Schmidt Happens

by Ross O'Carroll-Kelly

  God, I must get Honor to write me out a list of these.

  I’m there, ‘Hey, the big news this end is that Joe Schmidt rang me.’

  She’s like, ‘What?’

  ‘Yeah, no, he got your letter, Honor. And my Rugby Tactics Book.’

  Which he still hasn’t sent me back, by the way. He’s possibly taken it to Japan with him.

  ‘And what did he say?’ she goes.

  I’m there, ‘He just said he was pretty blown away by the things you wrote. He said you obviously loved your daddy very … Okay, I’m trying not to cry here.’

  ‘I don’t mind if you cry.’

  So I cry for a little bit and I can tell that Sorcha is rolling her eyes and shaking her head beside me.

  I’m there, ‘He’s amazing, Honor. It’s like talking to a holy man. He told me that I obviously had a lot of deep thoughts about the game and that it was an actual crime that I hadn’t been snapped up by a club.’

  ‘Oh my God,’ she goes, ‘did he give you a job?’

  ‘No, but he encouraged me to say yes to a coaching offer that I happened to be considering at that time. And even though it didn’t work out, I’ve decided that it’s only going to be the stort of it.’

  Suddenly, out of nowhere, Honor goes, ‘Dad, there’s something I need to talk to Mom about – is she there?’

  I’m like, ‘Your mother?’ and I look at Sorcha, who just shakes her head in tight, little movements. ‘She’s, em, unfortunately not here at the moment, Honor.’

  She knows I’m lying. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ she goes, sounding really disappointed.

  I’m there, ‘Is it not something you can talk to me about?’

  ‘No, it’s nothing,’ she goes. ‘I’ll talk to you again soon,’ and then she hangs up.

  So I’m in Brian, Johnny and Leo’s room and we’re lying on the bed, watching a DVD in – believe it or not – silence.

  At some point, I happen to look at my voicemail and I notice that I have four missed calls from JP, then a text message asking me to ring him urgently – and the word ‘urgently’ is in, like, capital letters.

  So I step out of the room and I call the dude back. He answers on the third ring. He’s like, ‘Ross … Ross, is that you?’ and I can hear straight away that his voice is trembling.

  I’m like, ‘Dude? Dude, what’s wrong?’

  He goes, ‘Ross … Ross …’

  Jesus Christ, it sounds like he can hordly breathe.

  I’m there, ‘JP, what’s going on?’

  ‘Fyodor and his boss …’ he goes. ‘They took me …’

  ‘Took you? Where did they take you?’

  ‘They took me … out to lunch … A seafood restaurant … They said it was … one of the best in … Euuugghhh …’

  ‘Dude, are you about to vom? You sound like you’re about to vom.’

  ‘When we finished eating … Fyodor’s boss … said he wanted the bed … and he’d do anything … to get it …’

  I suddenly realize what’s going down here. I’m there, ‘Holy fock, did they poison you? Dude, did they poison you?’

  He goes, ‘Ross … I’m going to … have to hang up on you …’ but before he does I hear him spewing – as in, like, seriously spewing? He’s like, ‘BLEEEUUUGGGHHH!!! BLEEEUUUGGGHHH!!! BLEEEUUUGGGHHH!!! BLEEEUUUGGGHHH!!!’

  I’m going, ‘JP … JP … Dude … Dude?’ before the line goes suddenly dead.

  I drive out to Foxrock in an actual rage. I let myself into the gaff, then down to the kitchen I go. I push the door. And while my head is obviously all over the place, the sight that greets me still manages to pull me up short.

  They’re all sitting around having dinner together – we’re talking the old man and the old dear, one at either end of the table, then the six surrogates, or whatever they’re called, three on either side.

  The old dear pretends to be pleased to see me. She goes, ‘Ross! How lovely! Sit down! You’re just in time for dinner!’

  She’s made her grilled halibut with peach and pepper salsa, I notice.

  But I’m there, ‘I’m not focking staying. This isn’t a social call.’

  The old man goes, ‘Don’t worry, Dorling, I think I know why Kicker’s here!’

  I’m there, ‘Is he dead? Just answer me that.’

  ‘Oh, he’s not dead!’ the old man goes. Then he has a little chuckle to himself. He’s like, ‘At least not yet anyway!’

