I call out to Fionn’s gaff and his old pair open the door. Not his old man, roysh, not his old dear, but the two of them. And they both hug me and tell me it’s absolutely wonderful to see me, which is, like, slightly over the top given that I met them in the Frascati Centre on Thursday night, which they also thought was wonderful, and then they tell me to come into the kitchen because they’re having quiche and it’s got, like, artichokes and hickory bacon in it and it’s wonderful. They walk me towards the kitchen, basically holding one orm each, and they sit me down at the table and they tell me it’s wonderful that Fionn has made the school team, roysh, and they tell me that Fionn’s grandfather also played centre on the great Castlerock team of the Thirties. Oh and that was also wonderful as well.
They completely freak me out, these two. My old dear’s got these two sort of, like, porcelain apples with big smiley faces hanging up in the kitchen, roysh, and that’s what Fionn’s old pair remind me of, two focking apples with big mad shiny faces, red cheeks, the lot. They even colour-coordinate the way they dress, for fock’s sake. She’s got on a pair of beige slacks and a charcoal grey cardigan, roysh, and he’s wearing beige cords. And they’re all over each other, roysh, all this putting their orms around each other and giving each other, like, compliments. I don’t know how Fionn sticks it basically. If I go to watch telly and my old pair are even sitting next to each other, roysh, I go into the next room to borf.
Fionn’s old man asks me how the studies are going and I tell him I haven’t been to a single class since before Christmas, when you can basically get away with murder. He goes, ‘Wonderful. Old Maximus Barry still doing the rounds, is he?’ and I’m there, ‘Yeah, I have him for French this year. Or is it Maths?’ and he goes, ‘He was there in my day, you know. Wonderful. And old Halitosis Henderson is still the first year dean, I believe. I shouldn’t be unkind, of course.’
Fionn’s sister Eleanor comes in. We’re talking Carolyn Lilipaly here and I’ve been there twice and that wrecks Fionn’s head. She goes, ‘Hi, Ross,’ and she air-kisses and hugs me, roysh, then says she heard we were doing Wuthering Heights as our novel – which is focking news to me, of course – and if I want any notes on it she can give them to me. I’m there, ‘That’d be a huge help because I’m finding the book quite challenging. Hey, give me your mobile number and I’ll ring you during the week,’ and she gives it to me. Putty in the hand. She’s got on the old boots and jodhpurs, roysh, and she announces that she’s going riding, and I am SO tempted to comment it’s not funny, but I manage to, like, bite my lip. It’s hugs and air-kisses for everyone in the audience and then she focks off.
The old dear finishes setting the table, then she asks if Lorcan, Fionn’s wanker of a little brother, is in and the old man says no, he’s out with his pals on their skateboards, roysh, and suddenly she’s like, ‘Ewan, ask Ross now, before Fionn comes downstairs.’ The old man goes, ‘Rather delicate though, darling. Can’t just blurt it out, can you?’ and the old dear goes, ‘But it’s important that we know.’ He’s like, ‘Ross, being young is a, what’s the word, a wonderful time in anyone’s life. But it’s a difficult time, a time of confusion, of inner conflict, of bodily changes, of feelings we don’t understand …’ The old dear goes, ‘Oh for heaven’s sake, Ewan. Ross, we think that Fionn might be gay.’
I go, ‘Gay?’ There’s, like, silence in the kitchen. They’re looking for an answer. I look down at the table and I go, ‘Oh, I get it now. The quiche.’ The old dear goes, ‘Well, we heard there’s all sorts of things they eat, didn’t we, Ewan?’ He goes, ‘I’ll tell him about the sun-dried tomatoes. Ross, we bought a jar of sun-dried tomatoes, I suppose as a test more than anything. Popped them in the cupboard. Two days later the jar was empty. Now Eleanor didn’t eat them. She has her allergies. And Lorcan wouldn’t have touched them. It had to have been Fionn.’ The old dear jumps up from her seat, yanks open the cupboard and goes, ‘He’s made a big hole in that crumbled feta cheese as well.’ She closes the cupboard, sits down again and goes, ‘These are just little bits of clues we’ve been putting together. But it’s not just the food. I mean, I’ve suspected for years. Probably since that day I caught him cutting pictures out of that Freemans catalogue that came through the door. I think a mother knows, deep down. Ross, you need to tell us.’
I look away, roysh, doing my best not to crack my hole laughing. I go, ‘He begged me not to say anything. I just feel I’m letting him down telling you this.’ The old man goes, ‘But he’s our son, Ross. It’s important that we know what he’s going through.’ I just, like, pause for about ten seconds, roysh, just for, like, dramatic effect, then I go, ‘Okay. You’re right. He’s gay,’ and the old dear jumps backwards, roysh, and claps her hands and sort of, like, squeals and goes, ‘My son is gay! That’s wonderful. I have to ring Alannah and Stephen. And Helen. Oh and the girls from golf.’ The old man goes, ‘Whoah, Andrea. Slow down there. It would be unfair to let any of this out until Fionn tells us himself. And he’ll tell us in his own time.’ The old dear’s, like, staring off into space and she’s like, ‘We could arrange a dinner party to announce it … Oh, Ewan, we’ve been so fortunate. Three wonderful children. One of each.’
I’m seriously about to explode here, trying not to laugh. The old man goes, ‘Wonderful. And Ross, bit delicate this as well, but you and Fionn aren’t–’ and I go, ‘FOCK OFF! … I mean, no. No, I’m, em, I’m actually normal.’ He goes, ‘Thought that, Andrea. Hasn’t even looked at the quiche. Well, each to his own. And this young lady who’s been coming to the house. This Jayne. Lovely girl. Her father’s with Grabbit and Leggit Solicitors, and I go, ‘She’s actually mine. As in my girlfriend. Fionn is sort of, like, using her as a cover.’ I’m actually shocked at how easily this stuff is coming to me. The old dear puts the quiche back in the fridge, roysh, and she goes, ‘Because they spend hours up in that room and, without wishing to sound smutty, there’s never a sound out of them.’ Maybe he is a steamer. I’m like, ‘I think they just talk about fashion and make-up and ‘Ally McBeal’. They get on great as friends. It’s often the way,’ and the old man’s there, ‘We know. We got all the information off the Internet.’ The old dear goes, ‘We thought we should know everything. Autoerotic asphyxiation and what have you.’
Of course the next thing, roysh, Fionn walks into the kitchen with a book in his hand and I’m wondering has he heard any of what was said because he gives me this look, roysh, basically a filthy, but then he just goes, ‘Hey, Ross. Sorry. Running a bit behind schedule. Bit wrecked actually. Was out with Jayne last night. You know Jayne with a y, don’t you?’ and I go, ‘Yeah, the girl you’re, em, going out with. What were you doing up so late? Looking at the new Family Album catalogue?’ but he doesn’t get it. I nod at the book and I go, ‘What are you reading?’ and he’s like, ‘It’s a play,’ and out of the corner of my eye I see his old man nodding his head at the old dear and she smiles back. Fionn goes, ‘It’s Shadow of a Gunman,’ and I’m there, ‘What? Hang on, how many books are on this course?’ He’s like, ‘It’s not on the course. The Plough and the Stors is. I’m actually reading around the course at the moment. I think they’re going to hit us with a question about O’Casey’s penchant for humanising political drama this year.’ I go, ‘Yeah, wake me when it’s my stop. Come on, are we going?’
Fionn’s old pair are looking at him, roysh, and they can’t stop smiling, to the point where he actually has to ask them if everything’s alroysh. They say that everything’s wonderful and his old dear tells him she’s so proud of him and I have to leave the room because I’m about to crack up in their faces.
The doorbell’s been ringing for the last focking twenty minutes, roysh, and I’ve been screaming for someone to answer it, but it looks like I’m going to have to. The old pair must have gone into town. I look at my phone and it’s, like, eleven o’clock and I’m wondering who in their right mind could be calling to the door at this time on a Saturday morning. I throw on my grey Russell Athletic T-shirt, roysh, and go down to answer the door, and who is it only Sorcha. She’s obviously heard about the result of the Gonzaga match and is trying to, like, work her way back in. Before I get a chance to ask her what the fock she wants, roysh, she hands me a bottle of cK One and she goes, ‘A peace offering.’
I’m freezing my towns off standing there in my boxer shorts, roysh, so I end up having to ask her in. I had it in my mind to be a total, like, dickhead to her, but it’s only when we get into the kitchen, roysh, that I notice how well she looks, and we’re talking totally here. She’s obviously dressed for my benefit, roysh, because she’s wearing that charcoal grey cashmere polo neck, the Calvin Klein one that I admired when I met her two weeks ago in The Bailey, and the Donna Karan boot-cut trousers she shelled out two hundred bills for and, unless I’m very much mistaken, the Dolce & Gabbana boots her old pair bought her for Christmas. She’s basically dressed to kill and I actually want to be with her.
