She puts one hand on my chest and the other one over her mouth to stifle the screams that I’m expecting to stort any second now, while I’m keeping the mast up by running through the names of the Ireland storting XV who beat Japan in the First Test this morning. We’re talking Healy, Scannell, Ryan, Roux, Toner, Ruddock, Leavy, Conan …
Sorcha goes, ‘Stop naming rugby players. I can’t concentrate.’
I’m there, ‘Sorry, I thought I was saying them in my head.’
‘Oh my God!’ she goes. ‘Oh my God! Oh my God!’
And it’s at that exact moment that I look over her left shoulder and find myself staring at my old dear’s face.
I’m like, ‘Okay, what the fock?’
And Sorcha goes, ‘Ross, don’t stop. I’m so close! Oh my God, I’m so close!’
I’m there, ‘Sorcha, get off me! Get off me now!’
She – there’s no better word for it – dismounts me and goes, ‘What the focking hell is wrong with you?’ and then she looks over her shoulder and sees exactly what I see. My old dear. Looking like a badly beaten porpoise squeezed into a navy velvet pantsuit.
Sorcha goes, ‘I knew I should have switched off the TV instead of just muting it.’
I’m like, ‘What the fock is she doing on TV?’
‘She must be on Saturday with Miriam. Oh my God, I love her velvet tux. I’ve seen Cara Delevingne wearing something very similar.’
‘Jesus Christ.’
‘I’ll turn it off and we can go back to what we were doing.’
‘Seriously, Sorcha, I doubt very much if I’m going to be in a position to achieve and sustain again tonight having seen that face. Jesus Christ.’
Sorcha grabs the TV remote and sticks the sound on. Yeah, no, it’s Saturday with Miriam alright. And the old dear is laying it on factor-fifty thick.
She’s going, ‘I had an experience last Christmas, Miriam. A near-death experience. I almost choked to death on a Kalamata olive and I wouldn’t be sitting here tonight if it wasn’t for this man sitting beside me.’
Yeah, no, it turns out that he’s there as well – as in, the old man?
‘Charles,’ Miriam goes, ‘you saved Fionnuala’s life, didn’t you? Tell us what happened?’
He’s there, ‘Well, it’s not the kind of thing you even need to think about, Miriam! You see someone you love lying on the floor, turning blue, airways blocked, etcetera, etcetera – your first instinct is to do whatever is necessary to save that person’s life!’
My first instinct was to let nature take its course.
‘So I performed the Heimlich manoeuvre on her and, well, the olive shot out,’ he goes, ‘and she could suddenly breathe again!’
‘And what,’ Miriam goes, ‘were the lessons you learned from that experience, Fionnuala?’
I’m like, ‘Have your mid-afternoon Mortini with a twist of lemon instead.’
Sorcha shushes me. She goes, ‘Ross, I never knew anything about her nearly dying!’
I decide to keep my mouth shut then.
The old dear goes, ‘Lying on the floor, waiting to die by suffocation, gives you time to think, Miriam. Time really does slow down in that moment. And, as I was lying there, I began reflecting on my life and asking myself whether I had spent my time on this Earth wisely.’
‘And the answer?’ Miriam goes – she’s worse for encouraging her.
The old dear’s there, ‘The answer was no, Miriam. And I know that will probably shock a lot of people in your audience and a lot of people watching at home. People look at me and they see the successful literary career and the role I’ve played as an advocate for those with no voice and they think I have the complete life. But I realized, in that moment, that I didn’t. My life was utterly meaningless. Because I was dying, Miriam, and I was alone.’
She pretends to be upset then. The old man puts his hand on top of hers. It’s an IFTA-winning performance.
‘Was there anything specific,’ Miriam goes, ‘that you regretted doing or perhaps not doing in your life?’
The old dear’s there, ‘It’s going to sound selfish, Miriam, because I know I’ve helped a great many people with my charitable work and I’ve brought pleasure to millions of lives with my books. But in that moment, I regretted leading a life of such selflessness. I wished I’d had a family.’
Sorcha goes, ‘Oh my God, Ross – she has a family! She has you!’
And I’m there, ‘I didn’t hear Miriam jumping in there to correct her either.’
‘So come on,’ Miriam goes, ‘I know you’re bursting to tell us this wonderful news.’