  I literally don’t know what to say to that. I end up just staring at him, speechless.

  The old dear, meanwhile, is looking around the table, checking out everyone’s plates.

  ‘Szidonia,’ she goes, ‘you haven’t touched your fish.’

  Szidonia’s there, ‘I not like fish,’ and I suddenly feel like I’m not actually in the room, like this is a scene I’m watching on TV or something.

  ‘Whether you like fish or not is irrelevant,’ the old dear goes. ‘You signed a contract when you agreed to carry one of my babies – and when you signed that contract you agreed to abide by a diet plan. That goes for the rest of you as well.’

  ‘What the fock did you mean,’ I hear my voice go, ‘when you said he wasn’t dead yet?’

  He’s there, ‘His demise will be a slow, drawn-out affair! With a bit of luck, he’ll be gone by the end of the summer!’

  I’m like, ‘What? You’re saying you’re involved in this?’

  ‘You must understand, Ross, it’s nothing personal! It’s just that he has something that we want! And, with Fyodor’s help, we’re going to take it from him!’

  I’m just like, ‘You focking …’ but I can’t find the words to describe how I feel about him in that moment and I end up just bursting into tears.

  He goes, ‘Well, this is a fine how-do-you-do! Why are you so concerned for the chap’s welfare, Ross, as a matter of interest?’

  ‘Are you joking me? He’s one of my best friends!’

  ‘Is he?’

  ‘I love the goy.’

  ‘You love him?’

  ‘Yes, I love him. Hord as that might be for someone like you to understand.’

  ‘Well, this is a turn-up for the books and no mistake!’

  The old dear looks at me. She’s like, ‘I’m trying to talk to the girls here, Ross. Why on Earth are you crying?’

  The old man goes, ‘It seems he’s in love with Leo Varadkar!’

  I’m like, ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘Has he given you any indication that he feels the same way about you, Kicker?’

  ‘I’m not talking about Leo Varadkar. For fock’s sake, I’m talking about JP!’

  ‘JP? You mean, JP, your pal?’

  ‘Yes, JP, my focking pal.’

  He laughs. He thinks it’s suddenly hilarious.

  He goes, ‘It seems we’ve been talking at cross-purposes! I just assumed you’d seen young Leo being sworn in as Taoiseach today and raced over here to try to draw me into one of our famous political debates! Post hoc ergo propter hoc! There! I said it before you did, Ross!’

  ‘I came here because JP just rang me. From Moscow. They focking poisoned him.’

  ‘Poisoned him? Who poisoned him?’

  ‘Your mate – whatever he’s called? Fyodor.’

  ‘I have to say, Ross, this differs rather markedly from the account I heard! I was talking to Fyodor not two hours ago! It seems they had a very productive meeting with one of Fyodor’s oligarch pals! This chap has a theory, Fionnuala, that the most valuable commodity in the world of the future won’t be oil and it won’t be clean water, it’ll be room in which to move!’

  I’m like, ‘Dude, I’m telling you, when JP rang me, he was choking to death.’

  ‘I rather think your imagination is getting the better of you, Ross! Give him a call!’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘JP, of course! Give him a call!’

  I take out my phone and I ring the dude’s number again. I’m not expecting him to answer. But he does – this time after only one ring
.

  He goes, ‘Hey, Ross, I’m sorry I had to hang up on you there.’

  I’m like, ‘Dude, you need to get to a hospital – and fast.’

  ‘I don’t need a hospital. There’s nothing wrong with me.’

  ‘I was talking to you twenty minutes ago. You could hordly breathe. You were spewing your ring.’

  He laughs. He goes, ‘That was, em, shock, Ross.’

  I’m like, ‘Shock? Dude, is Fyodor holding a gun to your head there? Cough twice if the answer is yes.’

  But he doesn’t cough twice. He doesn’t cough at all. He just goes, ‘What I was trying to tell you was that Fyodor’s boss took me out for lunch. He said he wanted the Vampire Bed and was prepared to do anything to get it. He offered me –’

  I’m like, ‘What?’

  ‘– ten million euros.’

  ‘Ten million yoyos?’

  The old man smiles at me and nods knowingly.

  I’m there, ‘You’re focking shitting me! And what did you say to him?’

  And JP’s like, ‘I said yes, of course!’

