The Eighty-Five Billion Euro Man

by Donal Conaty

‘Oh, I explained that I was just back from a bunga bunga party in Rome and didn't want to risk passing on an unpleasant infection,’ he said.

  ‘She was OK with that?’ I asked. I could scarcely believe it.

  ‘More than OK,’ he said. ‘She promised me her first preference vote, although I had to promise her a year's supply of Fake Bake.’

  ‘Wouldn't it be easier to just kiss the damn babies?’ I asked him.

  ‘Ugh,’ he said. ‘Who in their right mind would want to do that?’

  He had a point.

  If the voters were vaguely tolerant of Dermot, the politicians were not. To a man and woman they seemed outraged that a civil servant had ‘crossed over'. One might have expected that the opposition would be happy that he was talking down Fianna Fáil and the Greens, saying they had refused to take advice and had often done the opposite to what Dermot had suggested. They were, however, not one bit happy. It was as though Dermot was breaking a sacred trust by running for office.

  One evening when we were canvassing outside TK Maxx in Blanchardstown, it transpired that Joan Burton and her team had a similar plan to Dermot's. Dermot's hostility towards her was intense. This didn't surprise me after she and Michael Noonan had snubbed him when they came to the Department of Finance to discuss passing the Finance Bill. What surprised me was that she was clearly just as hostile towards Dermot.

  ‘Ms Burton,’ Dermot said icily. ‘I will do everything in my power to ensure that you never work in the Department of Finance.’

  ‘Really, Mr Mulhearn? Just like you do everything in your power to ensure that you never work in the Department of Finance?’

  ‘Well I never,’ said Dermot.

  ‘Precisely,’ said Ms Burton. ‘At least you can go back to your life of genteel retirement in the Department after you fail to get elected. What about the poor people who have lost their livelihoods because of your ineptitude?’

  I had never seen anyone speak to Dermot like this. She would clearly be a breath of fresh air in the Department of Finance if she did get the position.

  Dermot was not used to such treatment. He was speechless with indignation, but the situation was about to escalate.

  ‘Is this bureaucrat haranguing you, Joan?’ a voice behind us asked. We turned around to see another of the candidates, Joe Higgins of the Socialist Party.

  ‘Look at you, you gilded lily,’ he said to Dermot. ‘You should get back to Merrion Street before you get hurt. She fights dirty, does that Burton one.’

  ‘Who is “she” may I ask? The cat's mother?’ Ms Burton broke in. A crowd had begun to gather as the politicians bickered.

  ‘Oh, here we go,’ said Mr Higgins.

  ‘What do you mean “here we go”?’ Ms Burton demanded. ‘Was that a sexist “here we go”?’

  Dermot, unfortunately, found his voice just as the crowd was growing in number.

  ‘I am not going to sit here and be insulted by a woman and a socialite,’ said Dermot.

  ‘Who are you calling a woman?’ Ms Burton demanded angrily.

  ‘Who are you calling a socialite?’ Mr Higgins demanded, sounding both angry and confused.

  The crowd had swelled to about one hundred people.

  ‘Well,’ said Dermot, turning to face Ms Burton. ‘You are not much of a woman with your politics and your economics and ... and ... your stupid hair … and …’ He turned to face Higgins. ‘As for you, you are not much of a socialite. I eat in all the best restaurants and I've never seen you in any of them.’

  Word spread about the free entertainment and the crowd grew still further. Dermot clearly thought he was winning the impromptu debate as each of his misguided comments was greeted with laughter and applause.

  ‘How dare you?’ shrieked Ms Burton. ‘First, I'm a woman, then I'm not a woman. I don't know which is more insulting. The nerve of you.’

  Dermot was about to respond but Mr Higgins interjected.

  ‘And I'm not a socialite, you idiot; I'm a Socialist,’ he said.

  ‘Excuse me,’ said Dermot, raising himself to his full height. He was clearly confident that on this subject he was something of an authority. ‘I had the honour of working with Bertie Ahern for many years. I know a socialist when I see one, and you sir are no socialist.’

  Mr Higgins became apoplectic with rage. ‘I am a socialist,’ he insisted. ‘How dare you put me in the same category as Bertie Ahern. He was a nihilist, not a socialist,’

  ‘Whatever,’ said Dermot and he smiled broadly at the crowd, mistaking their laughter for support.

  ‘Well isn't it just typical of you all to be squabbling in the street like this,’ a young man with a prudish manner and a self-satisfied smile said.

  ‘Oh no, it's Varadkar,’ said Ms Burton.

  ‘What are you doing here? I thought you weren't a people person,’ said Mr Higgins.

  ‘I am too a people person,’ Mr Varadkar said petulantly.

  ‘Prove it,’ said Dermot, seeing an opportunity to paint Leo Varadkar in a bad light. ‘Kiss that baby.’

  Dermot was pointing to a red-faced, squalling baby with snot running over its lips and down its chin. Its own mother would be hard pressed to kiss it. Mr Varadkar looked momentarily horrified and a hush came over the crowd.

  ‘I can't,’ he said ‘I have a cold.’

  ‘Kiss the baby, Leo,’ jeered Ms Burton.

  ‘You kiss the baby,’ Mr Varadkar replied.

  ‘Why should I kiss the baby?’ Ms Burton demanded. ‘Is it because I'm a woman?’

  ‘Not again,’ said Mr Higgins. ‘None of us should kiss the baby unless we can kiss all the babies.’ His socialist principles obviously ran deep.

  Dermot picked that moment to do the most surprising thing that I have ever seen him do. He bent down on one knee, produced a handkerchief from his suit pocket and gently wiped the baby's nose, mouth and chin. The baby stopped crying, looked up at Dermot and gurgled happily. Dermot then kissed the baby on the forehead. Cheers erupted from the crowd.

  ‘You have a beautiful baby,’ he said to the child's mother.

  ‘Are ye joking?’ the mother said. ‘He's the spit of his father – as ugly as me arse.’

  ‘Well,’ said Dermot, as the crowd rolled around laughing. ‘I am sure you have a beautiful arse too.’

  Dermot's campaign had descended into farce but you couldn't deny that the public enjoyed him. He was still outside TK Maxx talking to voters two hours after his rivals had left. Several people I spoke to said they couldn't possibly give him their first preference but they would give him second or third. ‘We all know we are going to have a Fine Gael government,’ one man said. ‘But we may as well have a bit of a laugh too.’

  And Dermot wasn't a complete fool. As he posed for photographs, he continued to tell the voters how politicians were all the same but he was different. ‘Lenihan and Cowen ignored my advice on the economy for nine years,’ he told them. ‘I guarantee you Michael Noonan will do exactly the same. You need me in the Dáil to make sure the politicians listen to the real experts.’

  The next morning we were in the Harney Room in the Department of Finance and Dermot asked for a review of the key issues that we were encountering on the doorsteps. I scanned the list in my notebook.

  ‘Emigration, jobs, the Universal Social Charge, the banks,’ I said.

  Dermot rolled his eyes to heaven. ‘How dull,’ he said. ‘Have these people no lives?’

  ‘They have difficult lives, Dermot,’ I said.

  ‘Who doesn't?’ said Dermot. ‘It took me half an hour this morning to decide what tie to wear with this shirt. I don't think I can face another day talking to those people.’

  ‘Well it's the last day of campaigning Dermot, and you did very well with them yesterday,’ I said.

  ‘Yes, but at such a cost. I vomited for hours last night.

  I still dry retch every time I think of that ugly little baby. I simply can't face any more of that.’

  I spoke to Ajai later that day t
o give him an update on the campaign.

  ‘What is Dermot promising?’ Ajai asked. ‘I hope he isn't making any promises he can't keep.’

  ‘Well,’ I said, ‘some of them are going to be difficult to keep.’

  ‘Oh no,’ Ajai groaned. ‘What has he done? He hasn't promised to default, has he? I don't think I could stand another tête-à-tête with Angela Merkel. She is grim.’

  ‘No,’ I reassured him. ‘Nothing like that.’

  ‘What is it then?’ he demanded. ‘Give me a straight answer.’

  ‘Well, he's promised a lot of people an all-over fake tan that won't fade and won't leave any streaks.’

  ‘Wow! A classic election promise.’ Ajai said drily. ‘Is he going to get any votes?’