The old dear’s like, ‘Charles and I have decided to have children.’
You can nearly hear the audience thinking, Someone’s made a pig of themselves with the gin in the green room.
‘Explain to us,’ Miriam goes, ‘how that’s even possible, Fionnuala, because you’re –’
‘Sixty,’ the old dear goes.
‘Oh, I’ve got seventy here in my notes.’
‘No, Miriam, it’s sixty. You might want to change your researchers. But to answer your question, back in the 1980s – when I was torn between having a family and dedicating my life to helping, as well as entertaining, others – I had some of my eggs frozen in the Ukraine.’
Miriam’s there, ‘And, Charles, you knew literally nothing about this?’
He’s like, ‘Nothing whatsoever, Miriam! Until last Christmas! The business with the olive! Fionnuala was upset and she said, “Who’s going to look after us when we get old, Chorles? We’re all alone in this world!” And that’s when she told me about her secret trip to the Ukraine, where she had various things removed and – like you said – refrigerated!’
Miriam goes, ‘Now, you’re not talking about having a baby, are you?’
The old dear’s like, ‘No, we’re having six!’
I’m expecting to hear boos from the audience – except they actually stort clapping?
I’m there, ‘How the fock can people think this is good?’
‘Six?’ Miriam goes. ‘And you’re using surrogates to carry them for you. And we’re going to meet them in just a moment. But first I want to ask you, Chorles, where are you going to find the time to be a father to all these babies? I mean, you are still intent on becoming Taoiseach one day?’
He’s like, ‘Yes, I am, Miriam! And I have to tell you that just the thought of bringing these six new lives into the world has fired me with an energy I haven’t known since I was a much younger man! You see, now I have a very real stake in this country’s future! It is now incumbent on me to do everything I can to ensure that these children of ours grow up in an Ireland that is both happy and prosperous – and not a country whose citizens are asked to foot the bill for a failed –’
Miriam cuts him off. She’s there, ‘I’m not going to allow you to make a party political statement, Charles O’Carroll-Kelly, but I am going to ask you about Leo Varadkar, who received his seal of office from President Michael D. Higgins this week. Do you wish him well as Ireland’s youngest ever Taoiseach?’
The old man goes, ‘You’re doing the chap a disservice there, Miriam! He’s not only Ireland’s youngest ever Taoiseach, he’s also our first leader who has openly admitted to going to a second-tier private school! But of course I wish him – and all his Head Prefect pals – well! I’m rather looking forward to taking Leader’s Questions from the chap when he’s the leader of the Opposition in the very near future!’
The audience laughs, then gives him another round of applause. It always amazes me how easily swayed people are by his bullshit.
Miriam stands up and goes, ‘Okay, will we meet the six lovely women who are helping Charles and Fionnuala to have the family of which they’ve always dreamed?’
The audience is like, ‘Yaaaaaayyyyyy!!!’
Miriam goes, ‘Okay, here they come – the six women who are pregnant with Charles and Fionnuala’s babies! They are Szidonia, Roxana, Loredana, Brigita, Lidia and then a
nother Lidia!’
Out they walk. They’re wearing identical, shapeless, grey smock dresses. Even Sorcha’s like, ‘Oh! My God! They’re like actual clones!’
Miriam goes, ‘Now, Fionnuala, when you look at them, do you know who is who?’
The old dear’s like, ‘Not really, Miriam. I’ve given them name badges but they refuse to wear them. I know the one with the big nose is Brigita. And that one’s either Roxana or one of the Lidias.’
Sorcha goes, ‘It’s like something from The Handmaid’s Tale.’
Miriam turns around to the six birds and goes, ‘So how does it feel to be helping Fionnuala and Charles to have the family they’ve always wanted?’
‘It feels very nice,’ Roxana – one of the ones I definitely fancy – goes.
Brigita’s there, ‘They are very good to us,’ and she says it like she’s memorized it from an actual script. ‘They give us food and roof and we also do housework.’
‘Oh my God,’ Sorcha goes, ‘they look actually terrified, Ross!’
Miriam’s there, ‘Fionnuala, will you come on the show again after the babies are born and maybe bring them with you?’
The old dear’s like, ‘It would be my pleasure, Miriam.’
