The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Nightdress

by Ross O'Carroll-Kelly

  I’m there, ‘Aviolently active, intrepid, brutal youth – that is what I am after… I will have no intellectual training. Knowledge is ruin for my young men,’ and Fehily goes, ‘Ruin, that’s right. It’s from Mein Kampf And you’d be wise to remember it. Don’t be afraid to make changes, do you hear me?’ and I’m like, ‘I watched the video you sent me – the Pres. match,’ and he stands up and goes, ‘Come and meet the players. Tell them the shame you felt watching your alma mater humbled by a school from a town of half-breeds.’

  He brings me down to the gym, roysh, and all the goys are down there waiting for me, totally kacking it, roysh, and understandably so because the axe is about to fall in a major way. They all stand up when we walk in – they actually stand to attention – and Fehily goes, ‘I take it this man… needs no introduction,’ then he’s just like, ‘I’ll leave you to it, Ross,’ and off he goes.

  I look around the room at all the goys, roysh, shake my head and go, ‘Sit down!’ which they do. I’m like, ‘Bray! I mean, Bray, of all places! Someone says Bray to you, what do you think of? Slot-machines, pound shops, men with scaldy faces. You do NOT think rugby. Okay, they have a pretty tasty team this year, but they still shouldn’t be in our league. Come on, what were you goys thinking? I watched the game and let me just say, I was ashamed of you,’ and then I go, ‘Ashamed,’ looking straight at Mouse Kelly, our so-called outside-centre who dropped the focking ball twice and handed them two tries. I’m just like, ‘Be gone,’ and when he finally cops what I’m talking about, roysh, he gets his shit together and focks off.

  Next on the list, roysh, is Vaughan Anders, which I have to say is a seriously brave move by me, as it means breaking with the hundred-year-old tradition that the fattest goy in sixth year is automatically guaranteed a place in the pack. I know Fehily’s probably going to get it in the ear from Brother Augustus and the other traditionalists on the board of management, but I know he’ll back me 100 per cent, maybe even more, if there’s actually such a thing.

  I sort of, like, cup my hands around my mouth, roysh, and go, ‘Come in, Vaughan Anders, your time is up!’ which is probably a bit, I don’t know, insensitive of me, roysh, but I want the rest of the goys to know that they’re going to have to be, like, seriously fit if they want to play for Castlerock in future. I go, ‘No man is bigger than the team,’ and then I point at Vaughan’s big flabby Ned and I’m like, ‘although in his case, it’s a pretty close call,’ and everyone, like, cracks their holes laughing. He actually shoots me a filthy, roysh, as he’s packing his bag and then, as he passes me on the way out the door he goes, ‘Focking orsehole,’ under his breath, but I’m actually big enough to ignore it. I’ll tell Fehily I want him expelled this afternoon.

  I’m there, ‘Dead wood. Got to be swept out,’ and Dessie Voyles – the tighthead prop – basically knows what’s coming next because he’s already, like, rolling his rugby gear into a ball and stuffing it into his bag. He’s repeated his Leaving so many times, roysh, he’s practically older than some of the teachers. I’m there, ‘You understand, don’t you? I’ve got to build for the future, dude,’ and he sort of, like, stares into the distance, roysh, and goes, ‘It’s a short career alroysh. Washed up at twenty-seven…’

  So there I am, roysh, walking around, looking them all up and down and, like, they’re all scared to look me in the eye in case they’re next. I go, ‘You all know me and you know my reputation. You’re going to find me a tough coach, but a fair one. I’ll stand for a lot of things. I’ll stand for players not being good enough. I’ll stand for players being too hung-over to train. What I won’t stand for is lack of pride in the Castlerock colours. And I can guarantee you one thing – by the time we go out to play de La Salle Churchtown next week, none of you will be too scared to look me in the eye.’

  Then I’m like, ‘Now, come on, cheer up. It’s not all doom and gloom,’ which it isn’t, roysh. There’s basically the nucleus of a decent team there – certainly good enough to beat de La focking Salle Churchtown. Francis Stadiem, our prop-forward, is good enough to make the Leinster schools team this year, according to Wardy, who also said in the Indo that Aodán Hannafy, our second row, is the best lineout jumper for his age in Ireland BAR NONE!