  ‘He'll get some – not many, but some,’ I said. ‘He might even squeeze through on transfers. People seem to like him.’

  ‘What about the wider campaign?’ Ajai asked. ‘Is it going to be that Kenny guy? Are there any signs of unrest?’

  ‘No, no signs of unrest. It will definitely be Kenny. It is just a question of whether he gets an overall majority. The most likely scenario is that he will be in with Labour,’ I said.

  ‘Labour? Are they left wing?’ Ajai asked. ‘What are their policies?’

  ‘They don't seem to have any,’ I said, ‘but if they did they would be the same as Fine Gael's. All the main parties here

  are pretty much indistinguishable.’

  ‘So they'll be able to work together?

  ‘They should be.’

  ‘OK,’ said Ajai. ‘Keep me posted.’

  EIGHT

  ENDA AND HIS

  IMAGINARY FRIEND

  Dermot surprised me by coming into the office on the morning of one of the most significant general elections in the history of the Irish State. He had taken annual leave for the duration of the campaign and seemed so bizarrely confident of winning a seat that I didn't expect to see him back in the Department of Finance.

  But he was all business as he ushered the Chiefs of Staff of all the government departments into what had been the Harney Room but now bore a large plaque with the legend ‘Senior Civil Servants’ Recreation Room'.

  ‘What do you want?’ Dermot asked me as I hovered at the door, trying to see what was going on inside.

  ‘Just seeing what's going on,’ I said. ‘It's part of my job description, you know. It's one of the terms and conditions of the bailout, if you recall?’

  ‘Oh, come on in then,’ Dermot said, ‘if you must.’

  I got quite a shock when I walked into the room. Everything had changed. A large mahogany table dominated the space and most of the Chiefs of Staff were seated around it. There were also seats positioned slightly behind each of the Chiefs where their deputies sat busily looking through notes. I saw that Liam was sitting in the position reserved for the Chief of Staff of the Department of Finance. He had a supercilious air about him that I hadn't noticed before. I was surprised and disappointed to see that he was dressed in an exquisite bespoke suit of the sort that Dermot favoured. ‘Oh you're here,’ he said when he noticed me. ‘Haven't you got numbers to crunch?’ Liam had never spoken to me like that before and I didn't like his tone. He looked self-satisfied and superior. My heart sank as I realised he reminded me of Dermot.

  I noticed an empty seat at the top of the table. It was the throne.

  ‘You may as well sit beside me,’ Dermot said, and he pointed to an assistant's seat beside the throne.

  ‘What's going on here?’ I asked him.

  ‘All will be revealed,’ Dermot said with a flourish.

  I took my seat. Dermot took his and he called the meeting to order. ‘Gentlemen,’ he said, for they were all men, ‘allow me to welcome you to the first meeting of the new civil service Cabinet. Before we begin I would like us all to welcome Liam Horgan who is joining our ranks as Acting Chief of Staff of the Department of Finance. Welcome Liam to the hallowed ranks of the senior civil service. You have won the lottery of life.’

  Liam was given a standing ovation by the assembled civil servants and looked far too pleased with himself for my liking. I feared his scruples had not made the journey to high office with him.

  ‘Now,’ said Dermot, ‘as you all know we have always run this country, but from now on we shall do so without any interference from the Government.’ Dermot paused for a moment as the room erupted into spontaneous applause. ‘As you know I have taken the decision to cross over and I will soon be elected TD for Dublin West.’

  Once again the assembled civil servants applauded.

  I took the opportunity to whisper in Dermot's ear. ‘You are heavily dependent on transfers,’ I told him. ‘It's a long shot that you'll get a seat.’

  Dermot looked at me in astonishment. ‘Don't be ridiculous,’ he said. He turned to face his peers. ‘Thank you, gentlemen,’ he said, smiling broadly. He really was impervious to reality.

  David Mulcahy, Chief of Staff of the Department of Justice, rose to address the room.

  ‘If I may,’ he said, ‘I would like to express my gratitude and that of all your colleagues for the sacrifice you have made in becoming ... in becoming a ... [at this point Mr Mulcahy tried but failed to suppress a shudder as a brief expression of disgust crossed his face] ... in becoming a politician,’ he sobbed.

  Dermot raised his arms to placate his colleague.

