Sorcha thinks we should maybe check on Honor and there’s an air of definite excitement in her voice when she says it? Yeah, no, it’s the night before the stort of the Leaving Cert and my wife is absolutely determined that this should be one of those mother-daughter moments.
She goes, “The Leaving Cert puts – oh my God – so much pressure on young people. But it’s not the be-all and end-all. I read an orticle online about all the famous people who failed the Leaving Cert.”
I’m there, “I failed the Leaving Cert – in fairness to me.”
She’s like, “I’m talking about people who went on to actually achieve things?”
Brett goes, ‘She’s close to the end, Ross. I was thinking we should arrange a living funeral for her’
I’m always telling Sorcha to tone down the southside when we come out to Bray but she never listens
‘I haven’t really been living before now,’ Brett tells his wife. ‘Ross has slept with more than 800 women’
‘I’m not even a bit stressed,’ Honor goes, ‘I haven’t done a focking tap for these exams’
And I’m there, “Yeah, no, thanks for that, Sorcha.”
“I just remember that – oh my God – my Mom had this amazing, amazing talk with me the night before I storted mine? She just said, you know, the importance of exams is, like, totally overblown and that the Leaving Cert shouldn’t define you for the rest of your life.”
“That’s easy for you to say. Didn’t you get, like, maximum points?”
“Well, not quite maximum points? I got, like, a B in Honours English, remember?”
How could I forget? Her old man spent years appealing it. I think the case was still trundling through the courts when she was pregnant with Honor.
“Come on,” she goes, “let’s go and talk to her,” and I follow her up the stairs to Honor’s room.
Sorcha knocks and she’s like, “Honor, dorling?” then she pushes the door and looks around it like she’s sticking her head in a lion’s mouth.
Honor isn’t studying. That’s the first thing I notice. She’s sorting through her wardrobe and taking photographs of herself in various outfits with one hand on her hip and her cheeks sucked in.
Sorcha goes, “We’re sorry to bother you, Honor. We were just wondering how the study was going?”
I don’t know where she’s getting this we from?
Honor’s like, “It’s going great – as you can probably see.”
“Well,” Sorcha goes, “we just wanted to say that, even though it may seem like it now, the Leaving Certificate is not the be-all and end-all.”
I’m there, “I’m living proof of that, Honor.”
But Sorcha’s like, “Why don’t you leave the talking to me, Ross? What we’re trying to say, Honor – and I’m echoing my own mother’s words here – is that it doesn’t define you as, like, a person?”
Honor’s there, “Why do I buy so many clothes in taupe? It looks so focking meh on me.”
Sorcha goes, “The important thing – as my mom famously said – is that you turn out a happy, well-adjusted girl with a fully functioning moral compass.”
Honor’s like, “Does this top make my face look washed out? You can tell me.”
“What I’m saying,” Sorcha goes, “is that our results-focused secondary education system sometimes forgets that schools have a role to play in preparing young people for life and not just exams.”
“I hate all my focking clothes.”
“I was just thinking back to my own Leaving Cert – wasn’t I, Ross? At the time, I thought it was the most important thing in the world. But if you were to ask me what did I get in, say, Maths or History now, I’d have to actually rack my brains.”
“Didn’t you get As in everything?” Honor goes.
I’m like, “Except English – and her old man spent eight years in the courts trying get her B upgraded.”
Honor gives her one of her crocodile smiles and goes, “So much for results not being important. Anyway, for your information, I’m not even a bit stressed?”
I’m like, “Oh, that’s good – isn’t it, Sorcha?”
And Sorcha’s there, “Er, yeah – I suppose it is.”
“As a matter of fact,” Honor goes, “I haven’t done a focking tap for these exams.”
And I’m like, “I’m going to say fair focks to you, Honor. I think I speak for both of us when I say you’ve put our minds at ease. Come on, Sorcha, let’s leave her to it.”
But Sorcha’s mind isn’t at ease? Outside on the landing, she goes, “What do you think she meant when she said she hasn’t done a tap?”
I’m there, “Excuse me?”
“Like, did she mean it in the same way that I used to say it? Look, I’m not saying I was a secret studier – which is what all the girls used to say about me – but I was, like, naturally bright and I had an amazing, amazing memory.”
“Again, fair focks.”
“Or was she saying that she hasn’t done a tap in the same way that – no offence, Ross – you didn’t do a tap, as in, like, literally?”
“What does it matter? The important thing is that she’s a happy girl with a fully functioning whatever-you-said.”
“Yes, Ross – but within reason.”
“Within reason?”
“I mean, it’s also important that she gets into a good college. And into a degree course that’s, like, high points.”
“But I thought you said–”
“Never mind what I said. What the fock is she doing in there?”
“I think she was questioning some of her 2024 wardrobe choices.”
She goes, “Did she even have a book open?” and before I can answer no, she bursts into Honor’s room again, with no knock this time, and she’s like, “Why aren’t you studying?”
Honor goes, “Excuse me?”
Sorcha’s there, “You have an exam tomorrow! Where are your books? Where are your cog notes?”
Honor’s like, “I thought you said the Leaving Cert doesn’t matter.”
Sorcha goes, “I didn’t mean it literally doesn’t matter. Oh my God, what happens in the next fortnight is going to shape the rest of your life, Honor! What are you going to do if you don’t get into college? Stort an OnlyFans account? Live on the streets? Become a ketamine addict?”
Honor looks her in the eye and goes, “I have to leave the exam an hour early tomorrow. I have, like, a nails appointment?”
Sorcha ends up totally flipping out and I have to put my orm around her shoulder and escort her out of there like my old dear being helped out of the prosecco tent at Bloom.
She’s like, “You might be fine with having a daughter who fails her Leaving Cert, Ross, but I am not.”
