Listen up: ‘Any week in which Honor doesn’t maim another student is a bonus'

I get a phone call from Xu Yanlu, the woman who teaches my daughter Mandarin and advanced guqin zither, inviting me and Sorcha up to the school for a chat. And we do what we always do whenever one of Honor’s teachers asks to see us – we lawyer up.

At 11 o'clock on Tuesday morning, we're sitting outside Xu's office and I'm trying to get Hennessy on the old Jo Malone. "It keeps going to his voicemail," I go. "I don't believe this – he said he'd be here?"

But then Xu’s door opens and she sticks her head out and goes, “Hello, Sorcha. Hello, Ross. I’ll see you now.”

Sorcha goes, “We’d prefer to have legal representation – we’re actually entitled to that under the Constitution.”

“And whatever she’s done,” I go, “can I just remind you that she spends exactly one-third of her life in this school building? Which makes you exactly one-third responsible for the way she’s turned out. We’re not, like, ducking our responsibilities as parents here. We’re just saying that you have to acknowledge the part you’ve played in her becoming, well, a thug.”

Xu laughs. She goes, “Honor’s not in trouble!”

We’re like, “What?” because it’s a genuine shock.

She’s there, “Come in and sit down,” which is what we end up doing, even though it’s going totally against Hennessy’s advice.

“Your daughter,” Xu goes, “has achieved a level of fluency in Mandarin that I have never seen before in an eight-year-old child. She speaks the language as well as a Chinese native of the same age.”

Sorcha turns to me, her mouth slung open like a bowhead whale swimming into a swarm of krill. We have very low expectations of our daughter. Any week in which she doesn’t maim another student or drive a teacher to a nervous breakdown is a bonus as far as we’re concerned.

“I’m sorry,” Sorcha goes, wiping away a tear, “we’re not used to hearing people praise our daughter. We do encourage her to speak the language. She orders our takeaway for us every Saturday night in actual Chinese. I know that sounds possibly racist but it’s not.”

I’m there, “Do you remember the time they forgot to put my salt and chili king prawns in the bag and I told Honor to ring them. She had the poor girl in tears, whatever she said to her. It’s one of the few times I’ve been genuinely proud of her.”

“Well,” Sorcha goes, “she possibly gets her love of languages from me. I studied Arabic as an extra subject for the Leaving and I did an Erasmus year in Baden-Baden.”

Xu waits until she’s finished, then goes, “The reason I asked you to come here today was to talk to you about a thing called the Mandarin Immersion Programme for Gifted Students. I’d like to recommend Honor for it.”

“Gifted?” Sorcha goes. “Did you genuinely just use the word gifted?”

Xu laughs. She’s like, “Yes, I said gifted.”

Sorcha’s there, “That’s, like, oh my God.”

And Xu goes, “Yes, it is. Now, if I put Honor forward for this programme, it would mean her having to move to China for 16 weeks.”

“The answer is yes,” I go. “Do you have any forms you need us to sign?”

Sorcha’s like, “Wait a minute, Ross – let’s hear what’s involved first.”

Xu goes, “Well, she’ll be placed with a host family – they’ll be very, very wealthy, so you’ll have nothing to worry about. She’ll go to school every day, just like she does here, except she’ll learn everything through Mandarin. In the evenings and at weekends, her host family will ensure she is fully immersed not just in the language but in all aspects of the local culture.”

I'm there, "So it's kind of like Irish college except it's in, like, China. Well, you've done a great job selling it to me, Xu. Unless you've any questions, Sorcha?"

Sorcha’s there, “I have to admit, it does sound like an amazing opportunity.”

I’m there, “We’ll be rid of the girl for 16 weeks. I’ll be able to watch the World Cup in peace – won’t have her throwing M&Ms at my head while I trying to take notes in my famous Tactics Book.”

Sorcha’s still not convinced, though. She’s like, “I think I need to know a bit more about the family she’s going to be staying with. They’re definitely rich?”

Xu’s there, “They’re very, very rich.”

“Well, I have to admit,” Sorcha goes, “they sound lovely. I suppose we should talk to Honor and see what she thinks.”

I’m there, “I wouldn’t bother. What if she says no? I think we should keep it from her until we get the airport. Then it’ll be, ‘You’re going to China. You’re someone else’s problem now.’ Boom!”

Xu goes, “I should mention to you that Honor is very, very keen to go. In fact, she was convinced that you’d say no, which is why I said I’d talk to you on her behalf.”

Sorcha looks at me and smiles sadly. “Ross,” she goes, “it’s the other side of the world.”

I’ll have to take her word for that. I have no idea where China is.

I’m there, “If we deny her this opportunity, Sorcha, she’ll make our lives even more miserable than they already are.”

Sorcha nods. She reaches for my hand – presumably for strength – then goes, “Okay – she can go.”

Xu smiles. She’s like, “I’ll submit the application today. If she’s accepted, she’ll be leaving in the first week of July.”

It’s at that exact point that the door flies open and Hennessy comes tearing into the office. “I am giving you notice,” he goes, at the top of his voice, “that I intend to apply to the High Court for an interlocutory injunction, preventing you from taking any disciplinary action against my client’s daughter, until such time as…”

I’m like, “Hennessy, shut the fock up. We’re good here.”

We’re better than good. First, Johnny Sexton plays his last game for Racing Metro – and now my daughter is going to live on, supposedly, the other side of the world. All in all, I would say that this is one of the greatest weeks of my life.

ILLUSTRATION: ALAN CLARKE