  Of course there ends up being an awkward atmos in the kitchen when I hang up. The old man has another little chuckle to himself.

  He goes, ‘Poison JP? I don’t know what kind of people you think we are, Ross!’ then he picks up his phone and storts presumably tweeting.

  Charles O’Carroll-Kelly √ @realCOCK – 8m

  Leo Varadkar is part of the same middle-class ruling elite that rewards bankers and is happy for YOU to pay for their greed! A boy who joins Fine Gael at the age of 16 is not a boy who is looking to change the world – he’s a boy who’s already thinking about his place in it!

  Reply 2,880 Retweet 6,406 Like 28,993

  The old dear is just, like, glowering at the girls. ‘Your contracts say no alcohol,’ she goes. ‘Roxana, did you sign a contract that said you would refrain from drinking alcohol for the full term of your pregnancy?’

  I notice the girls exchanging nervous looks across the table.

  Roxana’s like, ‘I not drink alcohol!’

  ‘You had two mouthfuls of Grey Goose vodka last night,’ the old dear goes – the focking hypocrite – ‘after I went to bed.’

  I did warn them about the hidden cameras. There was bound to be one in the drinks cabinet.

  Roxana’s there, ‘I drink because is too much pressure. Always you say to me, “Eat this!” and “Don’t eat that!”, “Take folic acid”, “Take vitamins”. You say, “You take exercise yet?”’

  ‘Brigita hasn’t stepped on the treadmill in days,’ the old dear goes. ‘And don’t bother lying to me, Brigita, because I know what goes on under my own roof.’

  Brigita goes, ‘I try – but I am out of breath.’

  The old dear’s there, ‘Perhaps it’s all those cigarettes you’ve been smoking?’ and Brigita just looks away – busted and disgusted. ‘I want my babies to be born healthy. That’s why I’m warning you now that unless you stick to the instructions I’ve given you with regard to diet and exercise – and that means taking your folic acid, Lidia Two – then you won’t receive your balloon payment at the end of your pregnancy. And I’m sorry you’ve forced me to do this, but from now on I’m going to have to insist on breathalysing you all three times daily.’

  We’re having a few cheeky Friday afternoon pints in Madigan Square Gorden to celebrate JP’s big news.

  ‘Be honest,’ he goes, ‘how many of you really believed that the Vampire Bed was a good idea?’

  Me and Oisinn exchange a look over the top of our pints and we both burst out laughing.

  ‘Don’t get me wrong,’ Oisinn goes, ‘I still think it’s a terrible idea. I just can’t believe they paid you – what was it, ten million for it?’

  ‘Plus a percentage of the profit on each bed sold,’ he goes. ‘They’re talking about selling it into China, Japan, Mexico, Brazil – anywhere that’s overpopulated really.’

  I laugh.

  He goes, ‘I would have liked to hang on to the patent myself, but I just don’t have the resources to bring it to the market in the numbers they can. I mean, they’re actually convinced that in twenty years, this is how everyone in the world will sleep, even in this country – stacked like plates in a draining rack.’

  I’m there, ‘Your old man would be proud of you, JP,’ and I genuinely mean it. ‘Very proud.’

  He’s like, ‘Thanks, Ross.’

  Fionn arrives then. Glasses. Everything.

  I’m like, ‘I can’t get a break from you. It’s bad enough that I have to live under the same roof as you – now I can’t have a few pints without looking at your big, stupid head.’

  He has no answer to this, so he decides to just blank me.

  Then Oisinn makes the mistake of going, ‘Hey, Fionn! How’s Hillary?’

  And Fionn reaches straight for his phone to give him the full focking picture show. I don’t have a single photograph of the triplets in my phone and I’ve got more than five hundred of Emily Blunt.

  I rest my case.

  ‘So is he talking yet?’ JP goes, pretending to take an interest in his stupid pictures.

  Fionn’s there, ‘No, he hasn’t said anything, but I can tell he’s right on the point of verbalizing. Which would actually be early. A lot of the books I’ve read say that how early they speak is an indicator of intelligence.’

  I’m like, ‘Yeah, the only question is what focking language it’ll be in – right, Fionn?’

  Again, he lets it just wash over him.

  I call the lounge girl over and I ask for four pints of the obvious, then a 7-Up for Christian, who arrives just at that moment. He looks like shit – the weight of the world and blah, blah, blah.

