Schmidt Happens Read online

  Five minutes. That’s a dig. That’s a definite dig.

  I’m there, ‘I’m pretty sure I can last longer than five minutes, Sorcha. If you want, I can take off this Leinster rugby base layer and prove it to you.’

  ‘No. And keep your voice down. Fionn can hear everything we’re saying.’

  ‘No, he can’t. He’s across the landing.’

  ‘Yes,’ she goes, ‘but he can hear us through the baby monitor.’

  I feel my jaw just drop.

  ‘The baby monitor?’ I go. ‘You’re telling me that Fionn can hear everything that’s said and hopefully done in this room?’

  ‘He has to have ears in here, Ross. He’s going to be doing all the night feeds.’

  ‘What, so he’s going to be popping in and out as well?’

  ‘I told you that he wants to play a full and active role in his son’s life. It’s important that they have that bonding time to let the baby know who his father is. Fionn’s been reading all the books, Ross. He doesn’t want his son growing up confused about his role in this house.’

  ‘Well, I’m kind of confused about my own role, to be honest?’

  ‘Stop being melodramatic,’ she goes, then she switches off her bedside lamp.

  And that’s when I end up having one of my famous ideas. I tell her that I’m going for a dump, then on the way into the en suite, I pretend to stub my toe off the leg of the crib – when, in fact, I give it a fairly hefty kick.

  The thing actually moves and the baby wakes up straight away, screaming his head off. Sorcha’s there, ‘Oh! My God, Ross!’

  But I’m like, ‘It was an accident, Sorcha. It was a genuine accident.’

  The baby is seriously squawking now. And, of course, ten seconds later the door opens and in runs Fionn – no knock or anything.

  ‘What happened?’ he goes, still putting on his glasses.

  I’m there, ‘I don’t know. I think your baby needs feeding.’

  Sorcha goes, ‘He doesn’t. Ross kicked the crib.’

  I’m there, ‘Either way, you better get him out of here. I’m not going to be able to sleep with that focking racket.’

  Fionn picks the baby out of the crib, puts his tiny little head to his hort and walks out of the room, bouncing him up and down lightly and making soothing noises.

  He’s like, ‘Shhh, shhh, shhh – it’s okay, Baby. It’s okay.’

  Sorcha yawns again, then turns over in the bed. When I’m sure she’s not looking, I reach into the crib and I switch off the baby monitor.

  A second later, I think, Okay, why am I switching if off? Let Fionn hear our sweaty goings-on! So I switch it back on again and I turn the volume way up high.

  I take off my famous base layer and I climb into the bed. I touch Sorcha on the shoulder, then, in my sexy voice, I whisper, ‘Father Fehily used to say that we should try to view every setback as an actual opportunity.’

  But she just goes, ‘Seriously, Ross, I have zero interest in having sex with you right now.’

  And I’m suddenly remembering what marriage feels like.

  I walk into the Horseshoe Bor and every set of eyes in the place is fixed on the TV in the corner. The old man isn’t hord to find. As usual, his is the loudest voice in the room.

  ‘Look … at … that … hair!’ he goes. ‘People say it’s a wig, but I can tell you, most assuredly, that it’s real! Would you believe me if I told you that I touched it once? Oh, yes! I was lucky enough to play nine holes with the chap – in the famous Doonbeg, if you don’t mind!’

  The old man runs his hand through his own hair, which most definitely isn’t his own.

  I notice quite a few familiar faces dotted around the bor. Then I realize that it’s basically the entire New Republic porliamentary porty and they’re watching the inauguration of Donald Trump.

  ‘Of course, that was back in 2014,’ the old man goes, ‘when the world considered him an idiot – me included! He gave me his private number! But would you believe I threw it in the bin that Christmas when I did my annual, end-of-year, business cord cull?’

  Hennessy is standing beside him. He goes, ‘You should have kept that card, Charlie. I said it to you at the time.’

  I morch over to the old man and I’m like, ‘You wanted to see me?’ because that’s what his voice message said.

  He’s there, ‘Ah, Kicker! Delighted you could make it! What a day, eh, Ross? I’m reminded of the words of the great Machiavelli: “Something, something … Something, something else.” You’ll take a drink surely?’

  I’m there, ‘No, thanks. I’m actually picky about who I drink with?’

  He knows I don’t mean that. I’d have a pint with Chris Ashton if the dude was paying.

  God, I hate Chris Ashton.

  The old man catches the borman’s eye and silently mouths the word ‘Heineken.’

  This Trump dude is up on the screen and he’s going, ‘Today, January 20, 2017, will be remembered as the day the people became the rulers of this nation again! The forgotten men and women of our country will be forgotten no longer! Everyone is listening to you now!’

  The old man picks his phone up off the bor and – I swear to fock – storts tweeting, leaving me standing there like a knob.

  Charles O’Carroll-Kelly √ @realCOCK – 9m

  Who is looking out for OUR citizens? Certainly not Petty Officer Enda Kenny TD, the man who put the interests of Europe’s banks AHEAD of the interests of his own people! We will be paying back debts that had NOTHING to do with us for CENTURIES to come! Terrible deal!

  Reply 17 Retweet 36 Like 202

  Seriously, he’s worse than Honor.

  So I whip out my phone then and check my messages. Still nothing from Ronan. I feel bad for focking things up for him, but I was only trying to help.

  ‘You said in your voicemail that it was important?’ I go, picking up my pint and knocking back a mouthful.

  ‘Oh, yes!’ the old man goes, finally putting his phone back down on the bor. ‘There was something I wanted to discuss with you! Your mother’s birthday is coming up next month – and it’s a significant one!’

  I’m there, ‘Yeah, no, she’s seventy.’

  ‘Well, as it happens, she’s decided not to reveal the exact number!’

  ‘I’ve just done it for her. It’s seventy.’

  ‘You know how sensitive she is about her age! But I want to throw a surprise porty for her in the house – just to mork the occasion, as it were!’

  ‘Yeah, no, I’m busy that night?’

  ‘I haven’t even told you when it is yet, Ross!’

  ‘Hey, the last time I clapped eyes on that woman was New Year’s Eve in Dundrum when she accused me of trying to kill her.’

  ‘I’ve tried to explain that to her, Ross! I told her that what you were actually doing was sizing up the situation – as was your wont on the rugby field, lest we forget! I told her it was your job to decide tactics and to call the shots – inverted commas! I said, “It’s Kicker’s natural instinct to stand back and weigh up a situation before throwing himself into the fray – not unlike his good pal, Mister Jonathan Sexton Esquire!”’

  ‘And what did she say to that?’

  ‘Well, you know your mother! You and I have both tried to explain the laws of the great game to her with little or no success! I fear the metaphor was rather lost on her!’

  Up on the screen, Trump is all, ‘America will start winning again! America will start winning like never before! We will bring back our jobs! We will bring back our borders! We will bring back our wealth! We will bring back our dreams!’

  A cheer goes up from all the old man’s mates.

  He goes, ‘How’s, em, Sorcha, by the way?’

  I just shrug my shoulders. I’m there, ‘Fine, I suppose.’

  ‘And the little baby?’ he goes. ‘What this she’s called again? I’m terrible at remembering names!’

  ‘It’s a he,’ I go. ‘And they haven’t come up with a name yet. The
y’re thinking in terms of Legion and something else.’

  He’s like, ‘Oh, those are both beautiful names! I must go and visit her, Ross! Offer her my good wishes and those of all the porty!’

  I’m there, ‘I wouldn’t if I were you. She literally hates your guts.’

  ‘Hates my guts? That can’t be right! We’ve known each for twenty years! Yes, we’ve had our political differences –!’

  ‘She liked you until you became –’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I don’t know – whatever the fock you are these days. A racist.’

  ‘It’s not racist to say that Cork people are lazy and refuse to pay their fair share of taxes in society! They’re not an ethnic group, Ross, no matter how much they like to think they are!’

  ‘Then you’re, I don’t know, misogynistical – whatever the actual word is?’

  ‘Women can’t parallel park! I’m pointing out something that’s a genetic fact.’

  Hennessy goes, ‘Their brains are smaller.’

  ‘Of course they are, Old Scout! But you’re not allowed to point that out nowadays! You can’t say anything for fear of causing offence!’