‘And Charles,’ Miriam goes, ‘do you have any particular preference in terms of their gender? Would you take three and three?’
And he’s like, ‘I don’t mind what they are, Miriam, as long as they’re six future Ireland rugby internationals!’
That gets a great laugh from the audience.
I’m there, ‘He had to say that, didn’t he? He had to mention rugby.’
Sorcha goes, ‘Oh my God, Ross, I’m so, so sorry.’
And I just think to myself, I am going to get him back for this.
I’m beginning to wonder is Sasha drugging my children – and I’m saying that as a compliment to the girl? It’s, like, ten o’clock on Sunday morning and there hasn’t been a peep out of them. And I end up having to check on them to make sure they haven’t climbed out the window and taken the cor for another spin.
But, no, when I stick my head around the door, Johnny is sitting on the floor, playing away happily with his Lego, while Brian and Leo are sitting at their little desk, drawing with their crayons.
I’m like, ‘What are you drawing, goys?’
Brian shows me his picture and goes, ‘Wayne Rooney!’ and it takes all the strength I have to stop myself from snatching it from him, scrunching it up in a ball and focking it in the bin.
Instead, I go, ‘Two out of ten, Brian,’ because he’ll never learn otherwise. ‘And just to let you know, it would have been eight or nine out of ten if you’d drawn Dan Leavy. Er, two tries on his debut yesterday? You’d know that if you’d bothered to watch it with me.’
Sorcha walks in, holding Hillary in her orms. She goes, ‘Oh my God, look at them, Ross! Three busy little beavers!’
I’m just there, ‘Just don’t go over the top with the praise is what I’m saying.’
She goes, ‘Are you okay?’ because she knows I barely slept after watching the old pair on TV last night.
I’m like, ‘Yeah, no, I’m fine.’
Johnny is trying to attach a Lego brick to a sticky brick and he can’t understand why it’s not happening for him. He’s definitely not going to work in construction – maybe I should be relieved.
‘No, Johnny,’ Sorcha goes, ‘the sticky bricks only work with the other sticky bricks. Mommy will show you. Ross, will you hold Hillary?’
And before I get a chance to say anything, she’s plonked Hillary in my orms. I try not to make eye contact with him – I’ve no idea why – but I can feel him just, like, staring at me intensely, so I end up looking at him and his face suddenly breaks into a smile and he claps his two little hands together.
And suddenly all I can think is, Oh my God, what a beautiful baby he is. I mean, he didn’t ask to be Fionn’s kid. But thankfully there’s very little of his father in him except – like I keep saying – the weak little eyes.
I feel my own face break into a smile. And then the most random thing happens. He storts going, ‘Dadadadadadadadada!’ basically trying to talk to me.
Sorcha looks over. She’s like, ‘Oh! My! God! Ross, he’s verbalizing!’ and then she runs to the door and shouts, ‘Fionn! Fionn! He’s verbalizing! He’s verbalizing!’
‘Dadadadadadada!’ the kid goes.
And I’m like, ‘Dadadadadadada!’ and he sort of laughs and hiccups at the same time.
He goes, ‘Dadadadadadadadadadadada!’
Sorcha’s there, ‘Oh my God, he’s trying to have an actual conversation with you!’
All of a sudden, Fionn bursts into the room. He sees Hillary trying to have the deep meaningfuls with me and he’s straight away jealous. The first thing he does is he takes him from me and goes, ‘Regardez ici, mon enfant! Ton papa est ici!’
And you can actually see the joy disappear from the poor kid’s face.
Fionn looks at me and he goes, ‘What were you saying to him?’
And I’m like, ‘I didn’t say shit. He just storted chatting away to me. You know, maybe if you just chilled the fock out, Fionn, and stopped trying to fill his head with stupid languages, you might get a smile and the odd Dada out of him yourself.’
‘I’ll tell you what,’ he goes, ‘why don’t I raise my child the way I want and not the way you tell me – given that your record in this area is far from exemplary.’
I try to think of a comeback, but I can’t. If Honor was here, she’d tear him a new one, but she’s not here. I can feel myself about to burst into tears again, so I end up just storming out of the room.
I hear Sorcha go, ‘Fionn, I think that was uncalled-for.’
