The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Nightdress

by Ross O'Carroll-Kelly

  JP arrives over and before any of us has a chance to say anything he goes, ‘He who shares my bread has lifted up his heel against me,’ and it’s obvious, roysh, that Faye has spilled the beans. None of us knows where to look. He goes, ‘You know what that’s from, don’t you? Ross?’ and I don’t know why he’s actually singling me out and I end up going, ‘I suppose the Bible,’ and he goes, ‘While he was still speaking, a crowd came up and the man who was called Judas, one of the Twelve, was leading them. He approached Jesus to kiss him, but Jesus said to him, “You would betray the Son of Man with a kiss?” Ross, did you put Viagra in my Baileys?’

  And Oisinn looks up and goes, ‘Whoa!’ like he wishes he’d actually thought of it, then remembers himself and, like, looks down again. He’s there, ‘You’ll be happy to know I spent a night without sleep, wrestling with my conscience,’ and I’m there, ‘And did you actually—’ and he goes, ‘No, I didn’t, Ross. Let’s just say it only strengthened my faith in the Lord.’

  I’m there, ‘Look, I’m sorry, dude,’ and he goes, ‘You’re forgiven, Ross. You’re all forgiven. The thirty pieces of silver my father offered must have been tempting,’ and I pluck up the courage to go, ‘It wasn’t just the money. I don’t know, bent and all as it sounds, we don’t want to lose you,’ and he sort of, like, puts his orm around my shoulder, roysh, but not in a gay way, and he goes, ‘But, Ross, I’m not lost. I’mf ound. Can you not see that?’ and I have my head down and I sort of, like, nod and I look up and the goys are sort of, like, nodding as well.

  I’m there, ‘But you can’t still be our friend. Not when you become, like, a priest?’ and he goes, ‘Why not? You think priests don’t have friends? Jesus had friends,’ and Oisinn’s like, ‘But we’re not going to have to, like, go to Mass and shit, are we?’ and JP just, like, laughs and goes, ‘Look, goys, I’m sorry if I haven’t seemed myself since we got back from Israel and I’m sorry I haven’t been around. But I thought about you goys all the time while I was reading. And I found this line. It’s from the Book of Proverbs. I wrote it down and I stuck it on the mirror so I see it every morning when I shave and I remember how lucky I am. It says, A friend loves at all times, and a brother is born for adversity… a man of many companions may come to ruin, but there is a friend who sticks closer than a brother.’

  I just automatically go, ‘Amen,’ because it seems like the roysh thing to say and Fionn’s there, ‘Don’t forget us, JP,’ and JP goes, ‘How could I?’ and the next thing, roysh, Faye and Amie with an ie come out of the can and Faye manages to hold it together until she passes where we’re sitting and then she goes, ‘I’ll always love you… Father,’ and she breaks down again and Amie with an ie has to help her out the door.

  And that should have been that, roysh, except that just as I’m about to head up to the bor to get my round in, we hear what would probably have to be described as a kerfuffle coming from outside and then all this, like, screaming, and it sounds like Faye and Amie with an ie. So we all peg it for the door, roysh, reef it open and pile out onto the road and I swear to God, roysh, when I saw what was outside I nearly had a hort attack on the spot.

  Every dog within a 5-mile radius of Kiely’s is outside the focking door, we’re talking Alsatians, we’re talking Dalmatians, we’re talking basset hounds, we’re talking huskies. Christian goes, ‘God’s set a plague of dogs on us for trying to tempt JP,’ but Oisinn goes, ‘Must be the musk of civet cat. She fairly slapped that stuff on.’

  We’re talking two hundred dogs here, all basically looking for their bit, with their doggy lipsticks sticking out. One – which Fionn later describes as a border collie – has Faye pinned up against the wall, roysh, and is attempting something I’ve only ever seen on the internet. And the traffic in Donnybrook is at a standstill because they’re, like, everywhere, and all you can hear is dogs borking, cor horns blaring and Faye and Amie with an ie basically screaming their lungs out.

  Oisinn goes, ‘I suppose we’d better rescue them,’ and as we wade through the queue, he turns around and goes, ‘It’s amazing. I haven’t seen this many dogs since…’ and at the same time, roysh, we all go, ‘… Fionn’s twenty-first,’ and out of the corner of my eye I can see that even JP’s smiling.

  Erika has a great Peter Pan after her two weeks in Martinique, roysh, and she’s wearing Be Delicious by DKNY, which is doing serious shit to my hormones. She’s there, ‘I can’t believe I actually let you talk me into having dinner with you,’ and I go, ‘You look great,’ and she’s like, ‘Don’t even go there, Ross. We both know how this one ends – you have too much to drink, you get delusions that you’re actually in my class and then I slap your face,’ and I’d kind of hoped she’d forgotten that night in the Ice Bor.

