Honor hates me and the reason I know she hates me is that she keeps telling me.
She goes, “I actually hate you,” while we’re sitting in the waiting room. “You said you were on Team Honor.”
I'm there, "I am on Team Honor."
She’s like, “No, you’re not.”
"Look," I go, "I'm on Team Honor. I'm on Team Honor all the way. But, unfortunately, I also happen to be on Team Sorcha."
She's there, "You can't be on two teams."
I’m like, “Actually, you can. And I’ll give you a quick example. Johnny Sexton. He’s going to be playing his rugby next season for Racing Metro. But if you think he won’t also be taking an interest in Leinster’s results every week, then…”
I hear my voice suddenly crack. I think I’m still processing the news.
I’m there, “… then you don’t know the dude like I know him.”
While this conversation is taking place, by the way, Sorcha is outside, driving up and down Idrone Terrace, looking for porking.
“Look,” I go, lowering my voice to a whisper, “just because you have to see a child psychiatrist doesn’t mean you have to actually tell her anything.”
Honor's like, "I'm not end telling her anything."
“Well, that’d be my advice to you. Tell her fock-all. And if she shows you – I don’t know – a piece of paper with a blob on it or a squiggle and she asks you what you see when you look at it, say either a rabbit or a butterfly. Because they read shit into shit – that’s what they do for a living, bear in mind.”
Sorcha comes running up the stairs, apologizing to the receptionist and making comments about the on-street porking situation in the centre of Blackrock. The woman smiles and tells us we can go in now.
This psychiatrist bird – Siofra Flynn – is sitting in a leather ormchair when we tip in. She doesn't get up to say hello, just taps the sofa beside her with her hand to tell us to sit down, which is what we end up doing?
She wouldn’t be the prettiest thing on the buffet, this bird. She’s in, like, her late thirties, with red hair which is, like, totally straight and goes down to her waist, a big, pointy hooter and two humun- gous warts on her face – one on her forehead, the other on her chin – and a body like a melting snowman.
Honor goes, “Okay, give it to me, Siofra – warts and all,” and I end up bursting out laughing – and it’s not me just trying to get back on Honor’s good side.
“You are not to speak,” Siofra goes, staring at her, “other than to answer a direct question. First, I want to talk to your parents,” and then she turns her attention back to me and Sorcha – she’s a definite cold fish – and she goes, “How would describe your marriage?”
I’m there, “I think I’ll answer that question, Sorcha. I’m going to use the word perfect.”
“No,” Sorcha goes, “perfect is not the word.”
I’m like, “Ideal, then.”
"Ross," she goes, "we've come here for this woman's help. She can't help us if we sit here and tell her a pack of lies."
Sorcha was the same at school – a real swot.
“We’ve had problems in our marriage,” Sorcha goes and Siofra storts scribbling all this down in her pad. “We actually broke up for two or three years. Honor and I went to live in the States, where she had – oh my God – a lot of amazing, amazing experiences and got to sample another culture.”
“What was the catalyst for the break-up?” Siofra goes.
“Em . . .”
“Was there infidelity in your marriage?”
I’m like, “No – that’s one thing there definitely wasn’t.”
"Yes," Sorcha, at the exact same time, goes. "There was infidelity."
Siofra’s there, “Which one of you?”
“It was Ross.”
Sorcha turns and looks at me with her determined face on her.
See, I knew this was going to be about pointing the finger of blame at me.
“How many times?” Siofra goes. “How many times was he unfaithful to you?”
Sorcha’s like, “Should we definitely be talking about this in front of Honor?”
Honor’s like, “Oh my God, yes! This is hillair!”
“Was it once?” Siofra goes. “Was it twice? Was it more than twice?”
Sorcha’s like, “It was more than twice, yes.”
“Was it more than five times?”
“I would say it was . . . multiple times.”
“Multiple times?”
“I definitely couldn’t put a number on it and I doubt if even he could.”
I can’t stay quiet for this.
I’m like, “You’re doing a lot of writing there, Siofra – as in, writing a lot of shit down?”
She goes, “I’m trying to ascertain the level of stability or other- wise in Honor’s home environment.”
“Well, I’m just commenting on the fact that you seem to be writ- ing a lot of shit down.”
We’re only in the door five minutes and I’m pretty sure I”ve already been identified as the problem.
Siofra looks at me and goes, “What is your relationship with your own parents like?”
I’m there, “Pretty typical, I would say. My old man can be alright, when he’s not trying to be my bezzy mate. And even though he’s a total crook.”
“Your father is a crook?”
“Yeah, no, literally. He did time inside for, like, planning corrup- tion and tax evasion. Perverting the course of justice – blah, blah, blah.”
She scribbles every word of this down, by the way.
She’s like, “And what about your mother?”
I'm there, "She's just a hound. Her and my old man are divorced, can I just add?"
Even that ends up going into her notes.
I’m there, “I’m sorry, is any of this actually relevant?”
Sorcha has to stick her big Shiva Rose into it then.
"I'm Sorry," she goes, "can I just say that I think it is relevant, Ross. There's a lot you're not saying here. And one of the things you're not saying is that you are – oh my God – so horrible to your parents sometimes. Ross, I hope this room is a space in which we can be honest and open without one of us holding it against the other, but you must have noticed that the way Honor speaks to us is exactly the same way that you speak to your parents?"
Honor’s like, “Great story, Mom!”
And that’s when Siofra suddenly closes her pad, puts the top back on her pen and goes, “Okay, our time is up.”
Sorcha’s there, “Really? Already? I mean, we’ve only been here, like, ten minutes. We’re paying for fifty.”
Siofra goes, “I think I’ve heard more than enough for one day.”
I’m there, “So what happens now? Are you going to give us a few pointers?”
“Pointers?” Siofra goes.
I’m there, “Yeah - as in, like, dos and don’ts.”
"No, I'm not going to give you a few pointers. Unspoiling a child is a lengthy process."
“Yeah, no, I thought it might be.”
“I’m sensing a lot of hostility and resentment in Honor.”
“Oh my God,” Honor goes, “you’re an absolute genius!”
Siofra goes, "I don't think it's unrelated to her home environment."
I’m there, “That sounds very much like you’re blaming us.”
“It’s not a question of blame. It’s a question of identifying mode of behaviour and working to change them.”
“But you’re saying we’ve got to come back again.”
“Of course you’ve got to come back again. This is just an introductory interview. I want to see Honor twice a week.”
“Twice?” Sorcha goes – she looks at me with genuine concern on her face.
I’m thinking, yeah, no, you’re the one who opened your big Von Trap in the first place.
“Twice a week,” Siofra goes. “On Mondays, I’ll see the three of you as a family. On Fridays, I’ll see Honor on her own.”
She stands up, which is our invitation to beat it.
Honor fixes the woman with a look and goes, “What’s the deal with your hair? Are you one of those weirdos who’s, like, never had it cut and gets someone to brush it for you every night because it reminds you of your mother?”
Siofra goes, “See you next Tuesday.”
Sorcha’s like, “I thought you said Monday?”
And the woman goes, “Yes, I did.”
Tomorrow: Ross and Sorcha a have a chat about Ross's reproductive system
Seedless in Seattle is published by Penguin Ireland