  We’ve also got Andrew Pike – as in Pikey – and I don’t need Wardy to tell me he is pound-for-pound the best all-round player in schools rugby at the moment, and reminds me a bit of myself actually, even if he is a bit, I don’t know, full of himself. Then there’s Lorcan, who’s a focking unbelievable scrumhalf, but who I’m actually tempted to drop on account of the fact that he’s, like, Fionn’s brother and it would really piss off Eddie the Eagle. In the end, though, I don’t, even though it’s Lorcan that Fehily was talking about when he mentioned too many players being into, like, books and shit? I actually leave him in the team. He’s good. And besides, I’ve decided he could have his uses.

  It’s, like, Saturday afternoon, roysh, and I bell Sorcha and ask her what she’s up to. She goes, ‘I’m in the Merrion Shopping Centre, if you must know,’ and I’m like, ‘In your mum’s shop?’ and she’s there, ‘We’re doing a stocktake, Ross, not that it’s any of your business,’ and I’m like, ‘So who’s looking after your shop,’ but she just ignores me, roysh, so I go, ‘Doesn’t matter. Just wondered did you fancy going for a coffee?’ and she’s there, ‘And why would I want to go for a coffee with you, of all people?’ and I’m like, ‘No reason. It’s just me and Ronan were, like, cruising around in the cor and we thought…’ and she goes, ‘What?’ sounding all, like, interested all of a sudden.

  She’s there, ‘Oh! My! God! He’s with you now?’ and I’m like, ‘Yeah. We’re not a million miles away from you either. I was just showing him where the old Rossmeister General here went to school,’ and Sorcha’s going, ‘Well, em, I suppose I’m actually due a break. I mean, I could squeeze in a skinny latté? and I’m there, ‘No, no, you’ve got, I don’t know, frocks to count, shoes to put into pairs…’ and she’s like, ‘Please, Ross. I want to meet him. I’d love to meet him. Please,’ and I’m there, ‘Okay, we’ll see you in the coffee shop in there in, like, ten minutes?’ and as I’m hanging up, roysh, I can hear her going, ‘Oh my God, oh my God, oh my GOD!’ obviously pretty nervous about meeting him.

  I’m actually nervous about meeting her. I haven’t basically seen her since the day of the wedding. Ronan hasn’t a care in the world. He’s reading the Racing Post – ‘studying the form’, I believe is the expression. He’s like, ‘Harm’s Way in the 3.30 at Plump ton. I don’t know – he’s a fooken donkey, Rosser, but Barry Geraghty’s on him. Suppose he’s got to be worth a monkey each way,’ and he whips out his Wolfe, roysh, presumably to ring his bookie.

  I’m there, ‘Now, Ronan, you’ll be on your best behaviour, won’t you?’ and he sort of, like, stops mid-dial and gives me this look, roysh, like I’ve just seriously offended him. Then he slips it back into his Davy Crocket, roysh, and goes, ‘Okay, what’s the story with you two again. Yiz are married but…’ and I’m there, ‘But we’re having a bit of a break at the moment. Having a few problems, blah blah blah,’ and he goes, ‘I’ll watch what I say then. Sorted,’ and I’m like, ‘And put that tin away, Ronan. You’re not smoking in my cor,’ and he just, like, smiles at me and goes, ‘Game ball,’ and it’d actually be hord, roysh, not to really like him.

  Sorcha can’t take her eyes off him. And he can’t take his eyes off her. He’s going, ‘I know you said she was byooriful, Rosser, but I didn’t think you meant byoooooriful,’ and he’s actually spot-on, she is looking pretty tremendous, it has to be said, in her pink, sleeveless, cashmere poloneck and, I think, the grey Reiss trousers I bought her for her birthday last year. She’s just, like, looking back at him, smiling basically. He goes, ‘Sorry, Sorcha, I’m a bit quiet today. Always get that way in the presence of beauty,’ and she laughs and goes, Well, you are such a handsome boy,’ and the two of them look at me, roysh, as if to say, I don’t know, where the fock did he get
his looks from then, and the two of them crack their holes laughing.

  Didn’t take them long to break down the whole language barrier. It was actually a little bit awkward when they first met, roysh. She was there going, ‘Ronan, it’s lovely to meet you,’ and he was like, ‘The pleasure’s all mine, Doll,’ and he sort of, like, flicked his thumb in my direction and went, ‘How’d you get mixed up with this sham anyway?’ and of course Sorcha looked at me and I had to go, ‘He’s asking how we ever ended up being together,’ and she was there, ‘I don’t know. It’s like, OH! MY! GOD!’ and of course Ronan was like, What’s she saying, Rosser?’ and I was like, ‘She says she sometimes asks herself the same question,’ and he went, Word from the wise, Doll, drop him like a hot snot,’ and I turn to Sorcha and I’m there, ‘He said you should… never mind.’