  ‘There, there, David,’ he said soothingly. ‘I appreciate the sentiment but we all know there was no choice. As you know, gentlemen, we civil servants have been ignored for too long. We have stood by stoically while our ministers consulted with so-called experts. We have seen the principles of good government ground underfoot as fashionable theories held sway. Gentlemen, the time has come for change. The time has come for us to put the civil service back at the heart of good government. From this day forth we will meet here in our Cabinet room to make the key decisions that will lead Ireland out of the darkness and into the light. Never forget, gentlemen, what's good for the civil service is good for the country.’

  Dermot finished to rapturous applause, which gave me a moment to pick my jaw up off the floor.

  ‘This is no less than a coup d'état,’ I whispered to him urgently.

  ‘That's right,’ he answered proudly. ‘It is a very Irish coup – the Government won't even know that it has happened.’ He turned to face the room again. ‘There is one further item on today's agenda if you would indulge me for another few moments, gentlemen?’

  Slowly the room came to order as Dermot cleared his throat.

  ‘Some of us have been here before but there are many in this room who will shortly be dealing with new ministers for the first time. And, given how long Fianna Fáil were in power, many of our new charges will be virgin ministers. This in itself is not a major problem. Yes, they will be eager, impulsive and full of themselves, but they always are for the first few weeks. Just remember that these people won't have any respect for the system that we hold dear. They have all made outlandish promises, and, initially, they will be intent on honouring them. Of course, we mustn't allow them, but don't fight them on this. Their conviction passes quickly in the face of our intransigence and rarely resurfaces. Any questions?’

  David Mulcahy again addressed the gathering. ‘Can we be clear about how our Cabinet will conduct its business here?’ he asked Dermot.

  ‘Certainly,’ Dermot said. ‘These meetings will enable the departments to cooperate in subverting the wishes of our ministers. You and I, David, shall guide our colleagues in leading their ministers to policy positions that we preordain. Purely in the interests of the country, of course.’

  Liam raised his hand. ‘What if we end up with a particularly bolshie minister like ... ’

  ‘Like Mr Noonan,’ Dermot finished his sentence for him. ‘Fear not, Liam. Every department has been issued with a broadcast quality video camera. If your minister is particularly zealous about something or you just want to stop him from rattling on, simply p
oint the camera at him. It will distract him for hours. Even Mr Noonan.’

  On that note Dermot called an end to the meeting and the various civil servants returned to their departments to while away time until it was reasonable to go for lunch. I went to my desk and prepared myself to break the news to Ajai. I was not looking forward to the call.

  Ajai answered on the first ring.

  ‘Have you ID'd the unsub?’ he asked. I had forgotten that the new season of Criminal Minds was airing stateside.

  ‘Ehm.’

  ‘Never mind,’ said Ajai. ‘What's going on with the election?’

  ‘The turnout is high,’ I said. ‘Everything still points to a Fine Gael victory.’

  ‘So why did you call? Have you any news?’

  ‘Yes, Mr Chopra,’ I said. ‘How can I put this? Voting is continuing but Dermot has already formed a Government.’

  ‘What?’

  The controlled anger in Ajai's voice was chilling. Somewhere a central bank governor cut himself shaving.

  ‘Well it's kind of like we supposed. He has formed a Cabinet of civil servants to run the country.’

  ‘When did we suppose that?’ Ajai asked tersely.

  ‘Well, I told you he wanted to put the civil service back at the heart of government, didn't I?’

  ‘You didn't say he was taking over the place. Is it going to fly?’

  ‘To be honest I don't think the actual Government, when it is formed, will ever know that it is not the actual Government,’ I said.

  ‘And what about Dermot's Government? Will it meet the terms and conditions as set out in the Memorandum of Understanding?’ Ajai asked.

  ‘I can't say for sure, Mr Chopra, but it is far more likely to succeed than one that has to answer to the will of the people.’

  ‘Let me think,’ said Ajai. ‘I presume you still have Dermot's ear?’

  ‘Very much so,’ I said.

  ‘OK,’ said Ajai. ‘Stay close to him, be useful to him but don't become compromised. Be with him if his plan works. Don't be there if it doesn't.’

  ‘Yes, Mr Chopra,’ I said as though it were possible to follow those instructions.