The Orange Mocha-Chip Frappuccino Years (10 page)

‘All families have their rows, Ross. I guess the lesson that I
myself
personally have learned, or rather we’ve learned, we’ve all learned, from this is that you shouldn’t let these things fester. If you let things fester, then, well, pus starts to be produced and then a sort of, em, well a scab forms, and once you’ve a scab there, then the only thing that can … sorry, Ross, me wittering on as usual. Stretching the metaphor to breaking point as per usual. With a capital S.

‘Look, Ross, we’re worried. You haven’t been in touch and, em, I hear you’ve dropped out of college. I don’t want to get on your case, start lecturing you, but are you sure that’s wise? I mean, it’s a diploma in sports management. Could come in very handy if you want a career in, em … well, in sports management, I suppose. Don’t hang up, Ross. Okay, I’m nagging again.
Mea culpa. Mea culpa
. Probably wittering again as well. It’s these machines. I’ve never liked … anyway, em, I hear you’re working with JP’s dad now. In Hook, Lyon and Sinker. Young Christian told us. Your mother and I met him in the Frascati Centre last week. A strange young man, Christian. A bit, I don’t know, away with the fairies.

‘Hey, I know it was a few months ago now, but me and a couple of the guys got chatting about the Munster versus Castres match in the golf club the other night. A good old-fashioned
debate
we had on the relative merits and demerits of David Humphries and a certain R O’Gara, Esquire, of Cork, who I know you’re a fan of. He did do well in that game, I’ll grant you that. But you know where I stand in the great debate, Ross. I’m a Humphries man, always have been. Make no apologies for it,
either. David Humphries, record Irish points kicker. But, well, I had to admit it, young O’Gara did give me something to think about in that game. Anyway, there is a point to this. What I was going to tell you was that Hennessy was there and at one point in the conversation I popped the sixty-four-million-dollar question to him. ‘Hennessy,’ I said, ‘you’re Eddie O’Sullivan tonight. The choice is Humphries or O’Gara. Shoot!’ He looked at me, Ross, wiped his cigar ash onto the side of the ashtray, you know the way he does that, and he said, ‘Charles, that lad of yours is a better kicker than the pair of them.’ Wasn’t that a great thing to hear? He didn’t have to say it, Ross, but he did.

‘So … it’s a career in estate agency then? Em … no, it’s a good job. Satisfying, I’d imagine. I hope you’re not doing anything too dangerous … selling houses in Tallaght and whatnot. Your mother said that the other night. She said, “He could be
anywhere
, Charles. He could be in Tallaght.” You know those
nightmares
she’s been having, Ross. She worries, you see. Maybe give her a call. Both of us. Maybe give us both a call. When you get this message.

‘Em … well, I suppose I’ve gone on long enough. What I guess I’m trying to say is that we’re sorry, Ross. We’re sorry for telling you to leave the house. You can come home anytime. But, em, really, Ross, please call. Oh, by the way, Michelle from Ulster Bank called. Wants to know can you ring her back. It sounded urgent.’

I meet Emer on Grafton Street, coming out of Nine West. I’m like, ‘Hey, how’s it going, Emer?’ She goes, ‘Great, I weigh nothing.’

Had this, like, dilemma the other day, roysh. JP’s old man asked me to show this couple around this gaff in Foxrock.
TOTALLY
amazing pad, we’re talking eight bedrooms, swimming pool, electric gates, big fock-off driveway, we’re talking one-and-a-half-million bills and basically a nice little commission for me, roysh, if I can, like, offload the thing. The problem was that it was the gaff next door to my old pair’s, and I was
SO
not in the mood for bumping into those two saps.

