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‘You still haven’t told us how you got on,” Sorcha goes.
I’m there, “In terms of what?”
She's like, "Er, in terms of the Leaving Cert?"
“Yeah, no,” I go, “I’m quietly confident, although I won’t know for sure until the results come out in September.”
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She's like, "Well, I want you to know that we are – oh my God – so proud of you, even if you do end up failing?"
“You’re the wind beneath my wings, Sorcha.”
"As a matter of fact – so exciting! – I have a little surprise for you."
“A surprise?”
“An actual present – just to say-“
“Fair focks?”
“Exactly.”
"Okay, don't just sit there saying nothing with a dumb grin on your face," I go, "like I did during my French oral. What is this present?"
She’s like, “Well, I was thinking that you deserve to go on a – wait for it! – Leaving Cert holiday!”
Honor looks up from her phone. She’s like, “Oh! My God!”
I say something along pretty similar lines.
I’m there, “Are you actually serious?”
'Whoa, Britney!' Honor goes. 'Did you end up in, like, rehab?'
Sorcha’s like, “Of course I’m actually serious. You worked hord all year, Ross. You deserve a reward.”
“Yeah, no, I suppose I do.”
"Oh my God, I remember my Leaving Cert holiday. We went to Ayia Napa and I went totally wild, even though I couldn't drink because I was on Benadryl for my hay fever. There was one day I ended up nearly getting a tattoo!"
“Whoa, Britney!” Honor goes. “Did you end up in, like, rehab?”
She can be very funny when she’s being horrible and you’re not the one in the firing line.
I’m there, “So, just as a matter of interest, where’s everyone going on the Leaving Cert holiday this year?”
“Magaluf!” Honor goes. “Oh my God, you are so lucky! Can I come with you?”
Sorcha’s there, “Of course you can!”
I’m like, “I don’t know, Sorcha, I’m wondering would it possibly cramp my style to have to drag my daughter around with me like a dead weight – no offence, Honor.”
"Ross," Sorcha goes, "we're all coming with you."
I’m there, “Excuse me?”
“We’re going to make it our actual family holiday this year.”
“Yeah, don’t take this the wrong way, Sorcha, but I’m not sure you’re going to want to watch me cutting loose in Magaluf – you know how possessive you can get. Unless we make it separate aportments.”
“We’re not going to Magaluf, Ross.”
“Excuse me?”
She goes, "The Government is still advising against all non-essential travel to Spain. "
I’m there, “Is that where Magaluf is?”
Yeah, no, I think we can take it for granted that I won’t be passing Geography.
"It's on the Balearic island of Mallorca," Honor goes, looking at her phone, her two thumbs working the keys. "Oh my God, there's an amazing five-stor destination spa hotel – it's getting rave reviews on, like, