I’m like, ‘Oookaaay,’ wondering what she wants me to do.
She goes, ‘Can you drive us to Tallaght?’
I’m there, ‘Tallaght? Fock!’
Honor’s there, ‘What about the baby’s father? What’s he doing tonight?’
I honestly think she hates Fionn more than I do.
‘He’s at the National Concert Hall,’ Sorcha goes. ‘He went to the Johann Strauss Gala with Mom and Dad … Ross, can you please drive us to the hospital? I’m really scared!’
I’m looking at this tiny little baby and I feel instantly sorry for him. He looks genuinely sick – as in, his face has turned, like, green.
I’m like, ‘Yeah, no, problem,’ and Sorcha runs downstairs.
I turn around to Honor and I’m like, ‘Do you think you could stay here and look after your brothers? We’ll be as quick as we can.’
And, as I’m leaving the room, Honor goes, ‘The woman is playing you for a fool, Dad!’
We end up hitting the road. Hillary dry-retches the entire way to Tallaght Hospital. Sorcha is sitting in the back of the cor, cradling him in her orms, going, ‘Alles wird gut! Bitte, Hillary! Shush, shush, shush! Hab dich liebe, Hillary! Mein kleiner Prinz!’
Fionn finally decides to ring Sorcha back as we’re pulling into the hospital cor pork. He stepped outside the Concert Hall at the interval and discovered that he’s got, like, twenty missed calls from Sorcha. All I end up hearing is her side of the conversation?
She’s all, ‘There’s something wrong with Hillary … He’s sick, Fionn … I don’t know what kind of sick, just that he’s vomiting … We’ve just arrived in Tallaght … Ross drove me … Yes, Fionn, Ross …’
She hangs up then. She’s like, ‘Of course, I’ll have to deal with his guilt now over not being at home when it happened.’
I say nothing. She made her bed. And he got into it and got her pregnant.
Sorcha gets out of the cor and runs into the hospital with Hillary. I pork, then I follow her inside. The waiting room is pretty rammers, but she ends up being seen pretty much straight away.
I’m like, ‘Good luck, Sorcha. I’m sure it’s going to be fine.’
And she smiles at me and goes, ‘Thanks, Ross,’ and I know that she genuinely appreciates it.
The nurse takes her and Hillary inside.
Half an hour later, Fionn comes racing into the waiting area, going, ‘Where is he?’ meaning obviously Hillary. ‘WHERE IS HE?’
I don’t even get a chance to go, ‘You took your focking time!’ because he runs straight past the reception desk and into the actual hospital bit where all the doctors and nurses hang out. A few seconds later, Sorcha’s old man comes running in, wearing – I shit you not – a tuxedo! A man who puts on a focking tuxedo to listen to an orchestra in the National Concert Hall. That’s the kind of man we’re talking about.
He goes, ‘Where is she?’ meaning obviously Sorcha. ‘WHERE IS SHE?’
Again, he doesn’t wait for me to answer, just chases after Fionn, as does Sorcha’s old dear, who arrives a second or two after that.
I end up sitting there for another fifteen minutes. I check the old man’s Twitter feed.
Charles O’Carroll-Kelly √ @realCOCK – 56m
It’s time we had a grown-up debate in this country about leaving the EU, the organization that forced our citizens to pay the cost of the disastrous bank bailout. We should have done then what the Brits are doing now - told them what to do with their institutions! #irexit
Reply 571 Retweet 1.3k Like 6.2k
Then, a few minutes after that, Sorcha walks back into the reception area with Hillary, who seems alright now, and Fionn and her old pair.
Sorcha goes, ‘Come on, Ross, we’re going.’
I’m like, ‘What’s the Jack? Is he okay?’
‘They think it’s gastroenteritis.’
I nod my head like I know what she’s talking about, even though I don’t. I’m like, ‘That sounds bad.’
She goes, ‘He’s going to be fine. They gave him something to calm him down,’ and then – this is hilarious – she turns around to Fionn and goes, ‘I should have asked them to give you something as well!’
It’s hilarious. They end up having this major borney then in front of the entire waiting room?
He’s there, ‘Yeah, I was asking questions, Sorcha!’
But Sorcha’s like, ‘No, Fionn, you were demanding answers! There’s a big difference!’