Downstairs, I spot Fionn’s Dubes by the fireplace in the kitchen and I decide to go old school on him. I pick them up and I bring them into the jacks. I’m just about to whip down my chinos and boxer shorts when my phone all of a sudden rings? I check the screen and – holy fock! – I end up having to do a double-take.
Because Joe Schmidt is ringing me. Again.
I answer by going, ‘Hello?’
His voice is muffled, like he’s not talking directly into the mouthpiece. I can only make it out faintly. He’s going, ‘Could Oy git the chickin teriyakoy with froyed royce, ployse? And actually Oy moyt git a staahtah – Oy’ll have the froyed toyfoy.’
The dude has obviously orse-dialled me by accident.
I’m there, ‘Hello? HELLO? HEEELLLOOO?’
And then I hear him go, ‘Can yoy hear that?’ and then, a second or two later, I hear his voice, as clear as a bell. He goes, ‘Helloy?’
I’m there, ‘Yeah, no, sorry, Joe – you must have accidentally orse-dialled me.’
He’s like, ‘Oy thought Oy was going croyzoy for a munnet – hearing voices! Whoy’s thus?’
‘You must have sat on your phone or something. This is, like, Ross O’Carroll-Kelly?’
‘Whoy?’
It kills me that the Ireland rugby coach doesn’t even know my name. No wonder the old man is so keen to try again.
I’m there, ‘Yeah, no, my daughter –’
‘Aw, yeah, she wroyte moy thit litter!’ he goes. ‘That’s royt! It was a groyt litter!’
‘Yeah, no, she also sent you my Rugby Tactics Book.’
‘Aw, I forgot to sind it beck to yoy! Is thit whoy you’re ringing moy?’
‘Yeah, no, I didn’t ring you. I think you possibly orse-dialled me – in other words, sat on your phone.’
‘Aw, dud Oy? Hey, we were talking abaaht coyching, weren’t we?’
I’m there, ‘We, er, were, yeah.’
He goes, ‘So dud yoy soy yis to that toym that wanted yoy to coych them?’
‘Yeah, no, I did actually. We had our first match a couple of weeks back.’
‘That’s groyt – and haahd yoy goy?’
I’m there, ‘Er, I’d say there were pluses and minuses? Let’s just say the match ended u
p being a lot more physical than I expected it to be.’
‘Look,’ he goes, ‘we all goy into goyms with expictoytions – and you prepeer accordingloy. But what moykes a groyt coych is the abilitoy toy react toy circumstaahnces as they onfoyld – do yoy git moy?’
God, his voice is so soothing.
I’m there, ‘Yeah, no, I do get you, Joe. I definitely do.’
He goes, ‘Yoy doyn’t soym toy happy toy moy, Moyte. What us ut?’
He’s just so easy to talk to – that’s how it all ends up coming out about my old pair on the TV last night.
I’m there, ‘They’re trying to replace me.’
He’s like, ‘Reployce yoy? What, they’ve alriddy moyd up their moynds that you’re not what thoy want?’
Yeah, no, Joe thinks we’re still talking about rugby.
I’m there, ‘I’m not sure I ever was what they wanted, Joe. I think I’ve turned out to be a major disappointment to them.’
‘Un what woy?’
‘I just didn’t achieve all the things they wanted me to achieve. And now they think they can do better. They want to bring in, let’s just say, new blood.’
‘Lit me till you something, Moyt. You’re looking at ut all wrong.’
‘Am I?’
‘This craahd you’re wuth – they’re troying toy till yoy that you’re not the royt fut for them. Think abaaht ut another woy. Moyboy they’re not the royt fut for yoy.’
‘That’s actually a good point.’
‘Uf they think they can doy bitter than yoy, then moyboy troy spinding your toym around those whoy approyciate yoy – doy yoy git moy?’
‘I do get you.’
‘Lit moy aahsk yoy something else. What’s the moyst important thung un the world to yoy?’
I don’t even hesitate. I’m like, ‘My wife and kids,’ because that’s what you’re expected to say.
Joe goes, ‘Your famloy. That’s your number one toym, Ross.’
Well, I’d still put Leinster on a por with them, but I do accept the point he’s trying to make.
He’s there, ‘Lusten, Moyt, Oy’ve gotta goy – moy moyle’s arroyved. It’s boyn noyce talking toy yoy agin, Moyte.’
Schmidt Happens Page 31