I give her a hug, roysh, and say she must be cold. She’s not wearing a jacket, even though it’s, like, freezing outside, but she is wearing a pink scorf and pink gloves and also her Chloe aviator sunglasses, though as a hair-band. She goes, ‘Yeah. It’s, like, SO cold out there.’ I’m going, ‘You’re up early,’ and she’s like, ‘I’m heading into town. The sale’s storting in BT2 today. Dad gave me some money. Wondered did you fancy coming in with me?’ I’m there, ‘Don’t know. I’m pretty sore after the game. Bumps and bruises,’ and she goes, ‘Please, Ross. You know what they say. It’s just no fun, shopping for one.’ I’m there, ‘Yeah, fine. Want some coffee first?’ and she goes, ‘I’ll make it while you get dressed.’
I open the cupboard to try to find where the old dear keeps the gourmet shit she buys. I’m, like, throwing boxes and jors and stuff around, roysh, trying to lay my hands on it and Sorcha comes over to help me and OH! MY! GOD! the smell of that Issey Miyake, roysh, I’m going to end up basically hopping the girl in a minute. She finds the coffee and she goes, ‘I saw what Tony Ward wrote about you,’ and I go, ‘Haven’t seen the paper yet.’ She’s like, ‘He described your kicking as peerless,’ and I’m there, ‘Well, he’s always had it in for me. Pure jealousy because he never achieved the heights in the game that I did.’ She gives me a funny look and goes, ‘No, Ross. It’s actually good what he said. Peerless is good.’ I whip out a packet of Jaffa Cakes and I’m there, ‘Oh, roysh. That’s cool, but we’ve still got a long way to go to the final.’
I tell her I’m going upstairs to get changed and she asks me, roysh, what I’m going to wear and before I get a chance to, like, answer she asks me to wear the French Connection shirt she bought me for our six-month anniversary, the light blue one, and my DKNY jeans and I don’t know why, roysh, maybe it’s just that, like, old habits die hord, but I end up doing what she says. As I’m walking out of the room, I grab my glacier blue lambswool V-neck, which I tie around my waist, to make it look like she hasn’t totally dressed me, and also my Ralph Lauren baseball cap. A splash of Carolina Herrera and I’m ready.
‘Is that Carolina Herrera?’ she goes and I nod, and she’s there, ‘Oisinn?’ and I’m like, ‘Yeah,’ and she goes, ‘So he’s still working in the airport? In duty free?’ and I’m there, ‘Just on Saturdays. The amount of birds he ends up chatting up at that perfume counter …’ Sorcha’s standing next to the sink. She still has her gloves on and she’s, like, holding her mug with both hands. She blows into her coffee before she takes, like, a tiny sip. I’m there, ‘So what did you say you’re buying today?’ and she doesn’t answer, roysh, just keeps sort of, like, smiling at me, which freaks me out, and then eventually she goes, ‘Who’s Alyson?’
Fock.
I’m there, ‘Who?’ and she’s like, ‘Alyson? With a y?’ So I’m there pretending to be wracking my brains, going, ‘Alyson with a y … doesn’t ring any bells …’ and she’s like, ‘Your mum left you a note on the table, saying she phoned last night. Apparently you left one of your CDs in her car.’ Snoop Dog, yeah. I’m there, ‘Oh, that Alyson with a y. Look, Sorcha, she’s only, like, a friend,’ and she just, like, bursts out laughing and goes, ‘I’m not jealous, Ross,’ and I’m there, ‘No skin off my nose if you are. We’re both–’ and she goes, ‘Free agents, I know. Look, Ross. I came here today, well, portly to clear the air. I’ve been doing SUCH a lot of thinking and – OH! MY! GOD! – I was SO out of order that night in Annabel’s, throwing drink over you. I guess when I saw you with that Sian what’s-her-name I just totally flipped. I thought at first it was because she thinks she’s all that on the hockey pitch when in fact she’s a TOTAL knob. Then I realised it was because I still have strong feelings for you …’
Fock the shopping. I put my orms around her, roysh, and get ready to throw the lips on her when all of a sudden she goes, ‘Ross, what the hell do you think you’re doing? I have feelings for you, but not in that way,’ and I just, like, pull away. She goes, ‘Like I said, I’ve been doing SUCH a lot of thinking and I won’t deny there’s still something there. But I accept that it’s over between us. Me and you as, like, girlfriend-boyfriend, it’s not healthy. But I still want us to do stuff together. I value your friendship too much to ever want to lose you.’ I’ve made a total tit of myself here, which was her plan all along, and I end up going, ‘That’s what I want too. Come on, let’s hit the shops.’
Sorcha’s driving the RAV4 her old man bought her for her eighteenth. She’s got the new Robbie Williams album on and she totally loses it when ‘Angels’ comes on, going, ‘OHMYGOD OHMYGOD OHMYGOD, that is my favourite song of, like, ALL time,’ and when it’s over she asks me to, like, hit the button and play it again and we listen to it for the second time and then she turns around, roysh, and she tells me that it SO reminds her of Josh, and when I don’t ask her who Josh is she tells me he’s this amazing goy she met in Reynords a few weeks ago, he’s in UCD, has an amazing body and plays Gaelic football. I go, ‘Is he a bogger?’ and she’s like, ‘He’s actually from Dalkey,’ and I say basically fock-all after that, which must make her day. I thought she’d be all over me like a rash after the Gonzaga result, not playing hord to get.
I spend the rest of the drive in, flipping through a magazine that was, like, on my seat when I got in and there’s an article in it about shedding those unwanted pounds after Christmas and the headline is, like, WHAT YOU EAT TODAY, YOU WEAR TOMORROW.
We pork in the Stephen’s Green Shopping Centre and Sorcha links my orm as we walk down Grafton Street and steers me into BT2. The place – I can’t believe it, roysh – it’s full of skobies. It’s the sales that attract them, JP always says, like flies to a rotting dog. We’re talking major skobefest here and these two birds – REAL howiyas – they stort giving Sorcha filthies. So I’m just there, ‘Sorry, do you two have a problem, aport from the obvious?’ and one of them gives it, ‘Fookin poshie bastard,’ and I go, ‘Fock off back to your own side of the city,’ and I turn around to Sorcha and I’m there, ‘Pram Springs on tour.’ She’s like, ‘What do you expect? They’re offering, like, seventy percent off some of these clothes. It’s bound to attract those sorts of people,’ and I’m there, ‘I know. It’s like TK Maxx. Every focking skanger in Dublin is wearing Ralphs since they opened.’
Sorcha ends up buying a blue fitted jacket by Dolce & Gabbana, black knee-high boots by, as far as I remember, Alberta Ferretti, a black hooded evening dress by Elle Active and two white sleeveless T-shirts from, like, French Connection. Then we go and look at, like, the men’s clothes. I notice that the black and white Ralph sweater I bought before Christmas is reduced from a hundred and ten bills to, like, fifty-five and the blue and white striped Polo Sport rugby shirt the old pair got me for Crimbo is reduced from, like, a hundred and fifteen bills to, like, eighty. I turn to Sorcha and I’m there, ‘This is totally unfair. I’ve a good mind to ask for the manager.’ She goes, ‘Cheer up, I bought you this,’ and she hands me this bag, roysh, and she goes, ‘Open it,’ and I do and it’s, like, a blue Armani Jeans baseball cap with a white AJ insignia on the front, and I take off the cap I already have on and put on the new one and Sorcha says it SO suits me. She’s like, ‘You don’t already have it in blue, do you?’ and I’m there, ‘No,’ and she’s like, ‘Thank God for that. Because I, like, bought it and then I got this, like, horrible feeling that I saw you wearing one in the Red Box a couple of weeks ago,’ and quick as a flash, roysh, I’m there, ‘Maybe you’re thinking of Josh,’ and the second I bring up his name, roysh, I regret it because I know I really shouldn’t give her the pleasure. She just, like, smiles at that, roysh, and goes, ‘I just bought you that to say thanks for coming into town with me,’ and then she goes, ‘Come on, I’ll shout you a cappuccino.’
We’re about to hit Café Java, roysh, when all of a sudden who do we bump into only Hennessy, the old man’s penis of a solicitor. I crack on not to see him at first, roysh, trying to, like, distract Sorcha’s attention into the window of some shop, which turns out to be the focking Scholl sandle shop, duuuhhh! But she cops him in the reflection of the window, roysh, and she goes, ‘OH! MY! GOD! Ross, isn’t that your dad’s solicitor? Hennessy?’ and she turns around – the dope – and she calls him and of course he’s straight over.
He’s like, ‘Hello, Ross. Hello there, young Sorcha. Ross, I have to agree with every word Tony Ward said. Peerless is right. The trusty right foot. Gonzaga simply had no answer to it. It’s like your father said, first round of the Leinster Schools Senior Cup or not, Warren Gatland will have taken note of that performance,’ and he says all of this to me, roysh, without taking his eyes off Sorcha, and of course she hasn’t copped him practically drooling over her. She goes, ‘Are you doing some shopping?’