‘I was worried about my son!’
‘Just go back to your concert!’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Well, you’re obviously feeling guilty about going out tonight and leaving me to look after Hillary, but now you know he’s fine – so you can go back to your Johann Strauss whatever-the-fock-it-was!’
Sorcha’s old man tries to stick his beak in then. He goes, ‘Let’s all calm down. Your mother and I invited him along, Sorcha. We had a spare ticket, which we did offer to you.’
Dressed like he was conducting the orchestra. What a focking tool.
There’s no calming Fionn down, though, and it’s soon pretty clear that his real issue here is obviously me.
He goes, ‘I’m not going to have you judging me on my parenting skills.’
Sorcha’s like, ‘Okay, what the fock is that supposed to mean?’
He’s there, ‘I’m talking about you two, going at it like I don’t know what in the middle of the afternoon, with the triplets in the house – and my parents and sister downstairs!’
‘And us!’ Sorcha’s old dear goes.
Oh, fock!
I’m suddenly there, ‘Let’s all just calm down – like Sorcha’s old man said. The full-tux wanker.’
But Sorcha has a confused look on her face. She’s there, ‘Going at it? What are you talking about?’
Fionn’s like, ‘You were having sex, Sorcha!’
‘What? When?’
‘The other day. When my mum and dad and Eleanor called around to see Hillary.’
‘We weren’t having sex. Ross and I haven’t had sex since we got back together.’
As pissed off as he is, there’s a little bit of Fionn that’ll be delighted to hear that.
He goes, ‘Sorcha, you walked into the kitchen and announced that you were trying out a new position upstairs. This was in front of my parents. You said you had your legs up in the air.’
I can only imagine what the people in the waiting room are making of this. They’ll have some story to tell when they finally get out of here.
‘I was talking about a new yoga position,’ Sorcha goes.
He’s like, ‘What?’
‘As in, like, plough pose?’
‘But you told my mum that it might loosen her up … Okay, that part of the conversation suddenly makes sense. But we heard you up in the room doing it. Ross was certainly making noises like he was having sex with someone.’
I’m there, ‘I’m wondering did someone have a drink or two in the Concert Hall tonight?’
But then Sorcha’s old dear has to throw her thoughts into the mix. She goes, ‘Yes, we heard it, too! He was making the most disgusting noises!’
I’m thinking, I wouldn’t say you’re a whole lot of fun between the sheets yourself, love.
‘Noises?’ Sorcha goes. ‘Well, I didn’t hear anything because I had my noise cancelling headphones on.’
Sorcha’s old man has to go, ‘He was shouting, if memory serves: “BRING IT HOME, GIRL! GO ON, SORCHA, BRING IT HOME!”’
Of course, Sorcha straight away recognizes it as port of my whole script. She turns around to me and goes, ‘Ross, what the fock is going on?’
And I’m like, ‘It was a joke, Sorcha.’
‘Oh! My God!’ she goes, ‘I’m a member of the Upper House of the Oireachtas and I’m married to a child!’
I’m there, ‘I genuinely thought it was something you’d eventually hopefully laugh at!’
But she just shakes her hea
d and goes, ‘Dad, will you drive me home, please?’
So – yeah, no – I’m sitting in Finnegan’s in Dalkey, having a cheeky lunchtime pint and playing a game that I call ‘Being Joe Schmidt’. I’ve got my famous Rugby Tactics Book open on the bor in front of me and I’m writing down the fifteen players I’d choose to stort against Italy in the Six Nations this weekend.
The borman goes, ‘Have you it picked yet?’ because this would be a pretty regular sight – me sitting at the bor, jotting down my thoughts. There’s so much knowledge between the covers of this book that it sometimes terrifies me. I’m always telling Honor that I’m going to hand it to Joe Schmidt himself one day and go, ‘We’re going to win the next World Cup – here’s how to do it!’
Can you imagine?
‘Yeah, no,’ I go, ‘I’ve got my storting fifteen pretty much decided. Except I can hear the complaints already. The phrase “Leinster bias” being thrown at me. I’ll just have to take it on the chin, though. That’s the job.’
The borman turns the book around, throws his eyes over it, then sucks air in through his teeth.