  I’m like, ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘Yeah,’ he goes, ‘I just had a massive row with Lauren.’

  I’m there, ‘Another one? Would you not be better off single?’

  He goes, ‘She found out about the money,’ and then he looks at JP. ‘I might need that fifty Ks back at some point. No pressure, but even if you could stort paying me back in instalments over the next, say, two to three years?’

  JP just laughs.

  Christian obviously hasn’t heard JP’s good news yet because he goes, ‘What’s so funny?’

  And JP’s like, ‘The Russians bought the patent from me, Christian. Ten million snots.’

  ‘Ten?’ Christian goes. ‘Million?’

  ‘Out of which I’m giving you two.’

  All of our jaws just drop. Including Christian’s, by the way.

  He’s like, ‘Sorry, say that again?’ because none of us can actually believe what we’re hearing.

  JP goes, ‘You can tell Lauren. I’m giving you two million euros. To say thank you to you both.’

  Christian’s there, ‘You don’t have to do that.’

  ‘I know I don’t have to do it. But I’m going to do it. Because you were the only one who believed in the idea.’

  Christian laughs. ‘Jesus, I didn’t believe in it,’ he goes. ‘I thought it was the stupidest idea I’d ever heard in my life. I just didn’t want to see you throw everything away.’

  ‘You gave me all that money,’ JP goes, ‘to invest in an idea that you thought was going to fail?’

  Christian just nods.

  ‘Then you’re taking the two million,’ JP goes, ‘and there’s going to be no arguments.’

  Christian just stares off into the distance with a look of just, like, shock on his face? It’ll take a long time for this to sink in. But I’m delighted for him. It’s actually years since the dude has had something good happen to him.

  I’m there, ‘Can I just interrupt here and say the word “rugby”?’ because someone has to say it and it might as well be me.

  ‘Rugby,’ everyone agrees.

  But then I catch a glimpse of Oisinn looking sad and I feel suddenly shit that we’ve been standing here toasting JP’s good fortune and no one has asked him how he’s doing?

  So
I’m like, ‘Any word, Dude? From, like, Magnus?’

  Oisinn goes, ‘We’ve spoken on the phone once or twice.’

  JP’s like, ‘Where’s he sleeping?’

  Oisinn goes, ‘In work.’

  ‘What? They’ve got actual beds in there?’

  ‘They’ve got actual everything in there.’

  Fionn goes, ‘I read a long-form article about this whole phenomenon. It might have been in the New Yorker. It was all about how big companies are creating such happy workplace environments that many employees grow resentful, even mistrustful, of the world outside.’

  ‘It’s the focking Truman Show,’ Christian goes. ‘But that can’t be it, Oisinn. That can’t be your marriage over?’

  Oisinn’s there, ‘He’s not the Magnus I fell in love with, Christian. It’s like he’s joined a cult. Ross, you saw him at the tag rugby. He’s been indoctrinated into a way of thinking that I just don’t understand. I rang him the other day and he agreed that we needed to talk. But he said he didn’t have any capacity at the moment and it’d have to wait until the end of Q3. Then he said he had to go because he was taking on Debbie from Strategic Planning and Operational Excellence in the basketball hoop-shoot final.’

  I’m there, ‘Okay, this has gone on long enough.’

  Oisinn’s there, ‘What do you mean?’ because he can tell by my tone – and by the fact that I’ve put down my pint – that I’m suddenly deadly serious.

  I’m there, ‘Dude, Magnus is as much our friend as he is your husband.’

  ‘Shit! The Bed! You’ve got an idea, don’t you?’

  ‘You’re damn right I’ve got an idea. Although you’ll have to give me the weekend to work out the finer points of the plan.’

  ‘What does it involve?’

  ‘We’re going to break into Facebook and we’re going to … what’s the word, Fionn?’

  Fionn goes, ‘Exfiltrate?’

  And I’m like, ‘That’s right. We’re going to exfiltrate the dude. The five of us. We’ll do it on Monday afternoon.’

  ‘Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod!’ Sorcha goes. ‘Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod! Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod!’

  And while it’s never been my style to discuss what goes on in the bedroom, all I will say, for the purposes of the story, is that I’m lying on the flat of my back and my wife is bouncing up and down on me like Daenerys Targaryen riding one of her dragons into battle.