It’s the old Jonny Bell that hits me first – a combination of bacon, cheese and Tom Ford Portofino that comes wafting up the stairs and under the bedroom door looking for me.
I tip downstairs to the kitchen and there’s a serious spread laid out of all the old favourites. We’re talking pancetta, cheddar and mango croquettes. We’re talking watermelon and chilli halloumi skewers. We’re taking brown butter boxty blinis. I haven’t seen anything like it since the time Sorcha invited all of her friends around to watch the wedding of Harry and Meghan or the time Sorcha invited all of her friends around to watch the wedding of William and Kate.
“The fock is this?” I go.
And Sorcha’s like, “I told you! I’m hosting an end-of-term lunch for the other Mount Anville moms!”
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’
I honestly don’t remember. But then I’m not much of a listener. I tip upstairs again to find Honor on the landing.
She’s like, “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
I’m there, “I doubt it. I’m thinking how can Leinster cut out the handling errors that undid us against Toulouse? But that’s how my, I suppose, brain chooses to work.”
That’s when the doorbell rings. A few seconds later, Sorcha throws it open to let Mallorie Kennedy and Vanessa Mitchell in. There’s, like, air-kissing and fake laughter, and talk about where everyone is going for the summer – or, specifically, when everyone is heading for Quints.
This is how it ends up going for the next, like, 20 minutes. It’s, like, caller after caller. Helen Hall and Orlaith Stapleton, then Ginny Crowe, then Cho Hye-Ji and Ferne Brannigan, until the entire downstairs is twittering like the birdhouse in Dublin Zoo.
“It’s an ambush,” Honor goes.
I’m there, “Do you definitely think?”
And literally five seconds later, Sorcha calls up the stairs, “Honor? Honor, come down here!”
We don’t want anything that’s said in this kitchen to shatter your faith in the democratic process
— Sorcha
I’m like, “What’s going on?”
She’s there, “Isn’t it obvious?”
And I’m like, “Er – no?” because nothing ever is to me.
I follow her down the stairs. We step into the kitchen and it’s, like, thronged with women smelling of neroli and smiling just to show off their orthodontics. I don’t know where to look. Let’s just say that one or two of them had the pleasure of my company back in the day.
Sorcha goes, “Honor, I thought that you – as Head Girl of Mount Anville for next year – might like to meet some of the moms.”
[ ‘I want it gone, Ross. I want you to get it lasered off’Opens in new window ]
Honor’s like, “I know them all. So does Dad, by the way.”
I end up nearly choking on a cucumber and basil gazpacho shot.
I’m there, “I know some of them, Honor,” and I notice that Mallorie Kennedy is blushing and Ginny Crowe is pretending to look at her phone.
Orlaith Stapleton – no messing about – goes, “Can we come straight to the reason why we’re here?”
And Sorcha’s like, “I was thinking we might, like, ease our way into the conversation?”
“We’ve come to make you an offer,” Orlaith goes.
Honor’s like, “An offer?”
Helen Hall goes, “We think the joke has gone far enough. You as Head Girl. Yes, you had your fun. Now it’s time to get real.”
Honor goes, “Er, I won the election? Fair and square?”
Sorcha’s like, “Yes – and we don’t want anything that’s said in this kitchen to shatter your faith in the democratic process, do we, Helen?”
Helen ignores her. She goes, “As a group, Honor, we are not without means. What would you say if we offered you an incentive not to take up the role in September?”
The atmosphere in the room suddenly tightens.
Sorcha goes, “We’re all just concerned, Honor, that you didn’t enter the contest for the right reasons. And we’re obviously worried, given your history, that you’ll bring the office into disrepute.”
I stare at Sorcha, but she refuses to meet my eye. And I don’t blame her – setting up her own daughter like this.
Honor goes, “When you say an incentive–”
It’s Orlaith Stapleton who says it. She’s like, “€50,000″.
Sorcha’s eyes spin like two Magic 8 Balls.
She’s like, “€50,000?” because Honor hasn’t had her mitts on that kind of money since her Confirmation.
“Fifty-thousand euros,” Orlaith goes. “And all you have to do, Honor, is say that, upon reflection, you no longer wish to take up the role and then urge the girls to give their support to Liesel.”
As in, like, her daughter Liesel.
Honor’s like, “€50,000,” sounding unimpressed – like it’s 2006 all over again. “Is that all?”
Granddad told me that they’d try to buy the election
— Honor
Sorcha’s there, “Honor, that’s enough to put you through college.”
And Honor – not unreasonably – goes, “Er, you’re going to put me through college – one way or the other.”
Mallorie Kennedy goes, “€70,000,” throwing twenty K’s of her own money on to the pile.
Again, Honor doesn’t react the way they’re expecting her to? She looks at her old dear and goes, “You should be ashamed of yourself.”
Sorcha looks away.
Honor’s there, “When we buried that time capsule in the gorden a few years ago, you put one of your Civics essays from school in it – about the importance of, like, democracy?”
Cho Hi-Jye goes, “€80,000″.
Honor’s like, “And here you are, trying to overturn a legitimate election result ... with money.”
Vanessa Mitchell goes, “€100,000″.
That’s the point at which I expect Honor to back down and take the moo. Everyone has their price. A hundred grand is the going rate for pretty much everything in this port of the world. But no, Honor holds firm.
She goes, “Look at me!” talking to her old dear. “Look me in the eye!” which – reluctantly – Sorcha then does? “Shame on you! Shame on you!”
Honor turns on her heel and sort of, like, flounces out of the room.
I’m there, “I agree. Shame on all of you. Although, Mallorie, it’s nice to see you again. And Ginny, you’re looking well.”
Ferne Brannigan shouts “€120,000″ as I follow Honor out of the room and up the stairs.
I knock on her bedroom door and then I stick my head around it. She’s lying on her bed – on her phone.
I’m there, “Honor, I’m so proud of you.”
She goes, “Granddad told me that they’d try to buy the election.”
I’m like, “But to turn down all that money – ”
“I didn’t turn down sh*t,” she goes. “Grandad said that whatever they offered, he’d match it.”
There are days when I’m proud to say that I’m an O’Carroll-Kelly.