He goes, ‘Getting a few last-minute things, darling. Flying out tonight,’ and she’s like, ‘Oh my God, where?’ and he’s there, ‘Bangkok. These tribunals are a licence to print money. I can’t spend the bloody stuff fast enough. So it’s Bangkok. You wouldn’t believe the things that are still legal over there.’ Of course this comment passes completely over Sorcha’s head, as does the sly little look he has at her top tens.
She goes, ‘Mrs Coghlan-O’Hara must be SO looking forward to it,’ and he laughs and he goes, ‘You don’t bring coal to Newcastle, darling,’ and he looks at me for the first time and winks. When he’s focked off, roysh, Sorcha says that OH! MY! GOD! he is SUCH a nice man and it, like, frightens me how easily she’s taken in by people.
We hit Café Java and end up getting a table near the window. She takes off her gloves and her scorf, roysh, and she, like, lays them down on the table and then storts looking through the menu. She orders a feta cheese salad, roysh, with tomato bread and no olives and a Diet Coke, and I order a club sandwich, which comes with, like, a side order of Pringles, and also a Coke, but I’m still Hank afterwards so I order, like, a ciabatta filler and then a Chocolate Concorde.
Sorcha says she’s been eating SO much shit lately, trying to get her head around her special topic for history, which is the war poets, and she is SO not having dessert, although she ends up eating half of mine when it arrives. I order a coffee and she has, like, an espresso mallow-chino, which she plays with for, like, ten minutes with her spoon, making different shapes out of the marshmallow as it melts on the surface. I can tell there’s something on her mind. Eventually, roysh, she puts down her spoon, takes off her scrunchy, slips it onto her wrist, shakes her hair loose, then pulls it back into a low ponytail again, puts the scrunchy back on and then pulls four or five or strands of hair loose. It looks exactly the same as it did before she did it. She goes, ‘Ross, there’s something I want to ask you,’ and I’m there, ‘Shoot,’ and she goes, ‘Okay, I’ll come straight out with it. Will you come to the UCD Orts Ball with me? Just as, like, friends?’ I’m there, ‘But neither of us is in UCD.’ She’s like, ‘Emma’s got me two tickets. Please?’ I go, ‘Why don’t you ask lover-boy? That Jamie O’Connell-Toss Features.’ She’s like, ‘He’s a loser, Ross.’ I’m there, ‘And what about this Josh tool?’ She goes, ‘Look, I’m asking you.’ I let her sweat for a few seconds and then I go, ‘Okay. But just as friends.’ I’m dying to be with her, roysh, but I’m not getting into that whole going-together scene again.
She takes out a pack of Marlboro Lights and I go to squeeze the lizard. I wash my hands, splash some water on my face and then, like, take out my mobile. I have four new messages. Keeva phoned to say she is SO embarrassed and she’s never done anything like this before, but she got my number from, like, Christian and she’s probably making a TOTAL spa of herself but she really enjoyed that night, we’re talking the night we were together, and she wondered whether I wanted to go out to her house in, like, Clonskeagh to maybe watch a DVD, or, like, go for a drink, or maybe something to eat, or the cinema and she leaves her number, roysh, and she tells me I can phone her back, but not on Saturday morning because she has, like, hockey. And I’m thinking, yeah she’s right, she is making a total spa of herself. The next two messages are hang-ups, but I can see that they’ve both come from Sian’s number, one at half-eleven last night and the other at, like, a quarter-to-nine this morning, which means she’s probably been up all night brooding over the fact that I haven’t rung her, the focking sap. The fourth call is from some bird called Claire who says she’s, like, Sian’s best friend and she tells me I’m a total orsehole for the way I treated her and she doesn’t know why Sian is constantly falling for dickheads like me. Then she screams ‘DICKHEAD’ down the phone four times and tells me that any girl who has ever been with me says I have a small penis. I snap the phone shut and check myself out in the mirror again. I have to say, roysh, I’m looking pretty well. Then I go back to the table where Sorcha is handing the waitress her credit cord and asking her can she bring her a glass of Ballygowan. She goes, ‘Still.’
Fionn goes, ‘Ross, can I ask you something?’ and I kind of know what’s coming. I’m there, ‘Shoot.’ He goes, ‘Did you say something to my old pair the other day?’ Of course quick as a flash, roysh, I’m there, ‘Like what?’ and he goes, ‘I don’t know. They’ve just been acting really, I don’t know, weird around me. They just keep smiling at me all the time. And the old dear keeps telling me that if I ever need someone to talk to …’ I go, ‘She’s probably just being, like, supportive. It’s a difficult, confusing time for us all, Fionn.’
Erika always looks as though she’s in a fouler, roysh, and I can actually picture her face when she answers her mobile. I’m there, ‘Hey, it’s Ross,’ and I get nothing back. I’m there, ‘Erika, it’s Ross,’ and she goes, ‘So you know your own name, great. What do you want?’ I’m like, ‘Just, like, a chat,’ and she’s there, ‘What kind of an idiot are you, calling me while I’m horse-riding? The ringing could have panicked Orchid,’ and I’m there, ‘Well if the phone scares the horse, why do you bring it with you when you’re on him?’ and it’s probably in case Brad Pitt calls, or Matt Damon, or one of the other five men in the world she’d actually be prepared to sleep with. But she doesn’t answer, roysh, she just goes, ‘This conversation is boring me,’ and she hangs up.
I need a sheet of paper, roysh, so I turn to the back of my copybook and rip out the last page, which of course means the first page comes out with it, though that doesn’t matter a fock because I haven’t written squat all year, even though it’s, like, January. I write on it,
And I fold it in four, roysh, and I write like,
OISINN
on the outside and I hand it to Christian beside me and I tell him to, like, pass it down the line to Oisinn, totally forgetting that Fionn’s sitting next to him and when he’s handed the note to pass on, roysh, he’s too engrossed in the lesson to look at the name that’s on it, roysh, and he opens it while still looking at the blackboard and then he looks down and – FOCK IT! – he reads it. Then he turns it over, roysh, and he sees Oisinn’s name on it and he looks back up the row and he knows it’s from me. He just, like, gives me a filthy, then rips it up into, I don’t know, fifty pieces.
The next thing I hear, roysh, is Ms Cully – we’re talking Bet Down City, Idaho here – and she’s going, ‘Cad a bhí ar siúl nuair a fógraíodh na comhbhuaiteoirí don Duais Nobel in Oslo i 1998?’ and I’m just sitting there, roysh, staring at her, not having a focking bog whether this class is, like, French or Irish or what, but of course everyone’s looking at me, roysh, waiting for my answer, so I take a gamble that it’s Irish and I go, ‘Tá me on the S,’ which I have to say, roysh, I’m pretty pleased with. Everyone cracks their holes laughing and she ends up asking some swot, Fionn actually, who’s her focking pet. He’s like, ‘Bhí sé in mbun oibre i nDoire ag seoladh plean eacnamaíochta don chathair agus David Trimble ag filleadh abhaile ó thuras geilleagrach i Meiriceá nuair a fógraíodh in Oslo gurb iad a bhuaigh Duais Nobel na Síochána i 1998. Luach saothair a bhí ann do John Hume agaus dá bhean, Pat, as ucht na hoibre eachtach a rinne siad le triocha bliain anuas,’ and it’s all an bhfuil cead agam dul go dti an focking leithreas to me. Ms Cully’s there, ‘Ceart go leor,’ and Fionn’s gone, ‘Go raibh maith agat,’ and then she’s like, ‘An bhfuil tusa ar an S freisin?’ and he’s like, ‘Sea,’ and I don’t know what the fock’s going down here but she just, like, looks at me and shakes her head.
So after that, roysh – him basically making me look stupid – I decide there’s no way I’m, like, apologising to him over the note, blah blah blah, so I decide to just, like, brazen it out, if that’s the word, and after class I end up walking down the corridor behind him and I’m going, ‘My name is Fionn. For Irish, press one. For French, press two. For Spanish, press three,’ ripping the piss out of him basically, and of course he ends up flipping the lid, roysh, he spins around and he goes, ‘What are you going to do when you finish school, Ross?’ and the question catches me sort of, like, unawares, roysh, because I was expecting him to call me a tool or a knob or something like that. A spa or a wanker. Or a dickhead or a tosspot. Or a penis. I go, ‘Em, nothing, I suppose,’ and he nods his head and he’s like, ‘Just live off your old man’s money? You don’t aspire to anything better than that, Ross? You don’t want something more for yourself?’ I’m there, ‘That’s easy for you to say. You’ve got brains to burn,’ and he goes, ‘We’ve all got focking brains. It’s how we use them that’s different,’ and I end up telling him that the only reason I give him such a hord time is because I always feel as thick as pigshit when I’m in his company and I’m probably jealous because he’s amazing at rugby and at, like, learning.
