Schmidt Happens

by Ross O'Carroll-Kelly

  I’m like, ‘Ronan, you need to –’

  ‘Doatunt ted me what I neeyut, Rosser. It was you what fooked it up for me. You’re the readon Kennet woatunt let me see me thaughter. You’re the readon Ine not godda see her grow up.’

  Then he storts hammering on the cell door with his fists, going, ‘I want evoddy bleaten one of yisser identification numbers! I’ll have yous all up in front of the fooken Ombudsmadden … you fooken … fooks!’

  That ends up being the last straw. I grab him by the front of his shirt and I swing him round and slam him up against the wall.

  He’s like, ‘Get yisser hands off me, you fooken Fascist! I want your PPS number!’

  And I’m there, ‘Ro, will you shut the fock up?’ and I say it in such a way that he knows I’m suddenly serious. ‘Just do yourself a favour and listen, okay? They’re happy to release you now if you promise to calm down. Come on, I’ve got your sister waiting outside in the cor.’

  He’s like, ‘Hodor?’

  Oh, that brings him to his senses. He worships her like she worships him.

  I’m there, ‘Honor, exactly. And I know she’s looking forward to seeing you. So what do you say?’

  He stares at me for a good ten seconds without saying a word, then he puts his forehead on my shoulder and storts literally just sobbing?

  He goes, ‘I joost wanthed to see me beauriful thaughter. Me lubbly little R&B. I habn’t seen her in a munt, Rosser. It’s killing me.’

  I’m there, ‘You will see her. You’ve just got to be patient. In the meantime, you’ve got to keep going, Ro. I rang Tina on the way here. She said you haven’t gone back to college since Christmas.’

  ‘I’ve no inthordest in coddidge addy mower.’

  ‘Well, how are you going to provide for your daughter if you don’t get a good job?’

  I know I’m on shaky ground here myself.

  I’m like, ‘You want her to be proud of you, don’t you?’

  He’s there, ‘Of course I bleaten do!’

  ‘Well, she’s not going to be proud of you if you end up with a criminal record and you’re on the literally dole. Now, look, I know I focked things up for you, Ro, but I’m going to put it right.’

  I bang on the door three times to summon the famous Sheila.

  She opens the door. ‘Have you calmed down?’ she goes.

  And Ro’s like, ‘Ine soddy, Sheila. Ine soddy for all the thrubble Ine arthur causing and Ine soddy for saying you were ugly.’

  There’s no point in telling her that she’s not because that would just come across as insincere. So instead I go, ‘Everyone’s a critic, huh?’

  Sheila’s there, ‘Don’t worry about it, Ronan. I hope the next time we see you in here, you’ll be a solicitor, representing Nudger or Buckets of Blood or one of that crowd.’

  He goes, ‘Thanks for being so wontherstanding, Sheila.’

  I tell her the same thing, then I lead Ro outside to the cor pork. We’re halfway to the cor when the woman calls me back. She goes, ‘Can I have a quick word with you?’ and it’s all very cloak-and-dagger.

  I tell Ronan to get into the cor and talk to Honor. I’ll be with him in a minute. Then I walk back to Sheila.

  ‘If this is what I think it is,’ I go, trying to let the woman down gently, ‘I think it’s only fair to point out that I’m kind of married.’

  She goes, ‘What?’ and it’s straight away obvious that I’ve got the wrong end of the stick.

  I’m there, ‘Sorry, what were you about to say?’

  She goes, ‘I was just going to tell you that there’s something interesting you might like to know about Kennet Tuite.’

  ‘I call him K … K … K … K … Kennet. The stuttering fock.’

  ‘He’s having an affair with his wife’s sister.’

  Okay, now she has my attention. I’m like, ‘You are shitting me! Are you talking about Mordeen?’

  She’s there, ‘Dordeen’s sister, yeah.’

  ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘You hear all sorts of things in here,’ she goes. ‘They’ve been at it for years. Every Friday afternoon. Out near the airport.’

  I’m there, ‘My old man gives him Friday afternoons off work to let him sign on.’

  ‘I don’t know whether he signs on or not. But between three o’clock and four o’clock you’ll find him on Collinstown Road – near where all the plane-spotters hang out – having sex with Mordeen in the back of a black Bentley.’

