The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Nightdress Read online

  PENGUIN BOOKS

  THE CURIOUS INCIDENT OF THE DOG IN THE NIGHTDRESS

  Paul Howard. Twenties. Non-smoker. Athletic. Works out regularly. GSOH. Loaded. Likes: tantric cooking and teppanyaki sex. Dislikes: racism, cruelty to animals, war, famine, children suffering, ketchup. Marital status: pending. Star sign: Capricorn, née Aquarius. Compatible with water sign when Jupiter is in the cusp of blahdy blahdy blah. WLTM girls aged 16–30 with a view to friendship. Yeah, roysh!

  The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Nightdress

  ROSS O’CARROLL-KELLY

  [as told to PAUL HOWARD]

  Illustrated by Alan Clarke

  PENGUIN BOOKS

  PENGUIN BOOKS

  Published by the Penguin Group

  Penguin Books Ltd, 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  Penguin Group (Canada), 90 Eglinton Avenue East, Suite 700, Toronto, Ontario, Canada M4P 2Y3

  (a division of Pearson Penguin Canada Inc.)

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  (a division of Pearson New Zealand Ltd)

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  Penguin Books Ltd, Registered Offices: 80 Strand, London WC2R 0RL, England

  www.penguin.com

  First published by Penguin Ireland 2005

  Published in Penguin Books 2006

  8

  Copyright © Paul Howard, 2005

  Illustration © Alan Clarke, 2005

  All rights reserved

  Penguin Ireland thanks O’Brien Press for its agreement to Penguin Ireland using the same design approach and typography, and the same artist, as O’Brien Press used in the first four Ross O’Carroll-Kelly titles

  The moral right of the author has been asserted

  Except in the United States of America, this book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser

  ISBN: 978-0-14-192592-9

  To Paul Wallace, Alan Kelly and Jenny Lowe

  HC-O’H and Associates,

  Baggotrath Lane,

  Dublin 2

  Our ref: U/FOFF

  11 September 1997

  WITHOUT PREJUDICE

  Dear Ms Masters,

  Re: Paternity of your unborn child

  I act on behalf of Mr Charles O’Carroll-Kelly in the above matter. I respond to your correspondence with my client and your unsubstantiated claim that his son, Mr Ross O’Carroll-Kelly, is the father of your unborn child.

  I enclose a cheque in the amount of £50,000 (fifty thousand pounds). This once-off payment is made purely in recognition of your difficult circumstances and does not represent an admission of liability on the part of my client’s son.

  It is made subject to the following conditions:

  • No consent is given to register Mr Ross O’Carroll-Kelly as the father of the child;

  • Neither you nor any member of your family will attempt to contact Mr Ross O’Carroll-Kelly now or at any time in the future;

  • Mr Ross O’Carroll-Kelly will remain without knowledge of this settlement;

  • No proceedings seeking a Declaration of Parenthood will be taken at any time.

  This is in full and final settlement of all discussions to date. We do not expect to receive any correspondence from you in the future.

  Yours sincerely,

  HENNESSY COGHLAN-O’HARA

  Contents

  1. D.I.V.O.R.C.E.

  2. Caught in the Net

  3. ’Twixt Love and Duty

  4. God’s Gift

  5. Staring down the Barrel

  6. Bricks and Mortar

  7. A Cheap Holiday

  8. Consider the Lillie’s

  9. One Plus One Plus One Plus

  22:01.08

  RESIDENTS’ BOR, BERKELEY COURT, PRETTY MUCH TROUSERED

  I hold up my empty glass, which the borman takes as a signal that I want another drink, we’re talking straight JD here and it has to be said, roysh, the goy gives good measures. Christian goes, ‘Take it easy, Young Skywalker,’ but I just, like, ignore him, though fair focks to him, roysh, it’s not everyone would spend their Christmas Eve like this.

  Lauren’s here as well. I hear her kissing Christian and then there’s, like, total silence and I can tell that the two of them are, like, talking about me with their eyes. Another JD disappears down the old Gregory. I hear Lauren go, ‘Ross, do you not think you’ve had enough?’ and though he doesn’t say anything, roysh, I can tell that Christian’s just looking at her, going, Do not even go there?