I go, ‘Look, I’m sorry about telling your old pair you were a steamer. There’ll be no more of that shit, I promise. Are you coming down to the canteen? I’ll shout you lunch, just to show there’s, like, no hord feelings,’ and he goes, ‘I’m gonna skip lunch. I’ve got a meeting with the French Exchange Club,’ and I have to bite my lip to stop myself calling him an Activities Nerd. He goes, ‘Why don’t you come along?’ He senses my, like, reluctance, if that’s the right word, and he goes, ‘Come on. You never know what you’ll get out of it.’ So I end up tagging along, roysh, and on the way down to B6 I turn to him and I go, ‘Fionn, can I just check with you – that wasn’t French we were talking in that class back there, was it?’ and he’s there, ‘No, that was Irish,’ and I’m like, ‘Thank fock for that. I thought I might have made a total tit of myself there for a second.’
So we head in, roysh, and it’s like a focking Fionn lookalikes club in there, all glasses and anoraks and A4 pads on the table with blue and red biros and different coloured highlighter pens at the ready. It’s the focking Valley of the Dweebs. This complete tool, roysh, I think I actually gave him a wedgy when we were in transition year, although he’s obviously managed to blank out the experience because he turns around to me and he goes, ‘Mon dieu, a new member,’ and straight away I go, ‘Hey, don’t get your hopes up. I’m just checking out the vibe.’ He goes, ‘Comment vous appellez vous?’ and I look at Fionn and he goes, ‘He’s asking you your name,’ so obviously I’m like, ‘Ross.’
Aidan’s the tosser’s name and I’m actually pretty insulted that he doesn’t know who I am. He’s obviously got no interest in rugby, the weirdo. He goes, ‘Ah, Ross. Vous dites, “Mon nom est Ross”, ou “Je m’appelle, Ross”. Et je m’appelle Aidan. Bienvenu.’
I’m just, like, staring the focker out of it. Everyone in the room’s just, like, smiling at me and it’s freaking the shit out of me. Fionn turns around to him and he goes, ‘Il fait parti de l’équipe de rugby,’ and Aidan, who two years ago was down on his knees in the lobby, roysh, begging me not to hang his boxers off the Christmas tree in the library, suddenly thinks he’s, like, shit-hot with his, ‘Ooh la la! Nous devons parler plus lentement,’ and Fionn goes, ‘Non, non. Il faut que nous parlions en Anglais.’
Aidan goes, ‘Ross, have you an interest in participating in the French Exchange Programme?’ which I recognise as English, just about. He’s even got me answering in this focking froggy accent. I’m there going, ‘What ees involved?’ like the tool that I am. He goes, ‘Well, in collaboration with the languages laboratory, we’ve devised a …’ and I decide I’ve already heard enough of this shit and I go, ‘Some frog comes to live in my house with me and then I go over there and live in his house with him?’ He thinks for a few seconds and then he goes, ‘Essentially, that’s it,’ and straight away I’m like, ‘Not eenterested, hombre,’ which is pretty good, I have to say, and I get up to go because my stomach’s rumbling and I’d eat a scabby dog at this stage.
The next thing, roysh, Fionn slides this, like, file in front of me and goes, ‘Aren’t you going to at least look?’ and I just throw my eyes up to heaven and I open it, anything for an easy life, and – HOLY! FOCK! – I cannot believe it. I go, ‘You never said there’d be … birds involved,’ and Fionn goes, ‘But of course if you’re not interested,’ and as he reaches over to take the file back, roysh, I grab it with both hands and I go, ‘I never said that.’ He smiles, roysh, and he’s there, ‘Beautiful, isn’t she?’ and I have to say she is, roysh, she’s totally babealicious, a ringer for Natalie Imbruglia, and she’s wearing this, like, swimsuit thing, huge top tens, and I’ve an old Woody Harrelson just looking at her. Fionn goes, ‘Her name is Clementine,’ and I go, ‘I’ll take her.’
Of course that’s not good enough for this Aidan tool. He laughs, roysh – he’s looking to get decked – and he goes, ‘It’s, er, not as simple as that, Ross,’ obviously planning to bail in there himself. I’d love to see her face when she walks through the Arrivals gate and sees Bill focking Gates looking back at her. She’d be on the next plane back to, I don’t know, Paris or wherever the airport in France is. It turns out, though, he knows he’s out of his depth. He goes, ‘First, you have to write a letter to her, to introduce yourself, let her know something about you. And she will write to you and you can decide whether you are suitable,’ and I’m looking at the picture and I’m thinking, ‘She’s suitable alroysh.’
I stand up and pick up the file and I go, ‘Fionn, you’ll help me write the letter, will you?’ and he goes, ‘Absolutely,’ and I’m there, ‘Alroysh, I’m in. Now you’re going to have to excuse me because I’m absolutely Hank at the moment. So I’ll leave you to get on with whatever it is you do in here. Asta la vista,’ and then I’m out the door.
‘Tommy Girl really is the any-time fragrance,’ Oisinn is going. And there’s, like, three or four birds around him – we’re talking total stunners here – and they’re hanging on his every word. He takes the tester down off the shelf, roysh, and he takes this bird’s hand – you’d say it was Sharleen Spiteri if you didn’t know better – and sprays a little bit on the inside of her wrist and he’s going, ‘It’s a blend of Cherokee rose, camellia and blackcurrant flowers, cedar, sandalwood …’ I’m thinking the dude has GOT to be making this shit up. He’s going, ‘Wild heather, apple blossom, mandarin, tangerine, Dakota lily, jasmine and violet.’
Then suddenly this, like, announcement comes over the air, roysh, and it’s like, ‘Would all passengers on Aer Lingus flight EI102 to New York please proceed immediately to Gate 26, where your flight is now boarding and is about to close,’ and one of the birds, roysh, she goes, ‘We’d better be quick. Our plane is going to go without us,’ and it’s only then I realise they’re Septics. I’m about to try and bail in, roysh – give it a bit of, ‘New York, huh? The Windy City’ – but I know they’re, like, too engrossed in Oisinn’s act to listen to any of my killer lines. Actually, I’m too engrossed myself to even use them.
He goes, ‘Now Sensi is, in my humble opinion, the flagship of Giorgio’s fleet, and I once told him as much. It’s the fragrance that combines Oriental romance with Italian spirit, a rich blend of akazia, kaffir-limette, orgeat, jasmine, palisander and – who can forget? – benzoe.’ Who can forget? – benzoe? I’d rip the piss out of him later in front of the goys if these birds didn’t look like they’re all about to jump his bones. He goes, ‘Sensi is a fragrance that’s as warm as love itself.’
Fffzzz. He sprays a bit on one of the other bird’s wrists – we’re talking Nigella Lawson except sexier – and she smells it and she looks at Oisinn and I swear to God their eyes sort of, like, linger. This is Oisinn we’re talking about. He’s fat and ugly and I’ve just seen him send four total stunners weak at the knees. He ends up selling them a shitload of perfume, we’re talking seven bottles between them, and off they go like they’ve just met focking Tom Cruise.
He doesn’t seem to have been aware of me standing there. I go, ‘Look at Tom Cruise there,’ and he looks at me and goes, ‘Ross, how the fock did you get through Departures without a boarding cord?’ and I’m there, ‘Remember that security pass that you thought you lost?’ and he’s like, ‘Yeah,’ and I go, ‘Well, you didn’t … Have to say, Oisinn, when you told me you were going back working Saturdays, I couldn’t focking understand why. To be honest, I always thought this job was a bit … faggy. My eyes have been opened here this morning.’
He checks out these two air-hostesses who walk in – not Ryanair, decent-looking ones. He goes, ‘There’s no jobs going, Ross,’ crapping it in case I try to muscle in on what he’s got going here. I’m there, ‘You know me, Oisinn. Not really interested in working. Although the hours you spent studying that shit are really paying off. Actually, seeing those Septics hanging out of you reminded me that we’re both doing pretty well on the old foreign bird front at the mo.’ He looks, like, intrigued, if that’s the right word, and he goes, ‘Do tell.’ I’m there, ‘Oh, it’s nothing really, just that I’m going to be getting it together pretty soon with a French exchange student with the biggest airbags you’ve ever seen. Looks like that bird who used to be in ‘Neighbours’. We’re talking Natalie Imbruglia. Gonna be some hot lovin’ going down.’
He goes, ‘Yeah, I heard you were in with the Nerd Herd yesterday. Fionn set that up for you?’ and I’m like, ‘Fair focks to the goy, Oisinn. I mean, I know we’ve not always seen eye to eye – probably a bit of jealousy on his port because of my rugby skills, success with the fairer sex, etc, etc – but he’s, like, sound. Looks after his mates.’ Oisinn goes, ‘Pity that,’ and I’m like, ‘What?’ and he goes, ‘Just saying it’s a pity you two are all palsy-walsy again. I’ve a focking geansaí-load of women’s cosmetics and fragrance catalogues that I’ve got to throw out. I was going to suggest that you maybe slip them under his bed next time you’re in his gaff for his old dear to find,’ and I go, ‘He’s doing me a serious turn here, Oisinn. Wouldn’t be fair to do it to the goy,’ and we both look at each other and break into a smile and I’m there, ‘Go on, then. Give them to me.’