I think I’ve already mentioned, roysh, that my old man is
basically
a dickhead and my old dear, roysh, is a complete knob, and the last thing I needed in my life at that stage was the two of them telling me how, like, proud they are of me now that I’m working as an estate agent and her going on about how much she misses me and wants me to come home, the sad bitch that she is. I couldn’t actually handle the two of them, but like I said, roysh, the commission on this was big, we’re basically talking serious sponds here, and not only that, roysh, I
SO
didn’t want to let JP’s old man down. Not being, like, big-headed or anything, roysh, but he thinks I’m pretty amazing at the job, which has put JP’s nose roysh out of joint, and we’re talking big-style.

Last week, roysh, there I was, on the phone, basically trying to bleed an extra five grand out of this bloke for this complete focking dump in East Wall and it was all, ‘Well, we might be able to raise the money if we think about sending Joshua to a less upmarket school,’ so I got him to pay, like, five grand over the asking price in the end, roysh, and when I put the phone down, JP’s old man just looks at me and goes, ‘Your heart, Ross, it’s just for pumping blood around your body, isn’t it?’ I just, like, shrug and go, ‘Hey, it’s business,’ and he’s, like,
SO
impressed
by that.

Anyway, I drive up outside the gaff next door to the old pair, roysh, and there’s this, like, shitty old Nissan Bluebird outside, we’re talking a 90D bucket of focking rust here, and it’s, like, blocking the entrance to the driveway. Of course, I’m straight on the mobile, roysh, calling the cops, the last thing I need is for the prospective buyers to see that pile of shit and think there’s a halting site up the road. But all of a sudden, roysh, I notice there’s a bloke sitting in the passenger seat, so I, like, get out and walk up to his window, roysh, and I’m like, ‘Would you mind moving that thing?’ He’s there, ‘Sorry, bud?’ He’s a complete focking howiya, this goy, slip-on shoes, side-parting, newsprint moustache. I’m like, ‘I’m supposed to be showing someone around this house in a minute. No offence, roysh, but the last thing I want them to see when they turn up is the likes of you and this little crock of shit.’ It shocks me how like my old man I can sound sometimes. He goes, ‘Sorry, bud, I think you’ve got yisser facts wrong. I’m here to luke over the house, so I am. Me and de wife.’

I’m like, ‘Roysh, but I think you’re the one with your facts wrong. The guide price is one and a half million, not fifteen
thousand
. You’ve miscounted the noughts.’ ‘No, no, no, bud,’ he goes, ‘we know what the price is. See, we’re after winnin’ the Lorro.’ I was, like,
OH MY! GOD!
Erika is right, there should be laws to limit the amount of money that jackpot winners can spend on new houses, to prevent areas like Dalkey and
Donnybrook
from losing their character. I mean, Foxrock is going to
love
this focker. I actually remember now seeing him in the paper. Four million he basically won.

His wife gets out of the cor then, roysh, and she is total CHV, and we’re talking
TOTAL
here. She goes, ‘Are you the fella what’s
going to show us around?’ and I’m thinking about saying
something
smart, roysh, like asking her husband to translate what she’s saying into English, but I don’t, roysh, because as we’re walking up towards the gate, roysh, I’m thinking of my old man, living on the other side of that fence over there. Oisinn said he saw him in town last Saturday with the old dear, on Grafton Street, with his focking sheepskin coat on, and he was talking to this, like, beggar who asked him if he’d any change to spare for a cup of tea. And the old man was going, ‘You asked me the same thing this
morning
. Seems to me that you drink far too much tea, young chap. Bad for you, all that caffeine. Makes you sluggish. Probably why you’ve no home and no job.’

So I think about what a sap he is, roysh, and then I think about the shit that this pair, and however many kids they have, are going to make of the area, putting tyres around the lampposts, and whatever. And then I think about JP’s old man’s last words as I, like, left the office. He goes, ‘Remember, you’re not only selling a house here, Ross. You’re choosing your parents’
neighbours
,’ and he said it with, like, a twinkle in his eyes because he knows I hate my old pair. So as I’m opening the electric gates into the gaff, roysh, I turn around to them and I go, ‘You are
SO
going to love this house. And the good news is, I’m prepared to be flexible on the price.’