  I reach back and grab Lauren by the orm and pull her close to the bor. I go, Yes, Lauren, I have had enough. But tonight I’ve decided to have more than enough,’ and she doesn’t say anything, roysh, and I end up going, ‘My marriage has just broken up. Think that entitles me to get mullered.’

  She rubs the back of my neck and it makes me want to go to sleep.

  22:58.04

  RESIDENTS’ BOR, BERKELEY COURT, BASICALLY LOCKED NOW

  I blame the Brothers. I mean, what the fock were they thinking? It’s like one of those school trips to Amsterdam that always crack me up. These teachers bring, like, eighty or ninety kids to the sex-and-drug capital of the world and then, like, act shocked when the kids get on the old doobey-doobey-do and go looking for their Nat King. What the fock did they think was going to happen?

  Well, it was pretty much the same deal with the Urban Plunge. ‘An exchange programme with a difference,’ is what Brother Augustus called it, roysh, and he wasn’t wrong. They sent us all out to live in Pram Springs for two weeks and a bunch of focking Antos came to live in our gaffs in Foxrock and Dalkey and, like, Ballsbridge and shit?

  My eyes are getting seriously heavy now. And my head. It feels, like, too heavy for my neck to hold it up.

  I remember, roysh, being served spoice booorger an’ chips wi’ cuddy sorce for the fourth day in a row, then ringing the school and going, ‘Just what the fock are we supposed to be learning from this?’ and Brother Augustus just goes, ‘Humility.’

  Anto had this sister, Tina, who was, like, bet-down. I mean, the focking tide wouldn’t take her out.

  23:14.07

  RESIDENTS’ BOR, BERKELEY COURT, SERIOUSLY HAMMERED

  Fionn’s at my elbow. What does that four-eyed focker want? I’ve just been talking to Sorcha. That’s what he goes. He’s like, ‘I’ve just been talking to Sorcha,’ and I go, ‘How is she?’ hating myself for sounding so basically pathetic. Fionn goes, ‘She’s not good,’ but he’s actually talking to Christian and Lauren, roysh, obviously having decided that I’m too focking mullered to have a conversation. Fionn goes, ‘How’s he?’ and sort of, like, nods in my direction, and Christian’s like, ‘See for yourself.’

  I order another and I hear Fionn tutting to himself, yeah, like he’s Betty focking Ford. Lauren goes, ‘So what happened to all the food?’ and Fionn goes, ‘Well, you know how much Sorcha hate
s the idea of good food going to waste. She got, like, Claire, Aoife, and Amie with an ie to gather it up and drop it to one of the Simon hostels. I mean, that’s SO her, isn’t it?’ and at that moment in time, roysh, I hate Fionn’s guts because he’s always had the big-time hots for her and I know he’s going to try and, like, use this to get in there.

  I’m sitting there thinking about all those, like, junkies, stoners and focking soap-dodgers eating our poached loin of Wicklow venison and roast monkfish tail with Pernod butter sauce. The whole Dublin homeless community will be out in focking hives tomorrow.

  I laugh out loud.

  It must be out loud because Fionn turns around to the borman and goes, ‘I can’t believe you’re still serving him,’ and the borman just, like, shrugs and focks off down the other end of the bor.

  I’m like, ‘Well, she couldn’t be that upset then,’ and Fionn, like, pushes his glasses up on his nose and goes, ‘What are you talking about, Ross?’ and I’m there, ‘Just saying, if she’s doing the whole focking Bob Geldof thing, she couldn’t be that upset,’ and Fionn goes, ‘Couldn’t be that upset? She finds out at her wedding reception that the man she just married has a secret love-child…’

  I’m feeling a bit Moby and I think I’m going to vom.

  ‘… and a skobie love-child at that.’ I look over my left shoulder and it’s, like, Oisinn, who’s arrived in with JP. It was actually Oisinn who went, ‘And a skobie love-child at that,’ and I’m just like, ‘With mates like you goys…’

  23:59.12

  RESIDENTS’ BOR, BERKELEY COURT, OFF MY FOCKING TROLLEY

  Maaa-aaa-aaa-aaa! Maa-aaa-aaa-aaa! I’m thinking about Tina’s laugh. She had a laugh like focking machine-gunfire. Maaa-aaa-aaa-aaa! I have to say, roysh, that Sorcha’s not the only one who’s surprised I got her up the Damien.