  Donald Trump goes, ‘A national pride will stir ourselves, lift our sights and heal our divisions! It’s time to remember that old wisdom our soldiers will never forget, that whether we are black or brown or white, we all bleed the same red blood of patriots!’

  The old man reaches for his phone again. He’s un-focking-believable and I don’t mean that in a good way?

  Charles O’Carroll-Kelly √ @realCOCK – 18m

  Where are OUR patriots? They’re certainly not in Leinster House! We are ruled by men who gave away our sovereignty and squandered the future prosperity of our country in the interests of propping up a FAILING European super state! Sad!

  Reply 360 Retweet 940 Like 6,070

  I’m there, ‘Can you leave your phone alone for even five minutes? Seriously, you’re worse than my daughter.’

  He goes, ‘Sorry, Kicker! You see, Twitter is my megaphone! It allows me to speak directly to the people without the so-called mainstream media distorting my message!’

  Hennessy is staring at his own phone.

  ‘You’re trending in Ireland right now,’ he goes.

  The old man’s like, ‘You see what I mean, Kicker? So, anyway, will you come? To your mother’s surprise sixtieth – inverted commas – birthday?’

  I tell him possibly – mainly because I’m hoping to get the sponds off him to settle the bor bill in Clontorf Castle.

  Nine focking grand, by the way.

  Donald Trump’s giving it, ‘We stand at the birth of a new millennium, ready to unlock the mysteries of space, to free the Earth from the miseries of disease, to harvest the energies, industries and technologies of tomorrow! So, to all Americans, in every city, near and far, small and large, from mountain to mountain, from ocean to ocean, hear these words: you will never be ignored again! Your voice, your hopes and dreams will define your American destiny! Your courage, goodness and love will forever guide us along the way! Together, we will make America strong again! We will make America wealthy again! We will make America safe again! And, yes, together, we will make America great again! Thank you! God bless you! And God bless America!’

  Hennessy raises his brandy to the old man. He’s there, ‘Za zdorovie!’

  And the old man smiles, raises his own glass and goes, ‘Za zdorovie!’

  So – yeah, no – I’m in Honor’s room and she’s filling me in on what happened in school this week. It’s important to stay up to date with what’s going on in your children’s lives. That’s what you always hear people say.

  ‘Oh my God,’ she goes, ‘Sincerity Matthews got a dog for Christmas!’

  And I’m like, ‘Okay, which one is Sincerity Matthews again?’

  ‘Dad, you know who Sincerity Matthews is.’

  I do. I rode her mother.

  I’m like, ‘Yeah, no, is she the one we beat to win the Strictly Mount Anville father-and-daughter ballroom dancing competition?’

  She goes, ‘Exactly! Are you going to let me finish my focking story or not?’

  I’m there, ‘Sorry, Honor.’

  ‘So Sister Dave asked her what breed of dog it was. And Sincerity was like, “Er, it’s a rescue dog!” and I was like, “Okay, why do people always say that? As in, a rescue dog isn’t an actual breed!”’

  ‘It sounds like you really put her in her place.’

  ‘She was just saying it to be a virtue-signalling bitch.’

  ‘I love the way you’re not afraid to call people out. There needs to be more people like us in the world, Honor.’

  ‘But now Sister Dave wants to see you. To talk to you about my behaviour. And my language.’

  ‘Okay, that’s good information for me to have. I’ll make sure to avoid her for a few weeks and she’ll hopefully forget.’

  ‘A focking rescue dog!’

  ‘The nerve of the girl. The focking nerve.’

  ‘Anyway,’ she goes, ‘if you don’t mind, I’m about to do a Ten Key Items You Need In Your Wardrobe video for my channel?’

  I’m there, ‘Cool,’ wondering what she’s getting at.

  ‘So, er, get the fock out of my room?’ she goes.

  I’m like, ‘Okay, I can take a hint.’

  I tip back out onto the landing and she slams her door in my face. I can hear suddenly women’s voices downstairs and I remember that Sorcha is having all of her mates over today to meet the baby. So I head downstairs, just to see who’s there and – being honest – how they’re looking.

  It ends up being just the usual crew of Sophie, Chloe and Amie with an ie, plus, of course, Lauren, who’s brought her two boys – Ross Junior and little Oliver – with her.