  I’m like, ‘I’d recommend the steak,’ and she goes, ‘Thank you, Jamie Oliver. I’ll be having the Osso Bucco Milanese with pea and saffron risotto and gremolata, if it’s all the same to you,’ and I’m there, ‘Hey, it’s all Good in the Hood, Babes,’ and she shoots me this, like, total filthy and we’re talking total as well.

  She asks the waiter, roysh, for a bottle of Duckhorn Vineyard’s Napa Valley Sauvignon Blanc and I have a sly look at the menu and it’s, like eighty focking sheets, but I don’t say anything. It’s, like, worth it just to sit here looking at her.

  She goes, ‘How’s Ronan?’ and I swear to God, roysh, it’s the only time in the whole meal that her face actually softens. I’m there, ‘He’s drinking the Kool-Aid, Babes. He’s just storted in Castlerock,’ and she goes, ‘Tell him I said Hi.’

  I’m there, ‘Haven’t seen you around. The word on the street is you’re getting married,’ and she just, like, shrugs her shoulders and goes, ‘He’s asked me. I’ve told him he’ll have to wait for my answer.’ I’m there, ‘This is a new goy? I heard you kicked the last one to touch,’ and then all of a sudden I’m like, ‘oh my God! He’s not Gick, is he?’

  She’s like, ‘HELLO? He happens to be a Baron, actually,’ and I sort of, like, nod, roysh, cracking on to know what a focking Baron is. She just, like, throws her eyes up to heaven and goes, ‘He’s a member of the British peerage, Ross. He’s ninety-eighth in line to the throne. Owns half of Cambridgeshire,’ and I’m there, ‘Which makes it Kool and the Gang.’

  My steak arrives. It’s got, like, raw chillies on it and I pick them off. Erika looks at me like I’m handling nuclear waste. I’m there, ‘So, he’s worth a few squids, then? Nice pile of bricks as well, I’d imagine?’ and she’s like, ‘A stately home on 500 acres. Thirty-five bedrooms. Twenty-five servants,’ and I go, ‘I wouldn’t say you picked him up in the Club of Love.’

  She storts playing with her Osso Bucco – and that’s not rhyming slang – and she goes, ‘I met him at the Mid-Summer Hunt Ball. Well, they have to come over here, you see, now that they’ve banned fox-hunting in Britain. Actually, I’ve got a petition I want you to sign.’

  I’m there, ‘A petition?’ because it doesn’t sound like her at all, roysh, because she used to, like, sneer at Sorcha when she used to collect signatures in College Green to try to have, like, angling declared a blood sport. I’m there, ‘What’s it about? Killing rabbits and shit?’

  She goes, ‘No, it’s actually a protest at the way Tony Blair is attempting to criminalize the upper classes in Britain. The man doesn’t understand his own country’s history, tradition or culture,’ and I’m there, ‘Let me get this straight. You want me to, like, sign a petition that’s actually in favour of, like, killing foxes and shit?’ and she hands me a pen.

  I’m there, ‘But Sorcha wouldn’t…’ and she goes, ‘Sorry, your wife does all your thinking for you now, does she? That’s not the Ross I used to know,’ and as she says it, roysh, I can feel a Pied à Terre boot rubbing the inside of my leg and suddenly I’ve got a focking truncheon on me that could beat Oisinn away from an all-day breakfast buffet.

  I scribble my name on the petition and Erika gives me this, like, evil smile. She says she wants more wine, roysh, a
nd she asks the waiter for a Fabrizio Bianchi Chardonnay Toscana, then she focks off to the can.

  I’m sitting there for, like, ten minutes, roysh. There’s a bird at the next table giving me the serious mince pies. Nice boat, but I’d say she’s no stranger to a fish supper. Erika takes so long that I’m beginning to wonder whether she hopped out the focking window and went home.

  She comes back with a big smile on her face, roysh, and I’m so focking slow that I actually think that I’m in with a shout here. The next thing, roysh, I get a focking text message from Sorcha, who thinks I’m at a Taize prayer meeting with JP tonight – I’m going to hell, I know – and it’s like, U bstrd. Cant blive u wer metin erka al alng. Cant blive u sined dat petition eder. Dont bothr comin hom. Stag in u parnts 2nite and I look up at Erika in, like, total shock.