‘One or two big calls there,’ he goes.
I’m there, ‘I have to put out what I consider the best team.’
‘I don’t envy you the job.’
I’m like, ‘Thanks, Dude,’ because I love the way they indulge you in Finnegan’s. ‘You know, I might actually have another pint.’
He picks up a glass and goes, ‘Heineken, is it?’
And I’m there, ‘I’m not even going to dignify that with a response.’
It’s at that exact point that my phone all of a sudden rings? I consider not answering it – I’m working here – but when I look at the screen, I see that it’s Ronan.
I answer, going, ‘Hey, Ro, how the hell are you?’
He’s like, ‘You’ll nebber guess what, Rosser!’ and I can hear the excitement in his voice.
I’m there, ‘What is it, Ro?’ pretending not to know.
‘Ine joost arthur seeing Rihatta-Barrogan!’
‘No!’
‘Ine seerdious. Kennet reng me the utter day and says he, “I was wrong to stop you seeing yisser thaughter.” I’ve got fuddle access, Rosser, addy toyum I waddant.’
‘All’s well that ends well, huh?’
‘That’s reet.’
‘Look, can I let you into a little secret, Ro? Even though I’m sort of patting myself on the back here. The reason Kennet is letting you see your daughter again is because I’m blackmailing him.’
‘Blackmayult? Oaber what?’
‘Let’s just say I found out something and we’ll leave it at that. Okay, I’ll tell you – he’s riding Dordeen’s sister.’
‘Which wood are you thalken about, Rosser? Nordeen?’
‘No, the other one.’
‘Mordeen?’
‘That’s the one. She’s some focking catch, by the way!’
‘You’re habbon me on. You’re pudding me woyer, Rosser.’
‘I’m not pulling your wire, Ro. I caught them going at each other like teenagers on a Leaving Cert trip in Magaluf.’
‘Moy Jaysus.’
‘They do it every Friday afternoon on that road out by the airport where people look at planes and jack off.’
‘Kennet and Mordeen!’
‘Your t … t … t … t … t … t … t … t … tits are l … l … l … lubbly, so thee are.’
He laughs. He’s like, ‘Jaysus, Rosser.’
I’m there, ‘Like I said, I’m not claiming the credit, but it was down to actual me. It’s nice to get that recognition. Where are you, by the way?’
‘Ine thriving troo Clodden Ski.’
‘Where?’
‘Clodden Ski.’
He must mean Clonskeagh – Skeagh Town! – because he then goes, ‘Ine on me way into coddidge.’
I can feel my face instantly burst into a smile. I’m there, ‘College? You’re going back to UCD?’
He’s like, ‘Of course Ine going back. I hab to get me Law thegree to make me thaughter proud of me. And so’s I can buy her alt the things she waddants.’
‘Daughters are very expensive to run. Trust me, I know.’
‘Rosser, can I ted you sometin?’
‘Yeah, no, fire ahead, Ro. I’m just having a couple of pints here, trying to make some difficult decisions.’
‘Tanks.’
‘What are you thanking me for?’
‘For cubbing to get me when I was addested. And for thalken sense to me in the ceddle that day. You toalt me it’d woork out and you were reet, Rosser.’
‘Hey, it was nothing, Ro.’
‘Doatunt fooken do that, Rosser. You’re altways fooken doing that.’
‘What?’
‘Thalken yisser self dowun. Joost learden to take a bleaten compliment.’
‘Yeah, no, the only compliments I’m good at taking are the ones that relate to obviously rugby.’
‘You’re an unbeliebable fadder, Rosser.’
It’s an amazing thing to hear and it immediately makes me want to be a better person. In the same way that seeing all those humungous TVs when you’re in Horvey Norman makes you want to watch more nature documentaries.
I’m like, ‘Thanks, Ro.’
He’s there, ‘You’re a great fadder, Rosser. And Ine nebber godda let you forgerrit.’
So Sorcha ends up not talking to me for, like, a week after the whole making-sex-noises-out-the-window-while-she-was-doing-her-yogalates thing. Yeah, no, she gives me the full-on silent treatment until I remember that Valentine’s Day is coming up and I suggest that we should maybe do something nice together.
She goes, ‘What were you thinking in terms of?’ and I can sense that her anger is at last beginning to thaw.