So he bends down under one of the checkouts, roysh, and he storts reefing all this stuff out – we’re talking brochures and shit – when all of a sudden one of the Septics is back – it’s the Nigella Lawson one – and her face is, like, really, really red, and at first, roysh, I’m wondering is it, like, an allergy to the perfume or something, but then I realise it’s, like, embarrassment. She runs down, roysh, and she hands Oisinn this, like, piece of paper and she goes, ‘I have never done anything like this in my life before. But that’s, like, my phone number? And my cell’s there too.’
Hand it to him. The goy’s a ledge.
Okay. It’s the third week in January. It’s what, four-and-a-half to five months to the Leaving? I decide to knuckle down to a bit of study. There’s no basic rule that says you can’t play rugby and get a decent Leaving. Okay, Physics. No, fock that. History? Boring. Sorcha’s doing it anyway. I’ll get the notes off her the night before the exam. English. Yeah, not a bad idea. English is easy. It’s just, like, reading, roysh? Where to stort is the problem. There’s, like, a stack of books, we’re talking poetry and plays and all sorts of bullshit. I pick up my book of past papers and just, like, open it at a random page.
‘Kavanagh’s poetry concerns itself with what it means to be a poet; a poet in a sometimes indifferent and ultimately beautiful world.’ Consider his poetry on your course in the light of this statement. Your answer should be supported by relevant references or quotations.
Fock that.
In Gay Times this month the magazine’s cinema critic asks why there aren’t more romantic comedies with a gay theme. There’s an article on gays in the Premiership and a feature on how the Internet has revolutionised the sex lives of hundreds of gay men. I wait until the shop has cleared out, then I go to pay for it, putting it face-down on the counter. The old goy in the shop goes, ‘It’s Ross, isn’t it? You’re Charles O’Carroll-Kelly’s boy, aren’t you?’
Fock!
I’m there, ‘Can you just take for this?’ and I slap ten bills on the counter and I’m like, ‘Keep the change,’ and I go to pick up the magazine but the focker’s too quick for me. He’s there, ‘Let’s see what it is first,’ and he flips it over and he goes, ‘Oh dear. What have you got yourself involved in?’ I’m there, ‘I haven’t got myself involved in anything. It’s not for me.’
‘None of my business,’ he goes, flicking through it. He storts reading out the focking headlines, roysh, at the top of his voice, going, ‘THERE’S NOWT AS QUEER AS FOLK! SINGER-SONGWRITER TOM ROBINSON ON WHY HE’S RETURNING TO HIS TRADITIONAL ROOTS.’ I’m there, ‘HELLO? I said it’s not for me.’ He goes, ‘FAIRY ACROSS THE MERSEY! AN EXCLUSIVE NO-HOLDS-BARRED REPORT ON THE GAY SCENE IN LIVERPOOL.’ I go, ‘Will you keep your focking voice down.’ Two birds I know to see from Loreto Foxrock have just walked in. He goes, ‘COTTAGE BY THE SEA! HOW LONELY MEN ARE FINDING LOVE IN THE PUBLIC TOILETS … OF MORECAMBE.’
The two birds are over at the popcorn. The goy’s like, ‘Does Charles know you’re out of the broom cupboard or what’s this they call it?’ I just, like, snatch the magazine off him. I go, ‘It’s not for me, you focking brain-dead tool. It’s for a friend of mine.’ He just, like, taps the side of his nose and goes, ‘Mum’s the word.’ I’m there, ‘I want a large brown envelope as well.’ He goes, ‘Got them right here under the counter.’ I stick the magazine into the envelope, roysh, then I borrow a pen off the goy and write Fionn’s name and address on the outside. Then I rip the envelope a bit so the word GAY is showing. The goy goes, ‘Whatever are you up to, Ross?’ I’m there, ‘HELLO? Will you focking butt out? Do you sell stamps?’ He goes, ‘I’ve a book of local ones, Ross. Letter rate. I’ve no scales, though, to weigh that. I wouldn’t have a notion how much it’d cost to post something like that.’ I’m there, ‘Just gimme ten locals then.’
He gives me the stamps. The birds arrive down at the counter. One of them asks if he has any popcorn other than cheese popcorn. I think Oisinn was with one of them once. The goy says no, he just has what’s there and the two birds throw their eyes up to heaven and go down the back of the shop to get a bottle of Volvic each. I stick the stamps on and turn around to the goy. I’m there, ‘There’s a postbox outside, isn’t there?’ He just, like, nods. I throw the tenner at him.
I’m on the way out the door and he goes – the birds had to have heard him – he goes, ‘Being gay isn’t the end of the world, Ross. I know they’re old, but your parents can always try for another child. Or adopt.’
We’re in Annabel’s, roysh, and I’ve got these two Mounties eating out of my hand, we’re talking Zara and Eloise, both absolute babes. Zara’s a little bit like Angel from ‘Home and Away’ it has to be said, and Eloise is a total ringer for Julia Roberts and I’ve pretty much decided, roysh, that it’s Eloise I’m going to be with. She’s actually giving it loads, roysh, going, ‘I saw you play against Gonzaga. I thought you had a great game,’ and I’m going, ‘You’re not just saying that because you want to be with me, are you?’ and she takes it the way I meant it, roysh, as a joke and she sort of, like, slaps the top of my orm and tells me I am SO big-headed it’s unbelievable.
Zara decides to get in on the act then, roysh, and she asks me if I remember her and I ask her where from and she goes, ‘HELLO? I’m on the Irish debating team. We had a debate against your school, like, two months ago?’ and I’m there, ‘Hey, yeah. Your speech was amazing,’ even though I don’t remember ever clapping eyes on her before in my life, roysh, and even though I haven’t a focking breeze when it comes to Irish and the only words I know are, like, tá and sea and agus and it’s pretty hord to make a sentence out of them.
Eloise tells Zara that she is SO going to have to stop reminding her about, like, school, because she basically hasn’t done a tap all year and OH! MY! GOD! if she hears the words ‘trigonometry’ or ‘vectors’ again she is going to ohmygod scream and I’m standing there, roysh, trying to work out what subject she’s actually talking about and whether I’m taking it as well. She says her parents are giving her SO much hassle over, like, studying and shit? And she’s applied to do, like, International Commerce with French in UCD but it’s, like, OH! MY! GOD! SO many points. On top of everything, she says, she’s also deputy head girl this year and she’s been asked to, like, arrange the music for the graduation, because she plays the piano, even though her playing has SO gone to seed since she got mono – ‘we’re talking, like, glandular fever?’ – and she still doesn’t know what song she’s going to choose as their farewell song, roysh, or whether it’s even up to her, but it’s definitely going to be either ‘Never Forget’ by Take That, ‘Hero’ by Mariah Carey, or ‘Wind Beneath My Wings’ by that Bette Midler, which is OH! MY! GOD! her favourite song of, like, ALL time.
So she asks me which one I’d choose and like any great outhalf, roysh, I’m quick to see the opening. I go, ‘Hero,’ and she asks me why, roysh, and I tell her it’s because I like love songs. She goes, Oh my God, I wouldn’t have had you down as a romantic,’ and I can see her, roysh, trying really hord to believe it. I get another pint in and ask her if she wants another vodka and Diet 7-Up and she’s there, ‘Cool.’ Zara saw the odds were stacked against her and focked off somewhere. I go, ‘You’ve probably heard a lot of bad stuff about me from other girls,’ and she doesn’t answer. I’m there, ‘It’s all bullshit, Eloise.’ Fock, I nearly called her Zara. I’m giving it, ‘They all want to get to know the real me, you see. And I’m not prepared to open up until I find the girl I truly love and want to spend the rest of my life with. Can I kiss you?’ She looks like she’s going to, like, die of focking happiness. Before she can answer, roysh, I move in and throw the lips on her and there we are basically wearing the face off each other for twenty minutes until I get bored and stort wondering what the goys are up to. I tell her I have to drain the snake, then I head off to look for Christian and Oisinn.
When I find them, roysh, they’re having a toast to the greatest rugby team in the world – us, of course – and how we’re going to total Skerries in the second round of the cup next week and when we say total we’re talking totally total. Then Oisinn and JP, roysh, break into a chorus of, like, ‘WE’VE GOT ROSS O’CARROLL-KELLY ON OUR TEAM, WE’VE GOT ROSS O’CARROLL-KELLY ON OUR TEAM …’ and everyone in the whole club is, like, looking over and we’re just there, ‘OH MY GOD! we SO rock.’