  She goes, ‘Close your mouth, Ross. You look like the chargrilled sea bass. I took a photograph of your signature and texted it to Sorcha,’ and I’m there, ‘Why would you do something like that?’ and she goes, ‘Oh, she just annoyed me in the Mandarin Lounge the other night. Made me sick to my stomach listening to Amie with an ie and Chloë and Aoife and that funny little Bray girl fawning all over her, just because she finally got that Love Kylie underwear in, like it’s a big deal or something.’

  I go, ‘That’s why you rang me this morning? And that’s why you dropped all those hints about this place, so I’d, like, ask you out?’ but she’s in, like, full flow now, going, ‘I mean, I dropped in the fact that I might actually be getting married to one of the richest men in Britain and all they could talk about was that shop of hers. I was like, HELLO? Charles and Camilla might actually be coming to the wedding?’

  I just, like, stand up, roysh, and I throw my napkin down on the table and I go, ‘You know what, Erika? You’re a total bitch,’ and she’s like, ‘Sit down, Ross!’ and I’m like, ‘No, I won’t. You know, Sorcha’s eight times the person you’ll ever be. No, actually, sixteen. No. No… er…’ and Erika goes, ‘Twenty-four, Ross… look, sit down. We both know I could be with you if I wanted to…’ but I just drop two hundred sheets on the table and I go, ‘Not this time… Princess. You know why you’re such a bitch? Because you’re lonely. You’re one sad and lonely girl,’ and probably for the first time in her life, roysh, she has no answer because she knows what I’m saying is basically true. I go, ‘I wouldn’t be you for all the money in the world,’ and I storm out, roysh, stopping off on the way to drain the lizard.

  Oh, a bit of advice, goys, if you have to have a hit-and-miss and you happen to have been handling chillies any time in the recent past, make sure you give your hands a good wash before you whip out the old schlong, just to save yourself a visit to the Blackrock Clinic.

  Had the goys over, roysh, while Sorcha was out at this vegetarian cookery course she’s doing – do NOT ask – and we’re all there knocking back the tins, roysh, and Oisinn’s there going, ‘According to this survey I read about in the paper, 70 per cent of people from Tallaght have enjoyed sex in the shower,’ and we’re all there, wondering where this is headed, roysh, and then he goes, ‘The other 30 per cent haven’t been in the Joy yet,’ and we all, like, crack our holes laughing and it’s high-fives all round, until Fionn – focking Senator Windows Face – pipes up, roysh, and says there’s something more important we should be talking about.

  Quick as a flash, roysh, I go, ‘More important than birds, Fionn? Oh yeah, I forgot, you’re still a focking plastic surgeon at twenty-three,’ and it’s, like, cue high-fives all round and the dude’s left there looking like someone’s taken a focking Donald Trump in one of his Dubes, which I have on many occasions, as it happens.

  He goes, ‘I’m talking about the sale of Lillie’s, goys. How would you like to own it?’ to which there’s, like, total silence. I’m like, ‘As in the nightclub?’ and Christian’s there, ‘Own it? What are you talking about?’ and Fionn goes, ‘It was withdrawn from auction yesterday. No bidder. They’re looking for four million sheets. Said they’ll probably sell it privately.’

  I’m there, ‘Four million bills? Where the fock are we gonna get that kind of money?’ and Oisinn’s like, ‘Well, it’s not a problem to me anymore. I’m minted. But the rest of you are all Trustifarians, aren’t you? I’m sure you could all lay your hands on a couple of hundred Ks tomorrow,’ and Fionn goes, ‘And I’m sure we could all borrow two or three hundred more, between the banks and our parents.’

  I go, ‘So that’s, like, four of us at, like, half-a-million each, which makes…’ and Fionn goes, ‘Five of us. JP’s in,’ and we all just, like, look at each other in total shock. I’m there, ‘How the fock did you swing that?’ and he goes, ‘I don’t know, to be honest. I told him about it and he just went into automatic – started talking about its prestige city-centre location, etcetera. I’m telling you, there’s still some of the estate agent left in him. Between his trust fund and savings, he has half-a-million to throw in. Oh, on condition that there’ll be no debauchery on the premises,’ and Oisinn’s like, ‘You mean he wants us to change the basic character of the place?’ and I swear to God, roysh, my hand is actually sore from high-fiving him today.

  I’m there, ‘Okay, that’s five of us at, say, half-a-million each, which is…’ and Christian, who I wouldn’t have had down as a maths nerd, goes, ‘Two-and-a-half million,’ and I’m like, ‘What about the rest?’