I’m there, ‘I was thinking in terms of something romantic,’ knowing what buttons to press with the girl.
‘But what specifically?’ she goes, still making me go through the phases.
And I’m there, ‘That’d be telling. Let’s just say that I have a nice surprise in mind.’
Which I don’t, of course – and, worse, I then end up forgetting to even organize one? All this business about my old dear having a sprog has totally thrown me. So Valentine’s Night rolls around and we’re in the cor and I’m driving in the direction of Donnybrook without a clue where I’m actually taking her.
And Sorcha is letting me know, in no uncertain terms, that I haven’t fully wormed my way back in there yet. She’s going, ‘You humiliated me, Ross!’
And I’m all, ‘What are you talking about, Sorcha?’
‘Er, you pretending that we were having sex?’ she goes. ‘Oh my God, I keep having flashbacks to the things I said in that kitchen. I told Fionn’s mom that it might help loosen her up a bit.’
‘You might have accidentally stumbled on something there. I’ve always thought that woman had one or two itches that needed scratching.’
‘Yeah, you can’t say things like that any more, Ross.’
‘Hey, I’ve always said it, though. I used to say it to Fionn in school. I even offered to take on the job – joking, obviously.’
‘Well, you can’t talk like that now – whether you’re joking or not.’
‘Whatever.’
‘Oh my God, I told her that I sometimes did it while I was queuing to pay in Donnybrook Fair.’
‘I think you said Superquinn.’
‘The actual shop isn’t the issue. I had to ring her to apologize. Can you imagine how embarrassing that was for me?’
‘Hey, I only did it as a joke. Well, it was mainly to piss off Fionn.’
She shakes her head and sighs and I’m suddenly picking up on the fact that she might be happy to finally let it go.
She goes, ‘Erika used to say to me all the time that my problem was I married a rugby wanker and then I couldn’t believe it when he turned out to be a rugby wanker.’
I’m there, ‘She has to defend me. She’s my sister. Slash ha
lf-sister.’
‘So where are we going, Ross? Oh my God, it’s not Chapter One, is it?’
That’s not a bad call. But then I’m thinking, There’s no way we could just rock up there on Valentine’s Night without a booking. So I end up having to go, ‘No, it’s not Chapter One.’
‘Because I’ve heard amazing things,’ she goes, ‘about their rehydrated crapaudine beetroot.’
‘Like I said, it’s not Chapter One.’
‘Oh my God, it’s not Dylan McGrath’s new place, is it? The blow-torched scallops are supposed to be divine! Or is it Forest & Morcy on Upper Leeson Street, which – oh my God – everyone is talking about?’
‘Sorcha, will you please stop guessing? It’s supposed to be a surprise!’
‘I’m sorry. It’s just I’m really excited.’
I’m like, ‘Are you? Genuinely?’ at the same time thinking, Shit! I’ve set her up for a major disappointment here.
She goes, ‘Do you know what’s funny? When we were leaving Honalee tonight, it actually felt like 1998 again.’
I’m there, ‘Fionn reading a book and watching us drive off with tears in his eyes. Your old man threatening me out of the corner of his mouth. I know what you mean.’
She laughs, in fairness to her.
We pass Donnybrook gorda station and I indicate left and that’s when Sorcha’s mood suddenly takes a turn.
‘Oh my God,’ she goes, ‘you’re not bringing me to Kielys, are you?’ and she doesn’t mean it in a good way.
I laugh. I’m there, ‘Of course I’m not bringing you to Kielys!’
I was bringing her to Kielys. It’s the only place I could think of and she’s always been a fan of the lamb shank. Obviously, though, I can’t bring her there now. Which means I have to come up with an alternative – and fast. I pull into the cor pork opposite the pub.
And that’s when Sorcha becomes suddenly excited. She puts her hand over her mouth and goes, ‘Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God! I know where you’re taking me!’
I’m like, ‘Yeah? Okay, let me hear where you think it is, then I’ll tell you if you’ve guessed right.’
‘We’re going to Eddie Rocket’s!’
‘Eddie Rocket’s? Okay, why would we be going there, do you think?’
‘It’s where we first met each other all those years ago!’
Schmidt Happens Page 10