  I told the goys at the time, roysh, that it was revenge. Her brother, as in the creamer I swapped houses with – turns out that Anto was his actual name – he was as happy as a dog with two mickeys out on Brighton Road, robbing everything that wasn’t hammered to the focking floor, even the Boehm porcelain figurine the old dear was given for her work with the Ban Poor People from the National Gallery campaign. Rattling his sister was payback. At least, that’s the story I told the goys when I got back to school.

  I open my guts. Focking chemical warfare. Must be the wild mushroom and sherry soup – the only thing any of us got to actually eat at the reception. Or maybe it’s the JD.

  The borman’s fixing a new bottle to the optic. He’s settling in for a long night.

  Oisinn goes, ‘I actually remember that time. We were in, like, transition year,’ and JP’s like, ‘Older woman and everything,’ and Oisinn’s there, ‘The goy was a ledge,’ and JP goes, ‘But what are the chances of her working in the actual same hotel where Ross was having his reception?’ and there’s, like, total silence for a few seconds, then Fionn goes, ‘Well, if x is the number of waitressing jobs available in the city at any given time and y is the—’ and I turn around and go, ‘Fionn, we all know you did Honours maths, what do you want, a focking round of applause?’ and that shuts him up.

  Oisinn sort of, like, sniffs the air and goes, ‘Who opened their lunch?’

  00:12.28

  RESIDENTS’ BOR, BERKELEY COURT, SERIOUSLY STOCIOUS

  Erika’s delighted, according to Fionn.

  Lauren goes, ‘I can’t understand why Sorcha stays friends with that girl,’ and Fionn’s like, ‘Hey, aren’t you and Christian supposed to be at the Concert Hall tonight?’ and Lauren goes, ‘We had tickets for the NSO’s Carols by Candlelight,’ and Christian goes, ‘We couldn’t leave him on his own.’ I wish people would stop talking about me like I’m not here.

  00:54.19

  RESIDENTS’ BOR, BERKELEY COURT, THE MOST PISSED I’VE EVER BEEN

  At least JP and Oisinn aren’t treating me like I need to be basically babysat. They’ve, like, pulled up a couple of stools and they’re knocking back the old hill-billy idiot juice as well now. JP’s telling us about some new development of two-bedroom townhouses he’s flogging out in Bogsville – Camolin, I think he called it. He’s like, ‘Half-an-hour’s drive from Dublin City Centre… that is, if you happen to drive a Westland WG-25 Sharpeye,’ and behind me I hear the sound of high-fiving going on.

  Tina was a dog basically and I’m being hord on dogs there. Her boat wasn’t up to much and she’d no top tens as such. I mean, I’d bigger pecs. It was like hopping Action Man. She did have nice pins, though, I’d have to say. Brown and, I suppose, shapely. She’d a good Peter Pan, too. I think I’d been in the gaff about a week before I even met her. She was in, like, Santa Ponsa when I arrived.

  01:19.07

  RESIDENTS’ BOR, BERKELEY COURT, PRETTY MUCH HORRENDUFIED

  I have to drop the kids off at the pool. I’ve been bursting for an hour, but I didn’t, like, trust my legs. It’s got to the stage where I’ve no choice, though, because the smell is Pádraig focking Pearse, so I stagger to the jacks and go into Trap One. I don’t feel like I’m going to vom anymore, but I feel majorly dizzy.

  I stuff, like, reams and reams of bog roll into the can. Don’t know why, roysh. Just one of those things you do when you’re horrendufied. Then I stagger back out. From, like, way across the lobby, roysh, I can hear Christian going, ‘She loves him. She’ll come round,’ and Fionn’s shaking his head going, ‘Not this time.’

  01:37.36

  RESIDENTS’ BOR, BERKELEY COURT, ACTUALLY HORRENDUFIED

  I think I’ve drunk myself sober. I can actually feel a hangover coming on, so I decide to redouble my efforts at the bor. It’s, like, doubles all the way now.

  So there I was, roysh, in the kitchen one night, listening to Tina’s old man banging on about how much bread he still owed the Credit Union since the Wurdled Cup – ‘I folleyed Jackie’s Army all over de wurdled, never any trouble ourra anyone’ – when in she walks, reeking of Charlie Red. She’s like, ‘Howiya?’