  I laugh. I’m there, ‘That’s actually my old man’s cor. Between three and four o’clock, you say?’

  ‘Every Friday,’ she goes.

  I’m so happy, I could nearly kiss the woman. But – yeah, no – I manage to restrain myself.

  Jesus Christ, Eabha can talk. I mean, the girl hasn’t shut the fock up since she sat down at the table and that’s not me being sexist.

  ‘I’d describe myself as religious,’ she goes, ‘but I wouldn’t be, like, super religious? As in, I’d be definitely spiritual – never walk under ladders, never open an umbrella indoors – but then I also like different bits from different, I suppose, belief systems, as in I’d go to Mass, mostly if someone died, but at the same time I’ve also read bits of the Koran – well, I’ve got a collection of memes from it on my phone – but then I’m also into, like, Far Eastern philosophy – incense, candles, all of that, like I actually own seven oil burners, as in, I literally can’t see an oil burner without literally buying it. By the way, have you ever read The Secret?’

  She’s been talking like this for the last fifteen minutes. She’s either very, very nervous or – more likely – coked off her tits.

  ‘Speaking of the whole spirituality thing,’ she goes, ‘did you see that guy in California who’s going to court to try to change his star sign – oh my God, you must have heard about it because it was, like, all over social media this week, as in, he was born Capricorn but he identifies as Taurus – no, it might have actually been Virgo, and I was saying to my friend Faolan, who you met in Kielys that night, I think it’d be amazing if that came in here as well, as in, if there was a referendum, I would definitely vote yes, as someone who’s always felt like a Sagittarian trapped in a Pisces body.’

  I’m there, ‘Eabha, are you, like, on something?’

  ‘Er, yeah?’ she goes, like it’s the most ridiculous question she’s ever heard. It suddenly feels like it’s 2003 again.

  She’s like, ‘Do you want some?’

  I’m there, ‘No, you’re good. It’s just, you know, I’m trying to read the menu here and I can’t concentrate because you’re …’

  Gibbering away like a focking Rhesus monkey.

  But she looks fantastic, in her defence. Like I said, Chrissy Teigen, except with the humungous shoulders that I’ve mentioned once or twice and also – I didn’t cop this the night I met her in Kielys – but very blinky eyes, although that’s possibly down to all the cola she’s been stuffing up her hooter.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she goes, ‘I haven’t asked you a single thing about you, oh my God, I love Udon noodles if they’re what I think they are, you mentioned that night in Kielys that you’re a rugby player, I have to say I’ve never really been into rugby, as in, I’m not your typical rugger-hugger, although I did have sex with a Leinster player once, even though he turned out to be a Leinster hockey player?’

  She stands up from the table. She goes, ‘I just have to, you know …’

  I’m like, ‘Jesus Christ, can we maybe order first, Eabha? I’m focking storving here.’

  She’s there, ‘I won’t be long,’ even though she was gone fifteen focking minutes the last time.

  Off she focks anyway. I’m sitting there thinking, I honestly thought dating was going to be more fun than this. I order another bowl of prawn crackers and I whip out my phone. I notice that I’ve had three missed calls from Sorcha and also two text messages.

  ‘Been trying to ring u,’ the first one says. ‘So sorry, couldnt get Hillary to
settle, running 20 mins late,’ and then the second one is like, ‘Nearly there, go ahead and order if u want, im not going to have a storter, can u order me the dry-aged angus wantons in hot and sour kimchi soup which everyone says are amazing!!!’ and I’m obviously thinking, What the fock is she talking about?

  And that’s when I look up to see her walking through the door of the restaurant. I’m up off the chair and straight across the floor, going, ‘Er, what the fock are you doing here?’

  The question seems to confuse her.

  She’s like, ‘What am I doing here? We’re on a date night! Have you been drinking?’

  My entire body turns cold and I’m suddenly replaying our conversation in my head. And then the penny finally drops. When she suggested we stort dating again – Jesus Christ! – she obviously meant dating each other!

  God, I’m so focking thick. As Aoibhinn Ní Shúilleabháin once said of me, during the course of a withering put-down in Gleesons of Booterstown: ‘If you showed Dermot Bannon the inside of your head, he’d say the design was focking minimalist.’

