Rhino What You Did Last Summer Read online

  He laughs. He’s got that look about him. ‘Hugo,’ he goes, except he can’t say it without smiling.

  We’ve all been there.

  ‘He’s a good-looking goy,’ I go, which is an amazing thing for me to admit. ‘He better not come between our friendship.’

  He laughs and says he won’t. ‘You look like you’ve something on your mind,’ he goes.

  I shake my head. ‘Do you ever get the feeling,’ I go, ‘that there’s a whole heap of trouble heading your way?’

  They’re already stuck into the Châteauneuf de Plonk, the two of them. She’s rubbing her hand up and down her leg, like she does when she’s mullered and making a disgrace of herself.

  ‘Look at the focking state of you,’ I go. ‘If a fisherman pulled you out of the sea, he’d throw you back.’

  She doesn’t say anything. And neither does he – except, ‘Sit down, Gracie. And keep your mouth shut. It’s listening time.’

  I was actually about to sit down anyway.

  He’s like, ‘How would you like to star in your own reality TV show?’

  I’m a bit taken aback. I’m there, ‘Whoa! Are we talking like The Hills?’

  He shakes his head. ‘We’re talking like The Osbournes,’ he goes. ‘Like I told you, I been talking to MTV. One or two executives. Personal friends of mine. Obviously, they know all about your mother…’

  They automatically smile at each other. I think he’s actually in love with her, the poor focker.

  ‘They was there that night in Book Soup,’ he goes. ‘They wanted to know was you for real…’

  I’m like, ‘Was I for real?’

  He’s there, ‘Shut up. Are you kidding me? I said. The way this kid speaks about his mother! The way his mother speaks about him!’

  I turn to her, a bit hurt to be honest. ‘What bad shit could you possibly say about me?’ She just blanks me.

  ‘So I starts telling this guy your whole situation. Your boyfriend…’

  ‘He’s not my boyfriend.’

  ‘Your wife and kid. That crazy fuck they’re living with. And just generally how stupid you are – giving coffee to the baby, taking that girl to the emergency room because you blew gas in her face, yada, yada, yada. Let me tell you, the guy nearly pops his hernia this morning laughing at the seitan story…’

  I’m there, ‘I’m glad to hear I amuse someone.’

  He’s like, ‘Yes, you do, Chico. Yes, you do. Let me tell you, this guy says to me, we got to get this family on camera. This is Newlyweds meets The Hills meets Hogan Knows Best…’

  From the general vibe of the conversation, I know that I’m basically Jessica Simpson.

  ‘They want to give us Johnny Sarno,’ he goes. ‘One of the best directors in the business. Twenty-five years old. He’s on his way here right now. And let me tell you, he’s pumped about meeting the two of you.’

  I look at the old dear, then back at him. ‘Have shekels been mentioned? I presume they have.’

  ‘They want to pay you guys – fourteen half-hour episodes – Two! Million! Big ones!’

  ‘Two million?’ I go. I’ve suddenly got my business hat on. ‘Wait a minute, are we talking dollars?’

  ‘No, we’re talking Twinkies,’ he goes. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘Okay, I just thought I’d check. They always say, don’t they, that you shouldn’t just rush in and accept the first offer? But, having thought about it, the answer is yes, I accept.’

  ‘You accept? Well, hoo-fucking-ray for Jay Gatsby.’

  The old dear laughs, loving seeing me under pressure.

  The next thing I see, roysh, is this Chinesey-looking dude – and, again, that’s not racist – walking towards us with his hand outstretched and his mouth open wide in a look of what would have to be called awe. Trevion wasn’t bullshitting – he obviously is excited about meeting me?

  I stand up, shake his hand and tell him that if MTV wants to follow me around while I do my shit – scoring birds, drinking for Ireland and roaring general abuse at that dog over there – then I’ve no problems taking their focking money.

  I turn to the old dear. ‘Are you up for it?’

  You’d want to hear her. ‘Television is one medium I’ve always been desperate to get into.’

  ‘Yeah?’ I go. ‘That and medium dress.’

  Johnny turns to Trevion with a big delighted smile on his boat – what I’m beginning to realize is his normal look.

  ‘Isn’t it great?’ Trevion goes. ‘That’s how they talk to each other, all the time.’