  But they’re getting on like a house on fire. Out of the corner of my eye, roysh, I cop one of the security gords having a look in – someone’s obviously seen the Celtic jersey and reported it – but Sorcha just, like, mouths the words, ‘It’s fine, he’s with me,’ and the goy says something into his walkie-talkie and focks off.

  My back teeth are focking floating, roysh, so I leave the two of them alone and head downstairs for a hit-and-miss and when I come back, roysh, Sorcha’s going, ‘They have actually force-fed her, but it’s only, like, a short-term fix,’ and I presume she’s telling him about Aoife, who’s, like, still in hospital. He goes, ‘Is there any hope for her, is there?’ and she goes, ‘Actually, yeah. The doctor who’s, like, attending her now, he’s really gained her confidence, which is, like, SO important,’ and Ronan just, like, nods and goes, ‘You’re obviously a good friend to her,’ and Sorcha just gives him this, like, really warm smile, then turns to me and goes, ‘I better get back. Mum’ll have a search porty out looking for me,’ and she gives Ronan a hug, then thanks me for the latté and the carrot cake, says it was nice to see me and then gives me this, like, peck on the cheek.

  I drop Ronan home. We’re, like, crossing the East Link and Ronan whips out the old Wolfe again, hits a number on speed-dial and asks whoever’s on the other end how Harm’s Way got on at Plumpton. Then he hangs up and goes, ‘Fell. That’s a few bob saved,’ and then I get a text message, roysh, from Sorcha as it turns out and it’s like, Ross, hes gorgeos I luv him & it realy was nic2cu and I put the old Wolfe back in my tennis racket and I think, Today really was a good day.

  When he’s getting out of the cor, Ronan goes, ‘Sort it, Rosser,’ and I’m like, ‘Sort it?’ and he’s there, ‘She’s an unbelievable boord. Sort it,’ and I tell him I’ll see him next week and then I go, ‘And don’t forget to look out for our result in the paper. Remember, it’s Castlerock,’ and he just, like, waves his hand at me as he disappears up the path and into his gaff.

  I’m, like, pulling into the cor pork of the Berkeley Court, roysh, when my phone rings and caller ID says it’s, like, Sorcha. I’m there thinking, Easier than I expected, but when I answer, roysh, she’s bawling her eyes out and she goes, ‘Have you seen VIP?’ and if it’s not the most stupid question I’ve ever been asked, roysh, it’s pretty focking close. I’m there, ‘What’s wrong? You sound upset,’ and she goes, ‘Erika sent them one of our wedding photos, just to be a bitch. They printed it. The caption’s like, Ross O’Carroll-Kelly and Sorcha Lalor on their happy day.’ and I sort of, like, groan and I go, ‘I’ll have a word with her,’ and she’s like, ‘Actually, Ross, I think you’ve done enough. It’s just brought it all back to me again,’ and she just, like, hangs up on me.

  We did beat de La Salle Churchtown, roysh, but by nothing close to the margin we expected. Thank fock for Pikey is all I can say, roysh, because he kicked all fifteen of our points and our defence performed basically heroics to keep them to two tries, which they failed to convert because their kicker basically couldn’t hit a focking rhino’s orse with a tennis racket. It was actually a cracker of a match, roysh – ‘the best advertisement for the game of rugby that you are likely to see in this hemisphere all year,’ in the words of the great man, but we should really have beaten them out the gate. The goys are pretty down about it and they need serious picking-up, what with our second match, we’re talking St Paul’s here, coming, like, five days later.

  Lorcan played totally focking kack and I swear to God, roysh, if I had another scrumhalf with two hands and even partial vision, the goy would be dropped quicker than a focking Ag. Science student’s knickers at the UCD Valentine’s Ball. The thing is, roysh, he’s one of the best scrum-halves I’ve ever seen, but it’s, like, the same problem that a lot of coaches are finding – what with all the pressure to get, like, points in the Leaving, blah blah blah – goys are becoming more and more, I suppose, reluctant to, like, skip classes. And that’s Lorcan’s problem. He’s more interested in becoming a clone of his focking geeky brother than in, like, realizing his potential as a rugby player. It’s all, like, books and notes and education.

  I basically realized it was becoming a problem, roysh, a couple of days before the match, when I copped him and Aodán, our second-row, filling out their CAO forms in the library. We’re talking during lunchtime here, when they should have been out training, or at least thinking about their game. It was, like, pretty clear watching the de La Salle match that neither of them was properly concentrating on their rugby.