There’s, like, three messages on my phone this morning. One is from Aoife, who was ringing just to wish me good luck with the holiday and to tell all the goys the same. The second is from this bird, Sally, who’s heard a rumour that I like to take a trophy when I’ve been with a girl and all she wants to know – ‘I’m
SO
not pissed off, I just want to
know
’ – if that’s what happened to her
*NSync
No Strings Attached
album, and
if
it is she’d be really upset because it was, like, a birthday present from her mum. The other is from Michelle from Ulster Bank, who’s obviously just noticed that my account is in the black again, basically for the first time since my Confirmation, and she wants to talk to me about an SSIA, whatever the fock that is.

The captain says
that unless the music is turned off immediately, the plane won’t be going anywhere and we hear this voice down the back shout, ‘Careeeena, torn it off, will ye?’ And this Carina bird goes, ‘It’s not my fookin ghetto-blaster, it’s Anto’s.’ And Fionn, roysh, he takes off his glasses, rubs his eyes and goes, ‘It’s like being trapped in a focking Roddy Doyle novel.’ I’m sitting between him and Christian, roysh, and I’ve already won the battle for elbow room, Fionn putting up a little bit more resistance than I’d expected. JP and Oisinn are sitting in front of us.

The air hostess is up the front of the plane, roysh, giving out the instructions, obvious shit like make sure you take the
cigarette
out of your mouth before you put your oxygen mask on, otherwise your face will focking explode. Then the bird, roysh, you’d have to feel sorry for her, she puts on the life jacket and all the cream crackers down the back are giving it, ‘Very sexy on ye.’ And then, roysh, when she’s showing us how to inflate the thing, they’re all cheering and going, ‘You can blow into my tube any time you like.’ Oisinn turns around and goes, ‘We’re going to be turned back before we get there, what’s the bet?’

Going on a knacker holiday was JP’s idea. ‘A little-known
island off the coast of Africa,’ was what he told us. Playa del
focking
Ingles. But JP loves this kind of thing. It makes him feel, like, superior and shit. He’s looking over the back of his seat, going, ‘Look at all these peasants, Ross. Did you bring johnnies?’ I’m like, ‘Of course,’ and he nods his head and goes, ‘We leave
nothing
to chance, goys. We go out fully dressed. Last thing any of us wants is to be paying child support to one of these slappers for the rest of our lives. I am certainly not giving up half my trust fund for some little focking Natalie.’

No sooner are we in the air, roysh, than the music’s back on, full blast. Bob focking Marley. ‘
Evy little ting gonna be alroy
.’ Fionn turns to me, roysh, and he goes, ‘You can’t deny it’s
extraordinary
, Ross …’ but I’m too busy trying to read this decent-looking air hostess’s name badge without her thinking I’m scoping her baps. Fionn goes, ‘Are you ignoring me?’ I’m like, ‘Is this another one of your theories?’ He goes, ‘Ross, unlike the Institute, I’ve never charged you for the education I’ve given you. So be
grateful
. And keep up. I’m talking about Bob Marley and the universal nature of his music.’ I’m like, ‘And your point is?’ He goes, ‘His
métier
, Ross, is misery. Which is why from Trenchtown to
Ballyfermot
, from Harlem to focking Coolock, his music is the soundtrack to knackers’ lives the world over.
That’s
my focking point.’