  Trevion calls over the waiter and asks for another bottle of wine.

  ‘Couple of questions,’ Johnny goes. He talks with, like, a normal American accent? Presumably he was born here? ‘First, what are you going to do with this thing?’ and I swear to God, roysh, he actually points at my nose.

  ‘What’s wrong with my nose?’ I go, naturally enough.

  Trevion gets in on the act then. He’s there, ‘It’s huge is what’s wrong with it.’

  The old dear has the actual balls to laugh.

  I’m there, ‘I’m not going back to that San whatever-he’s-called,’ and then I turn to Johnny. ‘Did he put you up to this?’ meaning Trevion.

  ‘No,’ he goes, suddenly staring at the middle of my face, taking it in from, like, various different angles. ‘I think it would be distracting, that’s all – draw attention away from the action.’

  I turn to the old dear. ‘Are you not even going to stick up for your son?’

  She just shrugs and turns her head away. ‘You got your father’s nose,’ is all she goes.

  Trevion’s there, ‘I’ll ring San. We’ll get you booked in for a new one tomorrow.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘It’s just your nose.’

  ‘I told you, I’m not letting that lunatic near me.’

  Johnny goes, ‘No nose, no deal,’ leaving me with no choice.

  Trevion laughs. ‘Hey, cheer up,’ he goes. ‘When you’re really in the big time, you think anyone’s going to take out their coke with that fucking thing in the room?’

  ‘I don’t do coke.’

  ‘Well, you ain’t gonna be offered any either. You’re like an anteater there. So the nose goes – no vote. I’ll ring San. He’s done rhino a whole heap of times. He could do it in the morning.’

  ‘This is going to be on, like, TV. So the whole world is going to know I had, like, a nose job?’

  ‘We’ll tell them it was medical. You broke it playing… what’s that shit?’

  ‘Rugby.’

  ‘Yeah, whatever. An old injury – never healed properly.’

  ‘We could film the operation for the show,’ Johnny goes, looking delighted. ‘Also,’ he goes, ‘we want to get you all living under one roof.’

  Trevion’s there, ‘I was telling him, your wife’s got that big house, right?’

  I’m like, ‘Yeah, but I’m not sure I could handle living with that focking Cillian.’

  ‘Well, that’s the deal,’ Trevion goes. ‘Take it or don’t. Ross, His Mother, His Wife and Her Lover…’

  I look at Johnny. ‘Yeah, that’s what we want to call it,’ he goes.

  Trevion’s like, ‘And that’s what they want – the whole dys-functional lot of you, under one roof.’

  He gives the old dear a smile of apology.

  I’m there, ‘Well, I’ll have to ask Sorcha first,’ and the old dear’s suddenly looking over my shoulder, going, ‘No time like the present.’

  I don’t even get a chance to look around. Sorcha’s suddenly stood in front of me, with a face like a dick in a bucket of Deep Heat. It’s obvious that I’m in serious shit.

  Without saying a word, she throws a glass of wine over me – my glass?

  ‘That,’ she goes, ‘is for having sex with my friend at my party…’

  Trevion turns to Johnny. He’s there, ‘See what I mean?’ and Johnny’s just, like, nodding his head, again looking like the cat that got the focking cream.


  Sorcha picks up the old dear’s glass. That goes over me as well. ‘That is for doing it in a dress that cost six thousand dollars…’

  Then she makes a grab for Trevion’s and I’m thinking, shit, what else is there?

  ‘And that,’ she goes, throwing it straight in my face, ‘is for lying about Erika not wanting to talk to me.’

  Like I’ve said time and time again about the Mounties, they’re dogged.

  Then she just bursts into tears.

  The old dear stands up, puts her orm around her and gets her to sit down with us. ‘Can we get some water over here?’ she shouts to no one in particular.

  Sorcha’s like, ‘Red tea, if they have it.’

  ‘Red tea,’ the old dear goes. ‘And another bottle of wine,’ then she sort of, like, strokes her hair and tells her that everything’s going to be okay – which she’s never done for me, can I just say?

  Sorcha rears up at me again then. It’s like the end of a focking horror movie – you never know when they’re really done, do you?