Christian tells me I’ll have to leave my droids outside because they don’t serve their kind in here and before I can ask him, roysh, what the fock he’s bullshitting on about, Fionn – oooh, my face is sponsored by Weatherglaze – goes, ‘Goys, do we know anyone called Julian?’ and of course I have to turn away to stop myself cracking up in the dude’s face. Fionn goes, ‘Ross, I swear to God, if I find out you’re …’ and I’m there, ‘What?’ playing the innocent. He goes, ‘We had a truce, Ross. I’m sorting you out with a hot, seriously French Natalie Imbruglia lookalike and all you can do is …’ and I’m like, ‘What the fock are you talking about?’ and he goes, ‘Some goy keeps ringing my house looking for me. Always when I’m out. Keeps leaving the name Julian,’ and Oisinn goes, ‘Well, he’s got to be a bender with a name like that,’ and I’m there, ‘Don’t look at me,’ but Fionn just stares at me, like he’s trying to make up his mind whether to believe me or not, and I have to get the fock away before I laugh, so I head off to the can. After six or seven Britneys, the old back teeth are floating.
So there I am at the trough, roysh, and the next thing Oisinn appears beside me, with this big focking grin on his face. He goes, ‘I take it that was you,’ and I’m there, ‘You think I’d be capable of doing something like that?’ and he’s like, ‘You’re pure evil, Ross O’Carroll-Kelly,’ and I’m there, ‘Hey, careful with that thing, you’re focking splashing my Dubes.’ He goes, ‘Sorry about that. Hey, gimme your mobile.’ I’m there, ‘Why, are you going to have a hit and miss on that as well?’ He’s like, ‘Just give it to me.’
I hand it to him, roysh, and he flicks down through the old directory and presses Fionn’s home number. His old man answers, roysh, focking Ned Flanders himself. He’s like, ‘Heeee-llo?’ and Oisinn, roysh, he puts on this, like, faggy voice and he’s like, ‘Oooh what a lovely masculine voice – as the chorus girl said to the disgraced bishop of Galway. Is Fionn in residence?’ I can hear Fionn’s old man going, ‘’Fraid not at the minute. Expect he’s out with his chums,’ and Oisinn’s there, ‘I bet he is. I bet he is.’ I’m up against the wall, roysh, holding my sides I’m laughing so much.
Oisinn goes, ‘I’m ringing from Toni & Guy, the ladies’ hairdressing people, just to let him know that we received his application for the trainee stylist’s job. I’ve given it the once-over – as the chambermaid said to the elderly peer with the pronounced limp – and we’ll be calling him for an interview next week,’ and I can hear Fionn’s old man going, ‘That’s wonderful! Andrea, come and share this wonderful news …’
By the time he hangs up, roysh, I pretty much need oxygen I’m laughing so much and when we head back out to the goys, of course, neither of us can look at Fionn without cracking our holes and I’m pretty relieved, roysh, when someone suggests grabbing a load of cans, hopping into a Jo and heading out to Donnybrook to Simon’s free gaff. His old pair are in New York for the week. His pad is amazing, roysh, a big fock-off one on Ailesbury Road. He actually looks quite shocked when he opens the door. He was probably upstairs having an Allied Irish, but when he sees the cans, roysh, he’s going, ‘Welcome to my humble abode,’ then he goes, ‘Anyone score tonight?’ and I’m like, ‘I nipped that Eloise one. She’s wanted me for ages. I was always going to give in, in the end,’ and he nods and goes, ‘Darned Mounties. They always get their man.’
I high-five the dude, roysh, and then we hit the kitchen and get stuck into the cans and it turns out to be an amazing night. We’re all sitting on the floor of his sitting-room, roysh, knocking back the Britneys, then we move onto the shorts, we’re talking vodka and Red Bulls to stort with and then Simon produces a bottle of Sambucca that his old man brought back from, I don’t know, Greece or somewhere.
Oisinn says he ended up with Ellie Whelan last week, roysh, and of course we’re all going, ‘As in first year Agriculture in UCD, used to be head girl in Loreto on the Green?’ and he goes, ‘Ugly as sin,’ like it’s a plus point, and we’re all there, ‘Yeah, it’s the same Ellie Whelan alroysh.’ Turns out, roysh, he nipped her in Annabel’s last Friday night and he rings her up on Saturday and asks what she’s doing that night and she’s like, ‘I don’t have any plans,’ which was pretty obvious, roysh, because with a face like that she’d hordly be expecting Brad Pitt to stop by. So Oisinn takes her into town, roysh, lashes the old wheels into the old man’s porking spot just off Baggot Street and they hit Café en Seine and she’s, like, knocking back the Bacordi Breezers and of course Oisinn’s drinking Coke because he’s, like, driving? One o’clock in the morning, roysh, they head back to the jammer, Oisinn lashes on the Love Affair on Lite FM and they stort getting hot and bothered in the back. So anyway, roysh, Oisinn drops the hand and Ellie pushes him away and he asks what the Jackanory is, does she not, like, fancy going to heaven and back, and she says it’s not that, roysh, it’s just that, well, she’s up on the blocks at the moment.
Oisinn goes, ‘I flipped, of course. I said, ‘You never told me that before I spent the best port of thirty sheets on drinks for you.’ I’m there, ‘So what did you do?’ Actually, this Sambucca is going down a bit too well. Oisinn goes, ‘What do you think? I threw her out of the cor. Wasn’t moving, of course.’ Fionn’s like, ‘Oisinn, that is the most callous thing I’ve ever heard. You left a girl in town on her own, late at night, just because she was menstruating?’ and quick as a flash, roysh, Oisinn goes, ‘What do you take me for, Fionn? I dropped her down for the Nightlink. I’m nothing if not a gentleman,’ and I crack my shite laughing and I high-five the dude and Christian high-fives him and then I high-five JP and then he high-fives Christian and Christian high-fives me.
So we’re all hammered off our tits, roysh, and of course the games stort then. First it’s, like, Chariots of Fire, roysh, which – if you’ve never played it before – is where everyone gets a long strip of jacks roll, roysh, and you shove one end up your orse and then, like, light the other end, and the last one to pull theirs out is basically the winner. Then there’s, like, Mince Pie, roysh, which is where everyone whips down their kacks, puts a mince pie between the cheeks of their orse and then there’s, like, a race? Everyone had to peg it to the bottom of the gorden, roysh, touch the wall and get back to the house, without dropping the pie of course. Then you had to squat, roysh, over your pint and drop it in. The last one to do it has to drink the pint of the goy to his immediate roysh. I end up losing one game of that and three games of Soggy Biscuit, which is … no, forget it.
I wake up the next morning, roysh, on the floor of, like, Simon’s room, still wearing the clothes I went in last night, except there’s vom all over them. I must have been borfing my ring up. I open my eyes a little bit, roysh, and I can see three figures standing over me. From their voices, roysh, I know it’s Fionn, JP and Simon. JP’s going, ‘Is he still alive?’ and Simon’s like, ‘Yeah. A miracle. I’ve never seen anyone eat so many soggy digestives.’ Fionn’s there, ‘I suppose we’d better wake him up. Double biology in half an hour. It’s that test today on the respiratory system,’ and I’m listening to this, roysh, but I haven’t even got the strength to go, ‘Yeah, roysh!’
Eloise leaves a message, roysh, and says she knows it’s, like, the second time she’s phoned this week and – OH! MY! GOD! – she doesn’t want me to think she’s a stalker – she SO doesn’t – but she forgot to say in her last message that she really enjoyed the night we were together and if I want to call her, here’s her number.
I’m like, Take the hint, girl.
‘Skerries,’ Fehily goes. ‘SKERRIES! The very name evokes a sense of misery … and of dread. God created the Earth and he did it in seven days. But man … MAN CREATED SKERRIES. Who else but iniquitous man could have conceived of a town where winds and rains not seen since the time of Noah bring misery to thousands of people huddled inside their holiday homes? Where fishermen return from another fruitless day on the over-fished Irish Sea to find solace in solvent abuse, where heroin is distributed free to children as young as two, and harlots – common whores, my children – walk the main street, offering their sorry wares as early as nine o’clock on weekday mornings and ten-thirty at weekends? Verily I tell thee that unto thee falls a great responsibility today.’ Fehily’s giving us his usual pre-match pep talk and I have to say, roysh, it’s real lump-in-the-throat stuff.
He goes, ‘Does not the Book of Revelation prophesy what will happen at Belfield this very afternoon? Does Revelation 17:1 not tell us: And there came one of the seven angels which had the seven veils, and talked with me, saying unto me, Come hither; I will shew unto thee the judgement of the great whore that sitteth upon many waters. Is the village of Skerries not that whore?