  Now we’re talking big-time CHV here, but I could tell straight away, roysh, that she had a bit of a thing for yours truly. I was there, ‘Hey,’ and she was like, ‘Howiya?’

  The taxi-driver brought her luggage into the kitchen. Four focking cases. I was like, ‘How long were you gone – a year?’ and she went, ‘Only one of dem’s clothes. Tree of dem’s cigarettes,’ and I sort of, like, nodded and went, ‘So isn’t that, like, smuggling?’ and they all – even the taxi-driver – cracked their holes laughing. Tina went, ‘It’s mad the way dee talk, isn’t it? It’s like anudder language,’ and the four of them looked at me like I was a seal with a new trick.

  Tina went, ‘Me mate’s brudder-in-law sells dem. On O’Connell Bridge. I do bring dem back wi’ me. Dat’s how I’m able to go away tree times a year,’ and honestly, roysh, she was pure Council House Vermin and I’d no basic interest, so I just went, ‘Yeah, whatever. I’m wrecked. I’m going to hit the old Margaret Thatcher,’ and they all cracked their holes laughing again and as I was heading up the stairs, roysh, I heard the old dear go, ‘Your pooer brudder’s after gettin’ some class of an allergy, whatever der feedin’ him out dayer.’

  So I hopped into the sack, roysh, and I was asleep maybe ten minutes when – surprise, sur-focking-prise – the bedroom door opens and in comes Tina, clearly gagging for me. Took a few seconds for the old mince pies to adjust to the light, roysh, then I saw she was wearing this, like, nightdress, and it was, like, pink, roysh, and it showed off her Peter Pan really well. She copped me checking out her legs. She was there, ‘I never really boorn in de sun, look,’ and she storted, like, pulling various parts of the nightdress up and down to show me her colour.

  02:19.06

  RESIDENTS’ BOR, BERKELEY COURT, UNBELIEVABLY HORRENDUFIED

  I can hear Fionn going, ‘He must have known. How could he not have known?’ and Christian, fair focks to him, roysh, he’s sticking up for me because I’m too hammered to. He’s like, ‘I’m his best friend, Fionn. If he’d known
, I’d have known as well,’ and Fionn’s there, ‘I’m just saying, I find it hard to believe —’ and Christian’s like, ‘You heard his old man, Fionn. He paid her to disappear,’ and Fionn goes, ‘I’m just saying…’ and Lauren’s, like, rubbing the back of Christian’s neck now, trying to, like, calm him down.

  You don’t need me to join up the dots for you. I ended up scoring her. Well, she scored me, is more like it. I mean, I was only, like, sixteen and she was a very old nineteen, definitely been around the old block more than once. It was my first score – first of many, without trying to sound too bigheaded – and the goys are roysh, when I went back to school, I was a ledge, a total ledge.

  My eyes won’t focus. Everything’s, like, moving, like when your Savalas is focked and the picture keeps moving up and up. That’s what it’s like. I remember when it was over, Tina rolled out of the sack, felt around on the floor for the nightdress and was like, ‘Me fella’ll moorder me if he finds out ‘bout dis,’ and off she went, back to her room.

  03:04.40

  RESIDENTS’ BOR, BERKELEY COURT, PRETTY MUCH BLIND

  Oisinn’s telling JP a joke. It’s, like, this refugee goes into an off-licence, roysh, and he goes, ‘I wonder if you could recommend a good port?’ and the goy in the off-licence goes, ‘Rosslare. Now fock off back to where you came from,’ and we all crack our holes laughing, roysh, but then all of a sudden I stort thinking about Sorcha, standing there, her Brendan Grace even whiter than her dress. And the tears in her eyes and her face frozen in this, like, smile – the botox – and her telling me that she never, ever wanted to see me again.

  Christian goes, ‘Ross, you can’t stay here,’ and I look at him and then I look around the bor. I’m there, ‘It’s the Berkeley Court, Christian. What’s wrong with it?’ and he goes, ‘It’s, like, Christmas, my young Jedi friend. It’s a time for –’ and I’m there, ‘I have no family. Not anymore. My old pair are dead to me.’