  This look of fear crosses Ross Junior’s face when he sees me. He goes, ‘Roth, where are the boyth?’ obviously meaning Brian, Johnny and Leo.

  I’m like, ‘They’re upstairs, presumably killing each other. Do you want to go up to see them?’

  And – I swear to fock – he goes, ‘No!’ then he runs over to his old dear and storts hanging onto her like a drowning man. This kid is, like, ten years old and the boys have just turned four – and he’s focking terrified of them?

  He goes, ‘Mommy, what if they come thown the thtairth?’

  Lauren’s like, ‘They can’t get you – Mommy promises. Do your butterfly pose like Doctor Ellis showed you.’

  I’m not making this shit up. Ross Junior uses his two hands to make a butterfly, then he places them in the middle of his chest.

  Lauren goes, ‘Now just sit quietly like that for two minutes and think about your breathing,’ then she turns around to Sorcha and goes, ‘He’s been diagnosed with anxiety issues.’

  ‘Oh! My God!’ Amie with an ie goes. ‘My niece suffers with anxiety!’ and she sounds like she’s focking delighted for the girl. ‘She has to go to a Cognitive Behavioural Therapist and everything!’

  Ross Junior doesn’t have anxiety issues. He’s over-focking-mothered – that’s the kid’s only problem, although I resist the urge to say something by quickly changing the subject. I’m there, ‘So what are you lot watching?’ because there’s, like, some kind of protest on the TV, mostly women, looking seriously pissed off about something.

  ‘It’s the Women’s Morch on Washington,’ Amie with an ie goes. ‘There are, like, a million women out on the streets.’

  ‘What do they want?’ I go. ‘Do we know yet?’

  Lauren goes, ‘A president who isn’t a racist, misogynistic Nazi who mocks people with disabilities and brags about sexually assaulting women.’

  And I just nod as if to say, ‘Yeah, no, good answer.’

  Sophie’s there, ‘I still can’t believe he won. Like, does anyone else here still have moments where they’re just like, “Oh! My God!”?’

  ‘All the time,’ Sorcha goes. ‘I keep waking up in the middle of the night thinking it’s all been a terrible nig
htmare.’

  Amie with an ie points at the screen and goes, ‘Oh my God, look at those Hashtag Not My President t-shirts! OMG! Want!’ and she whips out her phone, presumably to try to buy one online.

  Sophie goes, ‘I just keep reminding myself that Hillary won the actual popular vote.’

  ‘That’s why I don’t consider him my president,’ Amie with an ie goes.

  I’m like, ‘Well, there’s also the fact that you’re not actually American – as in, you don’t actually live there?’

  She looks up from her phone and gives me the most unbelievable filthy. ‘Actually,’ she goes, ‘there’s a slight, slight chance that I was conceived in the States, when my mom and dad were on honeymoon in, like, Hawaii? Even though the dates don’t actually add up.’

  Someone’s brought pink champagne and someone else has brought those sea salt caramel truffles that you get in BTs. I grab a chocolate and go to pour myself a glass of bubbly, except Sorcha goes, ‘Er, Ross, we’re actually having a girlie day here?’

  I’m there, ‘I don’t mind. Where’s the baby, by the way?’ because he’s the reason they’re all supposedly here.

  ‘Fionn has taken him out for a walk. He should be back any minute.’

  Sophie goes, ‘It must be so weird for you, Ross, is it?’

  I’m like, ‘Weird? As in?’

  ‘I don’t know – as in, like, random?’

  ‘It’s not random,’ I try to go. ‘It’s not random at all.’

  It’s totally focking random.

  She’s there, ‘A lot of goys would be, like, totally weirded out by the situation – no offence, Sorcha.’

  All of a sudden, the front door slams, then a second or two later Fionn arrives in, carrying the baby in one of those – I don’t exactly know what they’re called – but sling things that you wear on your front.

  ‘Oh my God,’ Chloe goes, ‘I love your papoose.’

  A papoose! That’s it!

  I just laugh and shake my head. He really is a ridiculous person.

  All the girls get up and stort crowding around him and the baby, going, ‘Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God!’