I tell Honor that I’m proud of her.
I’m there, “Obviously, I don’t mean that literally?” because all she’s actually done is spend her Paddy’s Day picking litter up off the beach in Curracloe as port of her community service. “I’m proud of the way you’re, like, owning what you did?”
She goes, “Oh my God, my clothes stink,” as she sort of, like, flops into the front passenger seat.
She does stink, by the way, so I make sure to open all the windows. Then I stort the cor and I point it in the direction of – yeah, no – Dublin.
The old dear goes, ‘I don’t want my vital work on the campaign Move Funderland to the Northside to die with me’
‘I remember Past Ross thinking, you need to stort being nicer to Future Ross. He’s a genuinely good bloke’
‘Sorcha, I’m wondering is climate justice maybe a bit above Santa’s pay grade?’
Sorcha goes, ‘I make no apologies for saying it, Honor. You are a danger to democracy’
She’s in an absolutely fouler. She’s like, “How many hours is that I’ve done?”
I’m there, “Er, I think it’s, like, around 30?”
“And how many hours do I have left?”
“I wouldn’t be the best at maths, Honor, but I’m thinking maybe 470 – somewhere in that ballpork?”
‘I didn’t play football for Rathnew. I didn’t play football for anyone. I resent the allegation’
“For fock’s sake.”
“No one likes manual labour, Honor.”
“Can Hennessy not get me out of this?”
“Hennessy did get you out of it. You got community service instead of prison.”
“I think I’d rather have gone to prison.”
“Don’t say that.”
“I mean it. And just so you know, I’m mixing with all sorts while I’m doing this so-called community service. There’s a girl I was picking up litter with today and she’s a drug dealer. She gave me her number.”
“Why did she give you her number?”
“She wants me to meet her – in Bray.”
“You wouldn’t go to Bray. You were curled up in the footwell, having a panic attack, when we went through the Loughlinstown roundabout this morning.”
He looks at my name, then at my boat race. Then he says the most random thing. He’s like, “Do I know you?”
“Well, I just want you to know that if I end up getting sucked into a life of crime, it’s because you didn’t do your job as a father in protecting me.”
“Honor, sometimes we have to do things in life that we don’t want to do.”
“Er, this is the first I’m hearing about it?”
“Well, it’s true. There are times when we have to just suck it up – and this is one of those – oh, fock it.”
“What’s wrong?”
“The Feds are behind us. He’s flashing his lights at me to pull in.”
“What speed were you doing?”
“A hundred-and-something. Fock, if I get any more points on my licence, I’m off the road.”
“Can’t you just put your foot down and outrun him?”
“Outrun him? God, I really am worried about the company you’re keeping. Anyway, they’ll have seen my licence plate by now.”
The dude turns on his siren and flashes me some more, so I end up pulling into the hord shoulder – no choice in the matter – then I turn around to Honor and I’m like, “Leave the talking to me, okay? Gift of the gab and blah, blah, blah.”
Twenty seconds later, there’s a gorda standing at my door. I open the window halfway and go, “What seems to be the problem, gord?”
He’s like, “You were doing 138km/h.”
I’m there, “Was it that much? And what’s the speed limit in these ports?”
He goes, “It’s a lot less than 138km/h per hour. Can I see your licence please?”
Honor’s like, “Dad, just drive off.”
I watch the dude’s eyes go wide.
I’m there, “She’s been hanging around with a bad crowd – on the instructions of a judge,” and I reach into my pocket and whip out my wallet. “There’s my driving licence,” and I hand it to him.
He looks at my name, then at my boat race. Then he says the most random thing. He’s like, “Do I know you?”
Honor’s there, “He already has nine penalty points, so it’s possible you’ve pulled him over before.”
I like, “Honor, I told you to stay out of this.”
“Did you play football?” the dude goes.
I’m there, “Definitely focking not,” disgusted that anyone could think me capable of that.
He’s like, “You did. You played football for Rathnew.”
I’m there, “I didn’t play football for Rathnew. I didn’t play football for anyone.”
“You’re a ringer for a fella that did.”
“Well, I can’t help that – but I resent the allegation.”
He stares at me for a good 20 seconds, then he goes, “I’ll be back in a moment,” and he takes my licence back to his cor to – I don’t know – run a check on it.
Honor goes, “Oh my God, are you thick? He’s trying to let you off.”
I’m there, “Excuse me?”
“When a gord asks if you played Gaelic football, it’s code – like when a barrister tells a judge that his client went to a rugby school. It’s a way of saying, ‘Hey, we’re all on the same side here.’”
Thirty seconds later, the dude is back at my window. He hands me my licence and he goes, “You know you already have nine penalty points?”
“I’m not telling him I played Gaelic football, Honor.”
“What, you’d rather lose your licence, would you?”
She does have a point.
I’m there, “I’m not sure I could even get the words out.”
She goes, “What was that you were saying to me about having to do things in life that we don’t want to do? About having to suck things up?”
“There are exceptions to that rule.”
“Dad, I’ve just spent eight hours cleaning a beach – do you want to know some of the things I had to pick up with my hands?”
“Not really, no.”
“If I can do that, then you can say that you played Gaelic football.”
“Where even is Rathnew?”
“Who focking cares? Just tell him you played football for them. Then he’ll go, ‘They’re doing well this year – might go all the way,’ or he’ll go, ‘They’re doing shit,’ and then he’ll tell you to watch your speed in future. Dad, this is how Ireland works.”
I’m there, “Fine – whatever.”
Thirty seconds later, the dude is back at my window. He hands me my licence and he goes, “You know you already have nine penalty points?”
I’m there, “How are they getting on this season?”
He goes, “Who?”
“Yeah, no, Rathnew. Because do you remember you asked me a minute ago whether I played for them or not – ”
He smiles at me. He goes, “It was you! I knew it! I never forget a face!”
But then I suddenly hear myself go, “No, it wasn’t me. I’ve never played Gaelic football in my life. I hate the thing.”
And Honor leans forward in her seat and goes, “Do you know anywhere around here that sells Leap Cords?”
