore. I can spend time with whoever I like.’

Just as I’m about to remind her, roysh, that she’s still my wife, she goes, ‘You still haven’t been to see your son, have you?’ and I’m there, ‘Well, I’m actually going to. I’m actually thinking of going today, if you must know,’ and she goes, ‘If you spent a bit less time worrying about Fionn and a bit more time looking after your responsibilities, you might just succeed in winning back some of the respect I lost for you,’ and she hangs up, roysh, leaving me there thinking how unbelievably spot-on Trevor was.

So what do I do, roysh, only bell Tina, then take my life – not to mention my new CD system – into my hands and hit the old Fleck Republic to see this kid, my kid, I suppose you’d have to call him. I have to say, roysh, I’m pretty nervous driving out there and it’s not just because it’s basically Dodge City. Being a father is something you usually get time to prepare for, roysh, but I’ve got this, like, instant seven-year-old son, but at the same time, roysh, I’m excited about finding out what sort of kid he is and all that shit.

So I’m driving through this estate – I mean, who the fock came up with that name to describe places like this? – and I’m looking for the gaff because it’s, like, eight years since I was here. It’s still like the focking Wild West, roysh, there’s more horses in the gardens than cors and so many ugly birds in tracksuits that I’m wondering if the women’s mini-marathon has taken a detour this year.

After, like, ten minutes of driving around, roysh, I finally pull up outside the gaff and it’s all beginning to look familiar to me now, exactly the way I remember it, except eight years dirtier. I get out of the cor and lash the old alorm on. There’s this little Ken Acker doing graffiti on the wall across the road, roysh, so I go over to him and I go, ‘Want to earn ten lids?’ and he just looks at me like I’m speaking a foreign language. I go, ‘If that jammer’s still got a full set of alloys and hasn’t been keyed by the time I come back, there’s ten sheets in it for you,’ and as I’m walking away, roysh, I hear him go, ‘Wanker,’ but I let it go. The kid didn’t ask to be born a peasant.

Then I go and knock on the door. Not being a snob or anything, but the place could do with a blast or six of Glade. Tina answers, roysh, and I decide it’s important that she knows where she stands straight away, roysh, so I go, ‘Don’t get any notions about us playing happy families,’ and she calls me… well, she calls me a few names and she tells me she already has a boyfriend – no, ‘a fellah’ – and then she makes a couple of not-too-favourable comments about my, like, performance that night. Sixty thousand birds would, like, testify that I’ve improved a bit since then, though after that little outburst, she’ll never find out.

I decide to cut straight to the chase. I go, ‘I’m here to see the little goy,’ and I have to say, roysh, I’m suddenly kacking it, the old hort doing ninety to the dozen there on the doorstep. Tina goes, ‘Did you not see him out there?’ and this, like, horrible feeling hits me that it’s the little skobe who just called me a wanker. Tina’s like, ‘There he is over there, at the wall,’ and I turn around slowly, roysh, thinking that if I pegged it now, I could still ring Sorcha and tell her I saw the kid and I wouldn’t be lying.

I turn around, roysh, but now there’s, like, two kids standing next to the wall, the one who called me an oil tanker and then another kid, who’s, like, two inches smaller than him, but who’s, like, giving out yords to him. He’s, like, pointing his finger in his face, roysh, and the bigger kid just has his head down and he’s taking whatever the other kid’s saying to him, then he hands over the spray can and this new kid pulls a wad of bills out of his Davy Crocket, peels off a couple and hands them to him, and the bigger kid beats it. The other kid crosses the road and comes into the gorden. He holds up the can and goes, ‘Honest to Jaysus, Ma, have these kids nuthin’ better to be doin’ at all?’

Tina goes, ‘Ronan, dis is Ross. ‘Member I told ya abour im?’ and he looks at her, roysh, then he looks me up and down, then he looks back at her and the two of them break their shites laughing. He goes, ‘Sorry, Rosser, I thought you were that social worker back again. Nice to meet ye,’ and he offers me his hand.