  ‘You know how I feel about Stella McCortney,’ she goes.

  She turns to the old dear for support. ‘Anytime I have, like, a really difficult decision to make, I’m always there, WWSD? As in, What Would Stella Do?’

  ‘Are you sure it’s Stella?’ I make the mistake of going. ‘As in, are you sure it’s not me being with someone else that’s upset you?’

  It’s definitely not the wisest thing in the world to say?

  She looks at me in, like, a suddenly nasty way and goes, ‘I just thought you might like to know, Ross, that she’s coming over.’

  I’m there, ‘Who?’ presuming we’re still talking about Stella.

  She’s there, ‘Erika.’

  My entire body just goes cold.

  ‘I booked her a ticket,’ she goes. ‘She’ll be here tomorrow.’

  Johnny, of course, is totally confused. ‘Who’s Erika?’ he goes, looking from me to Sorcha to Trevion.

  It’s the old dear who goes, ‘Erika is Sorcha’s best friend. Ross just found out that she’s also his half-sister.’

  Trevion smiles so wide you could fit that wine bottle in his mouth sideways. ‘What’d I tell you?’ he goes. ‘They make the Manson family look like the fucking Brady Bunch.’

  6. A brand new face for the boys on MTV

  Pumped and all as Sorcha is about being on reality TV, I think that, on balance, I probably owe her an apology, which is why I call out to the gaff the following morning with a tub of Edy’s Slow Churned Rich and Creamy Cheesecake Diva ice cream as, like, a peace offering – the small one, I should add, because she’s already banging on about how the camera adds eight pounds.

  It turns out I’ve just missed her. Cillian says she just left for the airport, which means that Erika’s going to be here in a couple of hours. ‘I wonder how she’ll look,’ I hear myself go. ‘Not great hopefully – long flight, lot on her plate, blahdy blahdy blah…’

  He looks like shit, I should mention. He’s still in his pyjamas – pyjamas, by the way – with four or five days of beard growth and a hum coming off him that tells me he hasn’t showered in that time either.

  He doesn’t even ask me in. He tries to talk to me at the door and I have to, like, push past him with my bags and remind him that I actually live here now?

  Then I ask him, nice to be nice, if he’s looking forward to being on TV and he laughs – again, if it was a word – dismissively. ‘I’ve no intention of involving myself in that frivolous rubbish,’ he goes. ‘Obviously, I can’t stop Sorcha…’

  ‘No, you can’t,’ I go, checking out his weedy little auditor body and making sure he sees me checking it out as well.

  ‘But I’ve told her my feelings, that our obsession with surface details – like clothes and superficial celebrity – is going to make it harder for us all to come down. Now is the time to start appreciating the things that are important.’

  ‘Deodorant obviously isn’t one in your book,’ I go – and even I have to admit that it’s one of my best ever lines. Then I’m bulling, of course, that the cameras weren’t here to, like, witness it?

  He shakes his head. ‘You really have no idea of the storm that’s coming, do you?’

  I’m there, ‘All I know is, I don’t think those mates of yours would have been out of order decking you at the Maddox Jolie-Pitt fashion fundraiser.’

  ‘Josh and Kyle?’ he goes, then he laughs. He’s there, ‘The wizards of high finance!’ Except you can tell he doesn’t, like, mean it? ‘The financial sector – people like those two – they used to be the servants of the economy and we let them become its master. But who’s been looking after the interests of society?’

  I hope he’s not waiting for an answer from me.

  ‘Our political leaders,’ he goes, ‘here, back home – have you ever noticed the way they behave around men with money? Like silly girls. They’re so besotted, they forget whose job it is to govern whom…’

  ‘Dude,’ I go, ‘I’ve actually got to be at the hospital in, like, ten minutes?’

  ‘They gave spivs like Josh and Kyle what they wanted. Unfettered capital markets. The elevation of the City above all else. And what has it delivered? An economy entirely reliant on a financial sector engaging in riskier and riskier activities. We’re all going to end up paying the price for their greed. And their arrogance.’

  ‘Dude,’ I make the mistake of going, ‘why don’t you say all that shit on camera?’ and he’s suddenly staring into space, lost in thought.

