Sorcha, it has to be said, was pretty stung by the recent intervention that was staged by her old pair and her friends on the whole subject of our daughter's behaviour. They basically accused us of being bad parents – this was in the Saddle Room of the Shelbourne Hotel – and Sorcha took it pretty personally.
I think part of the reason for that is that, on some level, she possibly blames herself for the way Honor has turned out? Whereas I'd be more inclined to think, look, sometimes ugly parents produce good-looking kids, and sometimes good parents produce kids who are assholes. No one can explain it. It's genetics. A mystery.
But it was pretty obvious after that night that Honor was going to cop some kind of backlash from her mother for the embarrassment she caused her. I woke up at about four o'clock in the morning to find Sorcha re-reading this famous book that was written by a girl she was in UCD with about how to unspoil children.
Unspoiling Honor is a thing we’ve been doing on and off for the past six months. I’ve mentioned it before. It’s a pretty simple process. When your eight-year-old daughter tells you that she wants €1,400 for a metallic lace dress by Dolce and Gabbana, instead of going, “Yeah, no, I’ll stick it on the credit cord,” you go, “No, I’m afraid you can’t have it.”
It may have storted in America, this idea. A lot of them do.
Anyway, that’s exactly what Sorcha tells her when we’re in the cor on the way to Fundrum on Thursday evening. “No,” she goes, “you can’t have it. I’ve never heard anything so ridiculous. €1,400 for a dress!”
Sorcha would pay that for a jester's hat and a monocle if Karl Lagerfeld said it was the look for A/W14. I don't mention that, though. It's important for parents to present a united front – again, that's according to this book.
Honor tries to go, "€1,400 isn't dear for a dress. Oh my God, you're such a scabby bitch."
“It has nothing to do with being scabby,” Sorcha tries to go. “We’re trying to impress on you that, in this world, nothing is for free. When you get older, you’ll discover that things aren’t going to be just handed to you on a plate. You have to work for them.”
I wouldn’t be a hundred per cent in agreement with Sorcha using shock tactics like that – especially with the economy picking up the way it obviously is. There’s also another argument that says, look, Honor’s going to be a little cow whether we hand her stuff or not. At least the stuff distracts her so that she gets off our case for a little while.
Again, though, it’s important that parents don’t undermine each other. That’s the thinking.
Honor doesn’t take the news well. “I want that dress,” she goes, staring at the back of Sorcha’s head.
“While acknowledging your desire for the dress,” Sorcha goes, “I’m also telling you that it isn’t something you’ve earned.”
“You know you have a bald patch? It’s all that peroxide you put in your hair. When you’re 40, your head is going to look like an egg.”
See, this is the time when giving Honor stuff is a good idea – when she storts with the hurtful lines.
“Well, luckily,” Sorcha goes, “I don’t have to listen to you being unpleasant to me,” and she sticks her earphones into her ears. “I’m going to have another listen to this song on my iPhone.”
By the way, the song – so-called – is sung by Garret, as in Garret who's married to Claire from Bray of all places. He wrote and recorded it for her as an anniversary present, the sap – just him and his acoustic guitar. Don't you just hate men who raise the bor to unrealistic heights for the rest of us? Sorcha thinks it's, oh my God, so romantic, although I think it's a total rip-off of Hozier.
I continue driving until I hit a red light. I can feel Honor staring at the back of my head now and it's obvious that she's trying to come up with something terrible to say to me. It's usually about my rugby or my ears.
"THIS IS - OH MY GOD - SO AN AMAZING SONG!" Sorcha goes, shouting the way you do when you've got earphones in. "HE SHOULD ACTUALLY RELEASE THIS."
I go to check my voicemail messages. I’m flogging a gaff in Booterstown at the moment and I’m playing this couple from Dalkey off against a rival bidder who doesn’t even exist. The couple dropped out of the race when the price hit the 650k mork, but instinct tells me that the missed call I had an hour ago was from them, looking to get back in with an improved offer.
I hit 171 and I hold the phone to my ear.
"REPENTANCE AND ABSOLUTION, IS NOT ALWAYS THE SOLUTION," Sorcha goes. "THESE LYRICS ARE ACTUALLY DEEP!"
The next thing I hear is, “You have one new voice message,” except it isn’t in my left ear. It’s coming through the cor speakers, because Sorcha obviously took it upon herself to synch my new iPhone with the hands-free kit in the cor.
And that’s when I also hear a voice that sends my blood instantly cold.
It’s like, “Hi, Ross, this is Claudia - as in, like, Claudia from the other night?”
In the back, Honor goes, “Oh! My God!” the delight obvious in her voice.
I'm suddenly hitting random buttons on my phone, trying to switch it off, except I can't?
“Er, I’m just ringing to say,” the voice goes, “that you left your t-shirt here the other night, but also to say that, um, well, I had a really, really good night. It’s a pity you couldn’t stay. I hope your rugby match the next day went well.”
“Oh my God!” Honor goes. “Hill! Air!”
I look at Sorcha. She's going, "I'LL SACRIFICE MY DESIRES ON THE ALTAR OF YOUR DEVOTION – THIS IS LIKE ACTUAL POETRY!"
I'm looking at the phone, thinking, okay, how do I take the battery out? But meanwhile the voice is still going, "I also just wanted to say, you know, thank you for being so, so nice. I've been thinking about what you said – about all guys not being the same and how I just need to become better at spotting the good ones. It was, like, so what I needed to hear. I'd love to see you again. Maybe give me a call sometime."
Honor is laughing in that cruel way she always does.
Sorcha pulls out her earphones and goes, "Oh my God, that is such an amazing song."
And Honor, without hesitation, goes, “Dad said I can have that dress.”
Sorcha looks at me, her mouth open in shock. She’s like, “You’re prepared to undermine me like that?”
“Yeah, no,” I go. “I’ll stick it on the credit cord.”