Doing the whole fatherly bit, roysh, I go, ‘Hey, I’ve got something for you, young… goy,’ and I go out and lash open the boot of the old GTI and give him a Leinster jersey, as in the new one, eighty focking sheets it cost me as well. He goes, ‘Rugby, is it?’ and I’m there, ‘Yeah. You know, the man here was the best outhalf in the country in his day?’ and he goes, ‘Game ball,’ and out of the corner of my eye, roysh, I catch him winking at Tina and I hear her go, ‘I’ll change it in Marathon durin’ de week.’

I’m brought inside. I’m, like, bracing myself for the worst, roysh, but they’ve obviously come into a few bob since I was here last, roysh, because it’s actually unbelievable inside. I’d say they shelled out a lot more for their furniture than my old pair, roysh, but none of it goes in a council Lego house. It’s all, like, chez longues and big, fock-off ornamental rugs squeezed into these tiny little rooms. It’s like Buckingham Palace, except shrunk in the wash, with giant plasma-screen television everywhere.

Tina goes off to the kitchen to make tea and Ronan and me sit there, chatting away, bonding, I suppose you’d have to call it. I tell him I’m married, though I don’t mention the break-up, and that I’m one of the élite few people in the world who’s a proud possessor of a Leinster Schools Senior Cup winner’s medal. I’m there, ‘Even Brian O’Driscoll would envy me this,’ and I whip it out of my pocket and show it to him.

He tells me he plays ‘ball’, which is, like, Working Class for soccer, and that he’s pretty good in school, except he hates it. I ask him what he wants to be when he grows up and instead of going, ‘An astronaut,’ or, like, ‘A train-driver,’ he turns around and goes, ‘A solicitor specialising in personal injuries claims,’ and I’m thinking, There’s clearly a morket for that kind of shit around here. Smort kid.

I’m there, ‘Are you sure you should be smoking?’ He’s just taken out a pouch of Old Holborn, which is full of, like, roll-ups and lit one up. I’m looking over my shoulder, expecting Tina to walk in any minute. He goes, ‘Ah, relax, Rosser. She knows. I’m trying to get off them, but you know how it is.’

Tina comes in, puts the tray down on the coffee table, looks at Ronan and goes, ‘I don’t know how you can smoke dem tings,’ and she focks off again and Ronan gives me a wink. I go, ‘Whatever happened to Anto?’ and he’s there, ‘Me Uncle Anto?’ and I’m like, ‘Yeah, my old pair really liked him. They’d love to know whatever happened to him,’ though they’re actually more interested in knowing what happened to the Jack B. Yeats original that went missing from the old man’s study. Ronan goes, ‘He’s nsoyid’ and I’m thinking, No surprise there, and he’s like, ‘He got tree year. Ram-raided the offy in a robbed Peugeot, the fooken tulip.’ I’m there, ‘And you, Ronan? You stay out of trouble, I hope?’ suddenly feeling all, like, I don’t know, fatherly, I suppose. He goes, ‘Acting the mickey in school, that’s about the worst of it,’ and I’m there, ‘Kool and the Gang.’

After an hour or so, I get up to go, roysh, and I tell him I’ll take a spin out to see him soon and we might, I don’t know, hit town or something, or maybe go and see the Lions play in Donnybrook. He gives me his mobile number and he goes, ‘Game ball, Rosser.’ As I’m leaving the gaff I look across the road, roysh, and the kid who called me a wanker is back and he’s got, like, a tin of white paint and he’s painting over the graffiti he did earlier. He looks over his shoulder, roysh, and Ronan gives him the thumbs-up.

I get into the cor and stort her up. The kid shouts something at me, but I don’t hear it. I turn off the Snoopster and wind down the window. He goes, ‘No one touched your car, Mister,’ suddenly all full of, like, respect for me. I’m there, ‘Ten bills, isn’t that what I said?’ and he looks over at the gaff, then back at me and goes, ‘No, er, Ronan already paid me.’

1.D.I.V.O.R.C.E.