  Sorcha goes, ‘I’m so sorry I’m late. Fionn was good enough to drive me in,’ and I’m remembering my conversation with him when, I suddenly realize, he was actually going to tell me that I got the wrong end of the stick, but then he obviously changed his mind.

  She’s there, ‘How’s Devin Toner?’

  And I’m like, ‘Er, not happy,’ and at the same time I’m looking over my shoulder at the door of the Ladies’.

  She’s there, ‘Did you buy the Ab Cruncher in the end?’

  And I’m like, ‘Er, no. It didn’t have adjustable resistance settings and he wanted eighty snots for the thing. Like I said, he called me a focking timewaster. Do you know what, Sorcha? I think we might actually go somewhere else?’

  ‘Somewhere else? No way! I’ve heard so much about this place!’

  And then she spots my famous Henri Lloyd hanging on the back of my chair. She goes, ‘Oh my God, you got an amazing table!’ and she storts making her way across the restaurant to where me and Eabha have been sitting.

  I have to think fast. Cometh the hour, blah, blah, blah.

  I spot a waiter – a Chinese slash Japanese dude, if that doesn’t sound too racist – walking towards me. I stop him, pull him to one side and go, ‘Excuse me, I don’t want to cause a scene but my wife says there’s a girl snorting coke in the Ladies’.’

  The dude looks back at me like he doesn’t really know what to do with this information.

  So I go, ‘I’m only mentioning it because my wife is actually a cop – and you could be closed down for allowing your premises to be used as a basic drug den?’

  Oh, that shakes him. He suddenly storts shouting something in Chinese – slash Japanese – then he storts running in the direction of the jacks, followed by three or four other waiters, again, all Chinese slash Japanese.

  Sorcha watches the scene open-mouthed, along with everyone else in the restaurant. I make my way over to the table and I sit down.

  Sorcha goes, ‘Oh my God, I wonder what’s going on?’

  I’m like, ‘Yeah, no, it’s very hord to know, isn’t it?’

  Five seconds later, the door of the Ladies’ flies open and the waiters emerge, literally carrying Eabha and running towards the door with her like she’s a focking battering ram.

  Sorcha goes, ‘Oh! My God!’

  Everyone does, in fact.

  And I’m like, ‘The drama, huh?’

  But then suddenly – right out of left field – she goes, ‘Whose coat is this on the back of my chair?’

  And I’m thinking, Oh, fockety, fockety, fock-fock!

  I’m like, ‘Sorry, Sorcha?’ somehow managing to keep my cool.

  ‘There’s a coat on the back of my chair,’ she goes. ‘It’s H&M. I actually own it in camel.’

  I stand up and I’m like, ‘Someone must have left it behind – whoever was here before us. I’ll give it to the old Maitre Dude.’

  I grab the coat and I make my way to the door. Eabha is outside on Camden Street and she’s making a bit of a scene. She’s, like, roaring at the waiters, going, ‘I’m going to sue your focking orses! Do you have any idea who my father is?’

  They wouldn’t. Like I said, they’re not from round here – again, not racist.

  When she sees me, she goes, ‘Come on, Ross, let’s go!’

  But I’m there, ‘Er, I think I’m going to stay.’

  ‘Stay? What the fock?’

  ‘You know, I’m storting to wonder are me and you even suited, Eabha? The other thing is that I’m actually storving. And I’ve heard good things about the dry-aged angus wantons in hot and sour kimchi soup.’

  ‘Are you focking seriously telling me you’re going to eat in there? After these fockers accused me of snorting cocaine?’

  The waiter I tipped off ends up letting me down in a big-time way then. He points at me and he goes, ‘He tell us!’

  Eabha’s there, ‘Excuse me?’ and she looks at me then, expecting an explanation.

  ‘His wife see you!’ the dude goes. ‘She police lady!’

  Jesus Christ. Who’d be a whistleblower, huh?

  ‘Your wife?’ she goes, then she storts looking over my shoulder into the restaurant. She obviously sees Sorcha sitting in her old seat because she goes, ‘You never said you were married.’

  I’m like, ‘It was all a major misunderstanding,’ and I throw her coat to her. She doesn’t catch it and it lands in a puddle on the ground.

  ‘You focking wanker!’ she goes and she makes a run at me, except the waiters grab her. They hold her back and they threaten to ring the Feds unless she focks off pronto.