  Fionn goes, ‘You all remember One F, I take it?’ and Oisinn’s like, ‘Working class. Big hair. Writes about rugby for The Stor. Mad into Vietnam. And Cher,’ and Fionn’s there, ‘That’s him. Met him on the Dorsh last week. Seems he’d like a bite of this particular biscuit. He’s got two or three other parties interested. He wants us to join his consortium, goys. We’re talking Echo and the Moneymen.’

  Christian gets all, like, misty-eyed, roysh, and he storts going, ‘Just think about it. The backbone of the old Castlerock Senior Cup team – proprietors of Lillie’s Bordello,’ and Oisinn’s there, ‘Every bird in this city is going to want to jump our basic bones,’ and I’m like, ‘For some of us, that’s not a new experience.’

  Oisinn goes, ‘We are SO putting a Jacuzzi in the Library,’ and I’m like, ‘And we’re SO getting Monica Bellucci to open it,’ and there’s a big cheer, roysh, but Fionn puts a dampener on it straight away. He’s like, ‘Let’s not get carried away yet. It’s not a done deal. I suggest we adjourn this meeting and go see what kind of funds we can put together.’

  So off the goys go, roysh, listing famous birds who are going to be invited to the reopening – we’re talking Estelle Warren, we’re talking Jodi Albert, we’re talking Laila Rouass, we’re talking Eliza Dushku, we’re actually talking Kate Beckinsale.

  When they’re gone, I check my watch. It’s nearly ten o’clock. I flip open my mobile and I ring Knob Features. I’m there, ‘I need half-a-million sheets. I want what’s in my trust fund plus another 200K. You better think of some way of raising it. I’ll be there in ten minutes. You dickhead,’ and I hang up, roysh, and hit Foxrock.

  He answers the door and straight away I’m like, ‘Well?’ and he just, like, shakes his head, roysh, and goes, ‘Haven’t had a chance to think about it, Kicker. Haven’t been able to think about very much at all. Your mother and I had the most awful experience tonight. Sally, of all people. Your mother and her have been friends for ten years. And Frank. I’m surprised at Richard. Have you five minutes to listen to your old dad?’ and I’m thinking, I suppose I could put up with it if I get what I want at the end of it.

  I go, ‘This better be focking good,’ and I follow him into the sitting-room and he’s there, ‘Well, you know they had a bit of a soirée tonight, pardon the French. Wanted to thank everyone for their help with this calendar they’re bringing out. It was a lovely meal, Ross. Leek, blue cheese and rocket frittata, I believe. And drinks and so forth. Then, at the end of the night, Richard asked a few of us to stay back. Bit of a wink in his eye. Eduard and Lucy. Andrew and Grainne. The photographer chap and hi
s wife…’

  I’m there, ‘Is there much more of this shit?’ and he goes, ‘Sally puts on some music. Think it might have been Ella. I’m still traumatized. Said she and Richard liked a bit of variety, if we knew what she meant,’ and all of a sudden I cop what must have happened. I’m there, ‘Don’t tell me they’re focking swingers?’ cracking my hole laughing.

  He goes, ‘And you think your old dad isn’t? I can get down – quote-unquote – with the best of them. I’m well capable of grooving, Ross, to say nothing of boogeying. That night your mother and I saw the Rocket Man and the Piano Man in Croke Field? It was after midnight when we got home.’

  I’m there, ‘Get to the focking juicy bit, will you?’ and he goes, ‘Well, as I said, Sally mentioned that they liked nothing more than a bit of variety in their lives. I said, “I’m hearing you, Sally. Every man and his dog knows I’m a fan of Mr S, but I wouldn’t exactly shut off the radio if Mr Neil Diamond Esquire came on,” and everybody laughed. God, I must have sounded so stupid now that I think about it.’

  I’m there, ‘Get to the point,’ and he goes, ‘Well, Richard put a bowl in the middle of the table. Naturally, I assumed Sally was going to serve some of her famous oyster rolls and quail’s egg filo cups – and not a moment too soon either. It was a long time since dinner and your mother was feeling a bit faint. She’s in bed now actually. I said, “Yes, I could use something to fill a hole.” Laughter again.’

  He goes, ‘Then Eduard stands up, drops his car keys into the bowl and winks at Andrew. Grainne – she’s the ladies’ captain, for heaven’s sake – she follows suit. Well, I never felt so disgusted and sickened in all my life when it finally dawned on your mother and I what we’d inadvertently stumbled into here,’ and I’m there, ‘Which was?’ and he goes, ‘Well, obviously some kind of car-swapping party. Richard’s always had his eye on my Lexus.’