‘Does Revelation 19 not relate to us the bloody crimes committed by the great whore? And when it speaks of the King of Kings, the Lord of Lords, is it not Castlerock College – this holy, sanctified institution – that is being referred to? I quote Revelation 19:11: And I saw heaven opened, and beheld a white horse; and he that sat upon him was called Faithful and True, and in righteousness he doth judge and make war. His eyes were as a flame of fire, and on his head were many crowns; and he had a name written, that no man knew, but he himself. And he was clothed with a vesture dipped in blood: and his name is called The Word of God. And the armies which were in heaven followed him upon white horses, clothed in fine linen, white and clean. And out of his mouth goeth a sharp sword – YOU, MY CHILDREN, TAKE THY MARK – that with it he should smite the nations – AS WELL AS MISERABLE FISHING TOWNS IN NORTH DUBLIN – and he shall rule them with a rod of iron: and he treadeth the winepress of the fierceness and wrath of Almighty God. And he hath on his vesture and on his thigh a name written, KING OF KINGS, AND LORD OF LORDS. For true and righteous are his judgements: for he hath judged the great whore, which did corrupt the Earth with her fornication, and hath avenged the blood of his servants at her hand.’
It’s like, Whoah! Major round of applause. He just raises his hand, roysh, and with, like, a flick of his wrist, the room is silent again. He goes, ‘Verily, I say unto thee that great will be the temptation to keep the score down to double figures today, as a mark of sympathy for a group of players who should in truth be playing more Earthly games, such as soccer. Don’t give into temptation. Don’t give the devil a foothold that he might gain a stronghold.’
Another round of applause. He goes, ‘The army which we have formed grows from day to day; from hour to hour it grows more rapidly. Even now I have the proud hope that one day the hour is coming when these untrained bands will become battalions, when the battalions will become regiments and the regiments divisions, when the old cockade will be raised from the mire, when the old banners will once again wave before us: and then reconciliation will come in that eternal last Court of Judgement – the Court of God – before which we are ready to take our stand.
‘Then from our bones, from our graves will sound the voice of that tribunal which alone has the right to sit in judgement upon us. For, gentlemen, it is not you who pronounce judgement upon us, it is the eternal Court of History which will make its pronouncement upon the charge which is brought against us. The judgement that you will pass – that, I know. But that Court will not ask of us: “Have you committed high treason or not?” That Court will judge us … who, as Germans, have wished the best for their people and their Fatherland, who wished to fight and to die. You may declare us guilty a thousand times, but the Goddess who presides over the Eternal Court of History will, with a smile, tear in pieces the charge of the Public Prosecutor and the judgement of the Court: for she declares us guiltless.’
The Skerries match turned out to be a piece of piss. All through the game, roysh, their fans – so-called fans, there was only, like, ten of them there – they were giving it, ‘DADDY’S GONNA BUY YOU A BRAND NEW MOTORCAR,’ and of course quick as a flash, roysh, our goys were like, ‘SKANG-ERS! SKANG-ERS! SKANG-ERS!’ and if that doesn’t fock their heads up enough, roysh, we ended up scoring ten tries – three from man-of-the-moment, me – and I also kick seven conversions and, like, six penalties and we win basically 82-6.
I have a shower, roysh, and throw on my threads for going out, we’re talking my blue and white check Dockers shirt and my Armani jeans. Sooty tells us we were a credit to ourselves today and to our race and then he goes, ‘But don’t forget, goys, you’re only in the quarter-finals. Don’t go too mad on the beer tonight,’ and of course we all, like, cheer, as if to say, Yeah, roysh!
Christian got, like, a box in the face off one of their goys – the focker never even got sin-binned – and he has, like, a huge shiner and he’s looking pretty pleased with himself because it’ll guarantee him the pick of the scenario when we hit Annabel’s later. Some official dude comes in and he storts having, like, a chat with Sooty and then they go over to where Christian’s sitting, roysh, and they ask him whether he wants to cite the skobie who pretty much decked him. He goes – and this is amazing, roysh – he goes, ‘No. He comes from a disadvantaged background. Those people have enough problems putting food on the table while staying on the right side of the law. I don’t want to add to that,’ which I have to say, roysh, is a pretty amazing thing to say. I go, ‘Not sure I’d be so forgiving. Fair focks to you,’ and he’s there, ‘It’s cool, young Skywalker.’
So we’re heading out, roysh, and who’s waiting outside the dressing-room – for FOCK’S sake – only Knob Brain with his orsehole solicitor. He’s there, at the top of his voice, roysh, going, ‘HERE HE COMES! HERO OF THE HOUR! ANOTHER MILESTONE IN THE HISTORY OF IRISH RUGBY. AND NO SIGN OF GERRY THORNLEY. THE PAPER OF RECORD HAVE SENT A FREELANCE!’ I walk straight up to him and I go, ‘Will you keep your big focking foghorn voice down? Now give me some sponds.’ He goes, ‘Off for a celebratory beer or two with the chaps, are we?’ and I’m there, ‘It’s none of your focking business where I’m going. Two hundred sheets should cover it.’ As he’s fishing through his wallet, roysh, Hennessy, the big focking oily sleazebucket, goes, ‘A fine game, Ross,’ and I just shrug my shoulders and go, ‘Cool,’ because it costs nothing to be nice. As he’s peeling off the wedge the old man’s giving it, ‘I shall be placing a phone call to a certain Mister Malachy Logan Esquire in the morning; find out why it’s wall-to-wall coverage of Ireland versus France and there’ll be barely a word in tomorrow’s sports pages about the Leinster Senior Cup second-round match at Belfield and the birth of a new star.’ I trouser the sponds, roysh, and I turn around to him, in front of Oisinn, JP and a couple of the other goys, and I go, ‘You are the biggest focking tool on the planet,’ and then we hit Kiely’s.
I see Fionn’s already there talking to Sorcha’s friend, Aoife, who he’s been seeing since he broke up with Jayne with a y and Aoife broke up with Cian, our tighthead prop. She actually looks amazing – not a pick on her, I don’t know what she’s doing with him – and I make, like, a resolution to try to be with her in the not-too-distant future, if only just to fock his head up. I walk over and I go, ‘Now that’s what I call style.’ She has, like, a Castlerock jersey tied around her waist. I’m totally turning the chorm on. She gives me a hug and she air-kisses me on both cheeks and goes, ‘Congrats. You’d an amazing game,’ and I go, ‘Thanks,’ even though I know she knows fock-all about rugby. She’s there, ‘Sorcha said she’s SO sorry she couldn’t come; she’s up to her eyes organising this Lenten fast,’ and I go, ‘It’s cool, she texted me,’ but Aoife ignores me and she’s like, ‘She is going to be SO thin after it, the bitch.’ She takes a sip out of her Ballygowan and I go, ‘Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?’ because there’s this bird – bit of a babe actually, not that unlike Libby off ‘Neighbours’ – and she’s just, like, standing there on the edge of the group, like a spare one. Aoife goes, ‘This is my cousin, Cara,’ and straight away I’m giving it loads, roysh, playing it Kool AND the Gang, going, ‘And where have you been?’ as in where have you been all my life?, roysh, but she thinks I mean this afternoon and she goes, ‘Me and Aoife took the afternoon off for the ATIM open day. I’m thinking of going there next year too. Then we came here to see Fionn play,’ and I go, ‘Cool,’ and there’s, like, two or three minutes of silence and I’m thinking this bird’s got basically fock-all to say for herself. She’s crashing and burning here and she doesn’t even know it. She goes, ‘Em … you had a good game. How many, er, things did you get?’ I go, ‘Tries? We’re talking three,’ and just as I’m saying this, roysh, I notice these two crackers over the far side of the boozer and they’re, like, staring over, obviously waiting to get some face time with the man of the moment. This Cara one knows she’s losing it, roysh, and just as she’s telling me that she hasn’t done a tap all year and she SO has to pull her socks up if she’s going to pass the Leaving, I go, ‘I’m going over here to talk to these honeys.’
So Slick Mick moseys on over, roysh, and he’s going, ‘Hey,’ and they’re like, ‘Hihoworya?’ and one of them, we’re talking the one in the pink sleeveless bubble jacket – Polo Sport – she goes, ‘Oh my God! you had an amazing game. They wouldn’t have won it without you,’ and her friend – I’m pretty sure they’re Whores on the Shore; kind of know them to see – she goes, ‘Ohmygod, they SO wouldn’t.’ The one in the bubble jacket is definitely the better-looking of the two, roysh, we’re talking Joanna – a total ringer for Chloë out of ‘Home and Away’ – and her friend, who’s not bad looking either, says her name’s, like, Keelin and that I know her cousin, we’re talking Sara Hanley. I’m there, ‘Why is that name familiar?’ laying it on really smooth, roysh, and she goes, ‘She knows you from Irish college last summer,’ and I agree with her when she says that Sara’s SUCH a cool person, one of the nicest people you could ever meet and one of the few people you could ACTUALLY call a true friend, even though I don’t know who the fock she’s talking about.
So we’re standing there, roysh, chatting away, and all of a sudden this goy comes over, one of the Skerries heads, he’s actually one of their second rows, and he’s got one of his eyes closed, roysh, and he goes to shake my hand and he’s like, ‘Put it there, bud,’ and I don’t know whether he’s ripping the piss or not, roysh, but I shake his hand – basically just to let him know I don’t hold it against him, being a skobie and everything – and I’m there, ‘No hord feelings. What happened to your eye?’ and the focking orsehole goes, ‘It got poked out by your bird’s collar there.’ Keelin’s got her collar up, oh big swinging mickey. He just, like, bursts out laughing, roysh, then he walks back over to this crowd of CHVs who are also breaking their shites laughing and he tells them that he said it.
