Honor’s playdate with Mallorie could end up my playdate with Mallorie’s old dear if I play my cords right

THEY’RE SAYING on the radio that someone from Donnybrook won the lottery.

It's a sign of how focked this country must be that people in Donnybrook are even doingthe lottery. This is presumably what the old dear meant when she described that new Subway outlet a few doors down from Terroirs as the slippery slope – or the slippery slape, as they say in that port of the world.

I just switch the radio off. Recession or no recession, I don’t want my daughter hearing horror stories like that. I suppose one of your instincts as a parent is to always, like, protect? Sorcha has a – believe it or not – job interview this morning, which is the reason I’m taking Honor to her friend Mallorie’s gaff on Highfield Road.

They’ve got, like, a playdate arranged? Of course, I didn’t need a lot of persuading to volunteer my services. Mallorie’s old dear, Una, is a ringer for Kate Garraway and is – Sorcha let this slip – recently separated, which explains the definite electricity between us the couple of times I’ve met her while dropping Honor off at Little Roedean’s.

Honor has her phone out, texting away like credit is unending. You know what they’re like at five.

“Mallorie’s wearing her Uggs as well,” she looks up and goes. And I actually laugh, roysh, because this is exactly what Sorcha and Erika have been doing since they were, like, 13: consulting each other first thing in the morning before deciding on their outfits for the day.

“So this Mallorie,” I go, as we’re driving up Milltown Road, “her old man’s no longer on the scene, no?”

She just shrugs. “I don’t know.”

I’m there, “You don’t know? Even though she’s, like, your best friend?”

She pulls a face. “She is sometimes,” she goes. “When she’s not hanging around with total povs.” I laugh so hord I end up nearly wrapping the cor around a lamp post. It’s like when the first F-word slips your child’s lips. I think most of us would agree that hearing children swearing is very, very funny, but at the same time, roysh, there’s also a port of you thinking, er, did I really just hear that?

I’m there, “Did you say povs, Honor?”

She's like, " Duh? Yeah? She's friends with, like, Anita and Sian – they're, oh my God, total povs."

I’m there, “Where did you hear that word?”

She goes, “From you, Daddy.” She’s actually right. I do use it a bit. You have to be careful with kids – they’re like actual sponges.

“Well, you possibly shouldn’t say that about people,” I feel the sudden responsibility to go. “Without wanting to bore the ears off you about, I don’t know, global affairs and shit, there are a lot of people out there doing a lot of suddenly desperate things, Honor. They’re the times we’re suddenly living in. You might have heard there a minute ago that Donnybrook Fair are doing the Lotto now. Dealing in misery, as your grandmother would say.”

There's, like, silence between us then. I pull up outside the gaff. "Just maybe tryto not use that word any more?" I go. "Especially around your mother, okay?"

“Okay,” she goes, good as gold, then races up the path and rings the doorbell. I’m still climbing out of the cor when the door opens and Mallorie is suddenly stood there. Honor – I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes – goes, “Hi, Babes!” then Mallorie gives it the same, “Hi, Babes!” and they just, like, air-kiss each other.

I end up just watching this scene, with my mouth open, totally mesmerised.

“They’re like teenagers the day they’re born,” I hear this voice from inside the house go, then out steps Una. She offers me her hand to shake, which is a bit awkward, to be honest with you.

“Hello there,” I just go, laying it down like a Fiddy track. The two of us end up standing on the doorstep having this amazing, I suppose you could say, philosophical discussion about children of today – all Mallorie will eat, she says, is tofu – while I drop in one or two subtle questions, trying to find out, slyly, what her actual marital situation is – “What does Mallorie’s old man think of the whole tofu thing?” – at the same time trying to cop a look at her bra through the gap in her shirt buttons.

“John and I are separated,” she goes.

I’m like , “Awww, what a bummer!” and you can see me, I’m sure, with my big sincere face on me. “I’m actually in the same boat myself, as it happens. Me and Sorcha – who you’ve met – yeah, no, we’re about to go down the whole divorce road.”

“Yes, she told me.”

“I’ve got to say this to you, though: I hope you’re back in the game – in terms of meeting people and blah blah blah.”

“Well,” she goes, “it’s only been three months, as it happens.”

I’m there, “Doesn’t matter. My advice would be that it’s never too early.” She just smiles. She has a definite thing for me.

“I’m forgetting my manners,” she suddenly goes, “come in,” and I follow her into the gaff. “Will you have a coffee?” So I’m stood there in the kitchen, about to answer yes when – unbelievable timing – my phone all of a sudden rings. I whip it out, roysh, and look at the little screen.

It’s Sorcha.

“Are you going to answer that?” Una goes.

I’m like, “Nah – it’s, er, no one. I actually get a lot of crank calls, which is why I generally screen.” Except she can actually see the picture of Sorcha on it. “Is that not your wife?” she goes.

I’m like, “Soon to be ex-wife.”

“So would you not answer it?”

I end up just rolling my eyes and going, “Fine!”

I’m like, “Sorcha, can this wait?” I realise immediately that she’s, like, crying, which means it possibly can’t.

“I have never been so humiliated in my life,” she goes, not even answering my question.

I’m like, “I take it the job interview didn’t go well.”

“There were, like, 700 of us in for it, Ross. They weren’t even one-on-one interviews. They sat us in, like, rows in this lecture theatre and we had to, like, shout out answers to the interview questions? The people with the best answers were told to go into, like, a second room. It was like The X Factor, Ross. It’s only a job in a clothes shop!”

“See, they can get away with that,” I go, trying to sound sympathetic, “what with the whole current economic thing.”

“Ross,” she goes, “I want you to bring Honor home.”

I’m like, “Errr,” staring at

Una, who’s putting out the cups. “Your timing couldn’t be worse, Babes.”

“Bring her home now!” she just roars.

I’m sure I’m not the only one, but this recession is really storting to get me down.

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