  So the day after the game, roysh, I bell Lorcan on his mobile. It’s, like, eight o’clock at night, roysh, and I am not bullshitting here, the goy is actually still studying. I’m there, ‘Why aren’t you watching “Jackass”?’ and, calm as you like, roysh, he goes, ‘I’m doing some extra grinds. I need to get an A1 in chemistry.’ Surprise, sur-focking-prise, of course, I can hear Fionn’s voice in the background, roysh, going, ‘Who is it?’ and it’s obviously him who has Lorcan like this, not giving a fock whether his brother leaves schools with a Leinster Schools Senior Cup medal or not. I just lose it, roysh. I go, ‘Lorcan, I need to talk to you. Couple of rugby matters. I’ll be out there in ten.’

  So I hop into the old GTI, roysh, and I arrive out to the gaff in Monkstown, which is a pretty impressive pile of bricks, it has to be said. Fionn’s old dear opens the door and I push past her, ignoring her offer of a slice of date-and-goat’s-cheese quiche, and head straight for the study, roysh, where Lorcan and Fionn are both sitting with this, like, massive chart spread out in front of them, with all these, like, stickers and initials and all sorts of, like, big words on it, basically gobstoppers, and it looks seriously focking complicated.

  There’s, like, big-time tension between me and Fionn. I go, ‘What the fock is that?’ and Fionn goes, ‘It’s what Leinster need to do to reach the quarter-finals of the European Cup.’ I’m thinking, at least it’s, like, rugby-related. I go, ‘I didn’t actually realize there were so many teams in it,’ but then Lorcan laughs, roysh, and he goes, ‘Actually, Ross, it’s the, em, Periodic Table of Elements,’ and I wonder will the little focker sound so smug when he finds out that I’m actually thinking about dropping his sorry orse. Fionn looks at me and goes, ‘Just a little joke, Ross. It’s the arrangement of chemical elements according to their atomic numbers to illustrate periodic law. Formulated by the Russian chemist, Dmitri Mendeleev. You didn’t need me to tell you that, of course.’

  I go, ‘I need to talk to Lorcan. In private. It’s about rugby. You remember that game? You were shit at it,’ which isn’t actually true, roysh, he was a pretty decent back, but I’d never focking tell him that. He looks at me, roysh, then at Lorcan and then he goes, ‘I’m just going to surf the ‘net, Lorcan. Don’t be too long. I want to go over that stuff again about Mendeleev’s role in predicting the existence and properties of scandium, gallium and germanium,’ which is said for my benefit, of course. When he focks off, I turn around to Lorcan and go, ‘Your brother needs to get out more. And so do you.’ He’s there, ‘It’s January, Ross. The Leaving’s only five months away. There’ll be plenty of time for going out once the summer’s here. What did you w
ant to talk about?’ the cocky focker that he is.

  I walk over to the window and look out. Caitlin, their next-door neighbour, who I ended up being with two years ago at the Loreto Foxrock debs, is getting out of her cor. She’s still hot. I go, ‘Lorcan, I’m hearing rumours,’ and he shoves his glasses up on his nose, roysh, just like his focking brother. He’s like, ‘Rumours?’ and I’m there, ‘Yeah, rumours.’ I let that sink in for a couple of minutes, roysh, then I’m like, ‘I hear you’re thinking of entering the Young Scientist of the Year competition,’ and he relaxes all of a sudden, like it’s not a big deal, and he goes, ‘Oh, that. I’m not thinking about entering it, Ross. I am entering. It’s a project on the effects of additives like beta-carotene on skin pigmentation. What I’m doing is –’ and I’m there, ‘Whoa! Lorcan, you don’t know how little interest I have in what you’re about to say. All I’m here for is to tell you that I’m worried. I’m worried that all this… education, I suppose you’d have to call it… is affecting your rugby.’

  He goes to say something, roysh, but I’m like, ‘I’m open to contradiction,’ throwing in a big word, just to remind him that I’m not exactly thick myself, ‘but I don’t think you can combine the two. So you think on,’ and I turn around and head for the door, roysh, before he has a chance to say anything. Fionn’s standing outside, obviously been listening to every word. I give him daggers, roysh, and I go, ‘If Lorcan ends up like you – a focking geek who can’t get his Swiss in a brothel with a fistful of fifties – he’s going to end up hating you forever,’ and then I hit the road.