Of course there’s no way I’m having that, roysh, so I’m straight over there and – this is actually me talking, roysh, nobody told me what to say or whatever – I just go, ‘Why are you such a knacker?’ but it seems to go over his head, roysh, because he just, like, cracks up laughing in my face. I’m there, ‘I know you. You’re that Damien O’Connor they were going on about in The Irish Times this morning. A stor for the future, my orse.’ He laughs in my face again, roysh, then he turns around to his mates – all creamers, of course – and he goes, ‘Listen to the way he talks, lads,’ and one of them goes, ‘Dad, I need five grand for my cor insurance,’ basically trying to take me off.
I don’t even know how they got past the bouncers because they’re clearly all Ken Ackers. I’ve got, like, Christian on one side of me now and Oisinn on the other, basically for back-up in case I need it, and I go, ‘Stor for the future? The only thing you’re going to be doing in the future is dealing drugs. You won’t be playing much rugby, unless the Joy has a team, which I seriously doubt.’ One of his mates goes, ‘Batter the little poshie,’ and Oisinn goes, ‘The only that’s going to be battered tonight is your dinner, chipper scum,’ which is almost as good as my line.
I’m there, ‘What are you doing here anyway? There’s no birds with leggings and hoopy earrings in here,’ and Oisinn gives it, ‘Yeah, stick to your own side of the city. You never see me out in Tomango’s trying to cop off with AJHs on Mickey Tuesday,’ which is basically a lie, roysh, but I don’t pull him up on it. This Damien tool, roysh, he looks at Oisinn and he goes, ‘I’m here because I’m gonna royid your sister,’ and I go, ‘Well the joke’s on you then because Oisinn’s sister’s a total hound,’ and Oisinn nods.
Then the dickhead goes, ‘Come on, lads, let’s hit the good soyid of town,’ and as they’re heading out the door, roysh, leaving a trail of, like, fake Adidas aftershave after them, I go, ‘Yeah, drown your sorrows and then fock off back to the Fleck Republic.’
Joanna shakes her head and she goes, ‘I don’t know even know how they got in here,’ and Keelin’s there, ‘That’s the first time I’ve ever seen a real sovereign ring. Oh sure, I’ve seen them on television and in photographs, but never in real life.’
Pretty much everyone’s buying me drink all night, roysh, and at one stage I’ve got, like, six pints in front of me and I’m knocking them back, we’re talking double-quick time, and after basically two hours I’m totally horrendufied. Anyway, roysh, we end up in a nightclub that looks vaguely familiar but I’m too shitfaced to recognise which one it is, and the next thing I remember is, like, Joanna and Keelin dragging me out onto the dancefloor for some, I don’t know, Backstreet Boys song, maybe ‘Backstreet’s Back’, and I can hordly stand I’m so off my tits. Then it’s that ‘I Believe I Can Fly’ and Joanna, who’s obviously decided she’s going to try to be with me, is holding me up while we slowdance and then it’s ‘Two Become One’ by the Spice Girls, which Joanna says she SO loves. So I end up throwing the lips on her on the dancefloor, roysh, and it has to be said, she’s a pretty amazing wear.
Spinning around in circles is storting to make me feel sick, roysh, so I tell Joanna I have to sit down and I find a seat and end up overhearing Fionn having a borney with Aoife. She’s totally hysterical, and we’re talking totally here, and I can’t make out a word she’s saying, but Fionn is, like, trying to hug her and he’s going, ‘You’re not fat. You’re SO not fat,’ and all of a sudden someone sits down beside me and I turn around, roysh, and it’s Simon. He’s like, ‘You entering Kruffs this year then?’ and I’m there, ‘Say again,’ and he goes, ‘Just wondering what you’re doing with the mutt,’ and he points to Joanna, who is, like, gesturing, I don’t know, wildly I suppose, with her hands and telling Keelin and some other bird I know to see from Loreto Foxrock that she is SO going to become a vegetarian, she SO is. I’m there, ‘What are you talking about? She’s a total honey,’ and he goes, ‘From a distance maybe. Like Mallin Head to Mizzen Head. In a thick fog,’ which I know is total bullshit, roysh, because Simon tried to be with her ages ago but totally crashed and burned. I remind him of this, roysh, and he just, like, smiles and high-fives me and then he focks off.
Anyway, roysh, the night basically flies and at the end of it all the other goys have gone and it’s only me, Oisinn, Joanna and Keelin left. Oisinn is with Keelin, as in with with, and I’m wondering is he still seeing Amie with an ie, though that would hordly matter to Oisinn, what with him being a total horndog. He must be able to read my mind, roysh, because he puts his orm around my shoulder at one stage and he whispers in my ear, going, ‘An erect mickey has no conscience,’ which is one of his favourite phrases. The four of us end up in Keelin’s house in Monkstown, what with her having a free gaff with her old pair in Chicago for the weekend.
The next morning, roysh, I wake up early and my head is hanging off my shoulders. I’m there going, ‘Oh my God, I actually want to die,’ and we’re talking totally here. I try to get dressed without waking Joanna, roysh, but she hears me as I’m, like, putting my shoes on and grabbing a pair of knickers to show the goys later, and she asks me where I’m going. I don’t want to lie to the girl, roysh, but I end up telling her that I generally help out at a Simon Community hostel on a Saturday and she tells me that that is SO cool, helping homeless howiyas, and she says she had SUCH an amazing time last night and that I shouldn’t worry about you-know-what and she sort of, like, looks at my crotch as she says it, and she says she’d SO love if we could see each other again, roysh, and I tell her I’ll give her my number and then I say the first seven numbers that come into my head. She writes it with, like, an eyebrow pencil on the cover of Image, which she tells me has a photograph of one of her best friends in it, as if I give two focks. She storts, like, flicking through the pages, roysh, but I tell her I have to go and she, like, blows me a kiss as I’m leaving and I just, like, smile at her.
I have five messages. I don’t know who the first one is from but I can pretty much take a guess, roysh, because that song ‘Short Dick Man’ is blasting out and someone is obviously, like, holding the phone up to the speaker, ha focking ha. The second one is from Eloise. I can hear someone in the background going, ‘He’s not worth it, Eloise. Don’t give him the pleasure,’ and then she’s going, ‘Hello? This is a message for Ross. You’re a wanker. An absolute, total wanker,’ and she bursts into tears, roysh, and before the phone is put down I hear her friend go, ‘I SO knew this wasn’t a good idea.’ The next message is from Alyson, who also calls me ‘an absolute, total wanker.’ The fourth is from Sian. She’s hammered, but at least she’s original. She goes, ‘Every girl around thinks you’re, like, hot stuff? News flash, Ross. You’re, like, a total loser,’ and then she goes, ‘LO-SER!’ The last message is from some bird called Keeva, who I nipped in the rugby club recently and who now wants to know why I stood her up on Friday night and whether I think it’s actually funny leaving her standing outside the Hat for, like, an hour and twenty-five minutes and why I haven’t returned any of her calls since then and why I seemed so keen before but am now doing a total Chandler on her, whatever the fock that is.
I get the Dorsh to Dun Laoghaire, pick up the Times and the Indo at the station and, like, read the reports on the game while I wait for the 46A. Tony Ward’s got, like, half a page on the match and it’s like, ‘The schools game is the bedrock of rugby in this country and MAKE NO MISTAKE ABOUT IT the performance by Castlerock College in the second round of the Leinster Schools Senior Cup yesterday was as fine an exhibition of how the game should be played as you are likely to see at any level. This team is simply awesome and the game against Skerries was a particular tour de force for young Ross O’Carroll-Kelly, who MARK MY WORDS is an undoubted star of the future.’ The Irish Times had, like, six paragraphs on the game, which described my kicking as unerring – whether that’s good or bad is anyone’s guess.
So I get home, roysh, and the old dear doesn’t even mention the fact that I didn’t come home last night, which pisses me off big-time. She’s sitting in the old man’s study, roysh, and she’s got her focking glasses on, which means she’s probably writing to all the local councillors again about this halting site they’re building down the road. I walk past and she doesn’t even look up, roysh, just goes, ‘You’ll have to fix your own breakfast, Ross. I have to prepare for tonight’s committee meeting.’ I’m there, ‘You mean Foxrock Against Total Skangers?’ and she finally looks up and she takes off her glasses and she goes, ‘That is not the name of it, Ross, as well you know it isn’t.’ I go, ‘I couldn’t give two focks what your anti-halting site group is called,’ and she goes, ‘We’re not anti halting site. We just happen to believe it’s not appropriate for an area like this,’ and I just go, ‘Whatever,’ and I hit the kitchen.