‘Kennet, is – let’s just say – a serious piece of work. Shadden’s earliest memory, she once told Ro, was of him sawing his little finger off with a breadknife to stand up some bogus compensation claim’
SO IT ENDS up being my birthday last week – the big three-two – and I arranged to meet my old man and my son for a few quiet ones in Kielys of Donnybrook Town. I was the only one on the actual sauce, of course, what with the old man still recovering from his hort scare and Ronan being, well, 14. Not that he doesn’t still try it on.
“Brandy for me, Rosser,” he went, hanging his jacket on the back of the bor stool.
“Get him a Coke,” I told the old man.
Ro had a chuckle to himself and went, “You’ll slip up one day, Rosser. Here, you’re not gonna be happy with me, be the way.”
I was like, “What?”
“Shadden’s da’s with me,” he went. “He’s outside looking for a space to peerk.”
I was there, "You're not telling me he's coming in here – into actualKielys."
Shadden is Ronan’s current squeeze and her old man, Kennet, is – let’s just say – a serious piece of work. Shadden’s earliest memory, she once told Ro, was of him sawing his little finger off with a breadknife to stand up some bogus compensation claim he’d made against an elevator manufacturer. That’s just a flavour of what he’s like.
“I must say,” the old man went, “I’m rather looking forward to meeting the famous Shadden’s father.”
“Don’t expect too much,” I went. “And cover your mouth if you have to yawn – this dude would have the fillings out of your head and a buyer lined up before you got it closed agan.”
Ten seconds later, in he walked. And you should have seen how he was dressed. The worst thing was that he'd made an actual effort? He was wearing, like, a white dress shirt from obviously Dunnes Stores, with the top button done up – even though there was no tie with – and it was tucked tightly into a pair of just basic jeans – no brand, no focking shape either – with the whole look touched off with a pair of – I swear to God – just black slip-on shoes.
He was like something off Reeling in the Years– the one about the 1970s.
He was like, “Ah, strordee?”
He meant, “Story?” as in, “What’s the . . .”
Kielys had honestly never heard the like of it before.
“J… J… Jaysus,” he went. “Moorder getting p… p… peerking arowunt here, idn’t it?”
I might have mentioned before that he has a pretty bad MC Hammer.
“You can be reasonably sure,” I went, “that it’ll still have its full quota of wheels when you go back to it.”
He didn’t even take offence at this, because him and the old man, I noticed, were suddenly just, like, staring at each other, grinning at each other like two shot foxes.
It was the old man who spoke first. “Kennet Tuite!” he went. “As I live and breathe!”
And that’s when it became suddenly obvious that they know each other from prison.
“Cheerlie,” Kennet was like. “I doatunt believe it. I says it to Dordeen thudder day. I says to her, ‘I was v… v… v… veddy good friends with a f… fedda insoyut whose second nayum was Accada-Keddy.’ Says I, ‘I wonther is young Ronan relayred to um.’ ”
It took him that long to put two and two together? I thought, this dude's slower than focking Avatar.
The old man was there, “So how the hell are you? Keeping your nose clean, I hope.”
“I have to, Cheerlie. Ah, you know yisser self – the kids were gettin to that age. All t… t… teenagers now – wadn’t feer on their mudder raising thum on her owen.”
The old man pulled a big understanding face.
Kennet turned to me then. “Your f… f… fadder’s a great man,” he went. “He was un-fooken-beleafable support to the likes of m... m… me and a lot of utters in ta Joy. That’s norra woort of a lie, Cheerlie.”
The old man went all modest then. “Well, we all muddled through – as best we could, I expect.”
“No, there was t… t… toyums in that jail, Cheerlie, when my spidit was veddy nearly b… broken, so it was. You were alwees the fedda on eer lanten you could go and have chat wit if you were feedin a bit down in y… y… yisser self. You safed me from a deerk place many’s the toyum. A lot’d say ta sayum.”
And this is how the night ended up passing. The three of them drinking Coke (“Ine off ta drink t… t… tis tree year, Cheerlie”) and him and the old man reminiscing about their time in prison, which Ronan obviously loves: characters they both loved; prison officers they both hated; and the old man’s efforts to teach the inmates rugby and arrange a Leinster v Munster match between Mountjoy and Limerick prisons.
I was bored out of my tree. I was just sitting there, silently, with my mouth slung open, like someone from Louth having the internet explained to them.
Some focking birthday, I thought.
After two or three hours, I decided to hit the road. I was like, “I’ve, er, got to be up early tomorrow,” which was true. I’d already set the alorm for 11am – I had, like, three shredding jobs on.
The old man smiled at me. “This economy won’t stay depressed for long, Ross – not with young go-getters like you fanning the embers,” and that’s when I noticed his expression suddenly change, like he’d had an idea.
It turned out that he'd hadan idea.
“Kennet,” he went, “what are you doing these days?”
Kennet was like, “Eh, norra lot, Cheerlie. Veddy heerd to find woork in the cuddent climate – especially wit me record.”
I knew what the old man was going to say before the words were even out. “You should come and work for Shred Focking Everything!”
I was suddenly, like, shaking my head at him, telling him to shut the fock up.
“Come on, Ross!” he just went. “You’ve been saying for months that we need to take on more staff.”
I was thinking about Christian or Oisinn or Fionn or any of my old teammates from the S who are currently unemployed.
“And Kennet here is a bloody good worker,” he went. “I worked alongside him in the kitchen – until he accidentally stabbed himself in the hand peeling potatoes one day. Kennet, we’d love to have you onboard.”
And Kennet went, “Thanks, Cheerlie. I accept.”
Then he, like, turned to me and stuck his hand out. “Put it there,” he went. “Lookin forward to woorkin wit ye,” and, as I shook the hand of my newest colleague – I swear to God – I could feel his fingers creep up my sleeve and try to steal my watch.
And all the old man could say was, “Welcome to the firm, Kennet.”
rossocarrollkelly.ie, twitter.com/rossock