A bird walks by on her way to the jacks, milk-bottle-white arms and legs, butterfly tattoo on her shoulder, every bit of focking jewellery she owns hanging off her. Oisinn puts his head up, sniffs the air and goes, ‘Shit the bed, that girl’s wearing
Brut
.’ Christian’s, like, totally quiet, roysh, so I try to get a bit of
conversation
out of him. I’m there, ‘Long old flight, isn’t it?’ and he looks at me like he’s about to deck me and he goes, ‘Travelling through hyper-space ain’t like dusting crops, boy,’ so I just leave
him. The next thing I hear, roysh, is some other skanger down the back shouting, ‘Byrner, stick on the Tones.’ And the CD goes on, roysh, and suddenly it’s all,
‘Come out you Black and Tans, come and fight me like a man, tell your wife how you won medals down in Flaaaanders
.’
And I turn around, roysh, and who’s down the back of the plane with them, taking his life into his hands, only JP. Eight pints of Ken in the airport bor and four vodka and tonics on the flight and he’s singing away with all the creamers, arms around shoulders, the lot.
‘Tell her how the IRA, made you run like fuck away, down the green and leafy lanes of Killeshaaaandra.’
And he keeps, like, pointing up at us, going, ‘Sorry about my friends, goys. A bit too stuck-up for the likes of us.’

He’s totally ripping the piss out of them. At one point I hear him asking whether anyone has a spare Celtic jersey because he’s left his behind. He is
SO
going to get himself killed it’s not funny. So we’re, like, majorly relieved when we land and we hang back while this big stampede of skangers heads for, like, the door of the plane, which turns out to be a bit of a mistake, roysh, because by the time we get to, like, passport control, the queues are out the focking door. Oisinn goes, ‘This’ll take half the night. Half these fockers are only out on temporary release.’

We finally get through, grab our bags and get on the bus. Me and the goys sit up the front, except for JP who’s now wearing a green-and-white football shirt that we saw him putting on at the, like, baggage carousel, and he goes down the back with his new mates and storts making arrangements to meet them tomorrow night in some bor or other. One of the skangers is like, ‘We’re after bein’ here this last four year. We know all the good spots.’ And JP’s like, ‘Wonderful,’ putting on this really, like,
exaggerated
posh voice that’s going to earn him, like, a punch in the face
before we get to our apartment. The blokes are like, ‘We can get good blow as well.’ JP goes, ‘You mean cannabis?
Splendid
.’

So me and the goys are just sitting there, going, ‘That goy is
SO
on his own on this holiday.’ But then, roysh, to cap it all, it turns out we’re all staying in exactly the same gaff – me and the goys are in with the focking cast of
The Commitments
. And what a focking kip it looked. You should have seen our faces when this great big tower block appeared out of, like, nowhere. Oisinn, roysh, he summed it up best. He’s like, ‘Shit the bed, it’s
Ballymun
-on-Sea.’

JP’s new favourite expression is, ‘The Poverty Trap.’ He shouts it at the top of his voice everywhere we go – in the middle of the supermarket, having a few scoops out on the balcony, walking along the beach. The other night, roysh, he shouts it in The Irish Jockey. He’s up at the bor, getting his round in, roysh, and he puts his arm around this total focking creamer he’s never even met before, he sort of, like, turns the goy around to face us and he shouts, ‘THE POVERTY TRAP!’ A knife will be pulled on him before the holiday is out. Of that you can be basically sure. The Irish Jockey is where you go in Playa del Ingles if you want to, like, listen to Irish music, talk about how many times you’d be prepared to die for Ireland, moan about how the focking Canaries isn’t Ireland and then bag off with some slapper from Dublin late enough in the night not to have to buy her a Ritz. The only chat-up line you’ll ever need in there is, ‘So, what Dorsh station do you work in yourself?’ which is basically not my idea of a good night out.

I had a totally different kind of evening planned this particular night, roysh, and we’re talking
TOTALLY
here. I spent the first, like, three days of the holiday putting in the spadework on these two Spanish birds, roysh, total focking honeys, we’re talking Penelope Cruzand focking Shakira here. And there I am, roysh, the first couple of days, giving them the odd wink and smile down by the pool, flashing the pecs when I’m, like, putting on the old factor two. And they’re, like, giggling away to each other, both obviously gagging for me, but basically still trying to decide among themselves which one of them is going to have me.