  *

  The thing is, roysh, I don’t know how it can be that I could get to, like, twenty-seven years of age and no one – we’re talking no one – has ever mentioned the size of the old Shiva, good, bad or indifferent.

  But now even Harvey says it belongs on Mount Rushmore and of course I have to crack on then that I know what Mount Rushmore is.

  ‘Okay, what about this one?’ I go.

  I’m standing side-on to the mirror, holding photographs of various noses up to my face. I’ve got to pick one and I haven’t got long.

  Harvey laughs. ‘It’s a bit, I don’t know,’ he goes, ‘doughy.’

  I’m like, ‘Doughy?’

  ‘It’s, like, a boxer’s nose,’ he goes, shuffling through the deck. ‘Hey, what about this one?’ and he hands me one that for some reason makes me think of Reese Witherspoon. I hold it up to my face. He’s there, ‘That is such a good look for you.’

  I’m like, ‘Are you sure it’s not a bit, I don’t know, girlie?’

  ‘But you want a pretty nose, right?’

  ‘I suppose.’

  He hands me another one to try.

  I ask him how Hugo is and his face lights up. He says they’re going horseback riding this weekend in the Santa Monica Mountains and I tell him I’m delighted for him, which I am, although – and this isn’t jealousy – I’m just hoping he’s still going to have time for me.

  I’m there, ‘Remember what I said, Dude, don’t settle down too early. Learn a lesson from the master. Live your life.’

  ‘Well,’ he goes, ‘I phoned Mike.’

  ‘Phoned him? What did you do that for?’

  ‘Just to tell him not to contact me. I’ve met someone and I’m, like, really happy.’

  I’ve always wondered why people need to tell their exes that. Me, I just drop them like a three-foot putt. End of.

  ‘This one makes me look like a focking Teletubby,’ I go.

  He laughs and shuffles through the deck again. At the same time, he’s there, ‘Hey, I can’t wait to meet your sister.’

  ‘Fock,’ I go. ‘I almost forgot she was coming.’

  ‘But you’re happy she’s coming, right?’

  I tell him it’s complicated and he asks me how complicated.

  I’m there, ‘Well, before we were brother and sister, we actually had…’

  ‘History?’

  ‘Well, I was going to say intercourse – but history, yeah.’
>
  His jaw just drops.

  This one makes me look like the focking Grinch.

  ‘You’re the first person I’ve actually discussed this with,’ I go, ‘aport from my best friend. And a bunch of total strangers in addiction counselling.’

  He’s still in shock.

  ‘In fairness,’ I go. ‘You’ve got to see this girl – even you’d be into her.’

  ‘Even me?’ he goes. He laughs. ‘You mean she could be the one to cure me of this terrible affliction?’

  ‘You know what I mean,’ I go. ‘And the whole reason I didn’t want her coming over here is that I’m scared that my feelings for her won’t have changed.’

  ‘Hey, don’t beat yourself up,’ he goes, which is exactly what I need to hear, roysh, because I can be a bit hord on myself sometimes? ‘You said it yourself – you didn’t know she was your sister when you had… relations. Your feelings for her will resolve themselves – but not until you spend time around her.’

  He’s actually wise beyond his years, this dude.

  I’m there, ‘It’s just, I don’t want to end up feeling like some sexual deviant – even though we’re only, like, half-brother and sister?’

  ‘And cut!’ Johnny Sarno goes, then he storts giving us, like, a round of applause with, like, the usual big smile on his face. The rest of the crew join in then. Apparently, we’ve, like, nailed the scene, although I’m not a hundred per cent happy with it.

  ‘Johnny,’ I go, ‘I wouldn’t mind reshooting that again. See, the whole thing about the nose job is it’s not supposed to be for, like, cosmetic reasons? It’s supposed to be because I’m having breathing difficulties from a kick in the boat I got back in the glory days…’

  ‘We’ll handle it in the editing suite,’ he goes, without even looking at me.

  I’m there, ‘I think I’d prefer…’ but he just, like, cuts me off.

  ‘This isn’t the movies,’ he goes. ‘We’ve got thirty minutes of television to film every week. We’re already behind schedule,’ and then he shouts, ‘Can we get that doctor in here?’

  Johnny tells me to put on my hospital gown and get into bed, which I automatically do.