  ‘Anyway,’ I go, ‘it was nice meeting you, Eabha,’ even though it was about as much fun as a lapdancer with a cough.

  I give her a wink, then I tip back inside to my second date of the evening. I sit back down opposite Sorcha, then I stort looking through the menu again. I’m there, ‘I might end up having the Thai red chicken curry.’

  Sorcha smiles at me, but then she’s suddenly looking over my shoulder, going, ‘Oh! My God! What is that girl doing?’

  I look around. Through the window, I can see Eabha holding above her head what looks very much to me like a Dublin Rental Bike. And she’s ranting and raving.

  I’m thinking, She’s not going to throw that through the window, is she? She wouldn’t. There’s no actual way.

  But then she does. There’s, like, a humungous crash as the window shatters in a million pieces and the people sitting next to it scream and run for cover.

  Eabha shouts, ‘You focking orsehole, Ross! I’ll focking get you for this!’

  A second or two later – much to my relief – I notice two Gords arrive and they drag her, kicking and screaming, into the back of a squad cor.

  Sorcha goes, ‘The poor girl! I wonder what’s wrong with her?’

  I’m like, ‘Who knows what goes through women’s heads sometimes?’

  Sorcha smiles at me. ‘I know you’re going to say I’m being paranoid,’ she goes, ‘but for a second there I thought she actually said your name!’

  I can’t look her in the eye, so I keep staring down at the menu.

  ‘Like you said yourself,’ I go, ‘it’s all about you learning to trust me again.’

  ‘Oh! My God!’ Honor goes.

  I’m like, ‘What’s wrong?’

  Because I’m collecting her from school and those are literally her first words when she opens the door of the cor.

  She’s there, ‘Someone filmed what happened in Roly’s the other day? On their actual phone? It’s all over social media, Dad! We’ve gone viral!’

  I’m not a fan of that expression and I’m saying that as someone who’s had a few scares in the old STD area over the years.

  She’s there, ‘Everyone’s putting up links to Love Honor and Obey and saying, “This is the father and daughter in that video! They have their own style vlog!” Dad, I had, like, two hun
dred and fifty subscribers yesterday. Now I’ve got, like, seven and a half thousand!’

  She checks her phone, then goes, ‘Oh my God, it’s nearly eight thousand now! And everyone’s talking about the amazing dynamic between us – how we’re more like best friends than father and daughter.’

  I stort the cor – and that’s when I spot Sister Dave waving at me across the yord. I can tell straight away that she wants a word.

  I’m like, ‘Fock, she’s seen me.’

  Honor goes, ‘Just drive off, Dad.’

  ‘I can’t drive off. Like I said, I accidentally made eye contact with the woman.’

  Five seconds later, she’s standing next to the cor. I wind down the front passenger window, although I keep the engine running.

  I’m like, ‘What seems to be the problem, Sister Dave?’ like I’ve been pulled over for a breathalyser test.

  The woman goes, ‘I wanted to talk to you about Honor.’

  Honor’s there, ‘Tell her to fock off, Dad.’

  Of course that gets the boys going.

  Brian’s like, ‘Fock off!’

  And Leo’s like, ‘Stupid focking bitch!’

  I do the usual and pretend I can’t hear it. I’m there, ‘Is this about what Honor said to Sincerity Matthews? Because I actually agree with her. A rescue dog isn’t a breed. Unless it was literally a rescue dog – as in, one of those dogs they use to find people who are lost in the snow. A little barrel of brandy tied to his neck. Is it called a Saint Bernard or something? Sorry, I’m a deep thinker sometimes. It comes out of nowhere.’

  But Sister Dave isn’t interested in talking about dogs – or any pets. She goes, ‘Oh, we’ve moved on from that. I want to talk to you about a different matter.’

  I’m like, ‘Namely?’

  ‘Your daughter informed me this morning that she doesn’t wish to make her Confirmation.’

  Honor’s there, ‘Yeah, what I actually said was that you can shove your Confirmation up your orse.’

  I’m just, like, nodding along, as if the point that Honor just made was both reasonable and valid.

  I’m there, ‘And can I just ask you, Honor – in terms of background – why don’t you want to make your Confirmation?’

  She goes, ‘Er, because I don’t believe in God?’