All of this was going on, roysh, while the rest of the goys were still up in the apartment, sleeping off their hangovers. You’ve got to get up early on holidays if you want to scope decent birds. These ones were up and out in the sun at, like, nine o’clock in the morning. You know the Spanish, they
focking
sleep for the best part of the working day. So two o’clock in the afternoon, roysh, bang in the middle of siesta time, the goys crawl out of the scratcher, come down to the pool and spend the next three hours moaning about how there’s nothing here but ugly, milk-white birds from Knackeragua. There was no focking way I was telling them that there were two Spanish love goddesses staying in the Green Pork Apartments. Fionn must have copped my game though, because this particular morning, roysh, he arrives down to the pool about ten minutes after me. But I see him coming with his big focking sunburned head and his glasses, which he can’t keep up on his nose with all the sweat, and I basically decide he’s no threat to me. I’m like, ‘I’m going to let you into a little secret, Fionn.’ He goes, ‘Does this have
anything
to do with your alarm clock ringing at half-eight the last three mornings?’ I’m like, ‘Sort of. There’s these two birds,
absolute
stunners …’

And the next thing, roysh, out they come, flip-flopping their
way in our direction, maybe heading for the sunbeds beside us, and I can see Fionn’s focking glasses steaming up, so I’m like, ‘Kool and the Gang, my man. Just play it Kool and the Gang.’ And as they’re passing, roysh, he goes, ‘
Olá, que tal?
’ and I suddenly remember what he said to me on the flight on the way over. He was reading this book about Gran Canaria, roysh, and he looks up from it and he goes, ‘I might actually use this holiday to polish up my Spanish,’ and I was like,
What
a tosser! While I’m over here looking for my bit, roysh, he’s looking for a focking Linguaphone course, and he is
SO
going to fock up my chances here it’s not funny. But all of a sudden, roysh, the two birds stop and stort, like, blabbing away to him in Spanish. It’s all, like, sangria and paella to me, but he’s giving it loads back and the two birds are, like, really into it. He totally leaves me out in the cold, of course, so I’m like, ‘Ahem, any chance of an introduction, Fionn?’ And he goes, ‘Sorry, this is Maria. And this is Rosa. This is my friend, Ross.’ Maria says something to him in Spanish and the three of them break their shites laughing. Rosa, it turns out, is studying psychology as well, same as Fionn. A bird with a brain. I’m pretty relieved I didn’t use my ‘Will you rub some suntan lotion into my back?’ line on them yesterday.

Then there’s, like, five minutes more of blabbing away in Spanish, roysh, and then Fionn goes, ‘I was telling Maria and Rosa that I’d love to explore the island. Maybe rent a car. The mountains are supposed to be breathtaking. There’s finches there you won’t find in any other part of the world. And Las Palmas is supposed to be a beautiful city, fantastic architecture.’ I’m like, ‘
Hello
? I’m here to have a good time, for fock’s sake,’ and I look at Rosa, roysh, the one I’ve now decided I’m going to be with, and I throw my eyes up to heaven to sort of, like, take
the piss out of him. But the two birds say something to him in Spanish, then the three of them, like, pick up their towels and Fionn goes, ‘Well, the girls are on for exploring the island. We’re going to go and see about renting that car,’ and they all fock off, leaving me pretty much dizzy at how quick it happened.

Half an hour later, roysh, the rest of the goys arrive down, obviously on to my game as well. A couple of skangers pass by our spot and shout, ‘THE POVERTY TRAP!’ at us and JP high-fives the two of them. He’s collecting focking disciples, that goy. They don’t even know he’s ripping the piss out of them. And then he storts on me. He goes, ‘I was watching from the balcony, Ross. Looked to me like Fionn wiped your eye.’ I’m like, ‘Get a focking life.’ He goes, ‘Looks like you’re coming back to the Jockey with us tonight.’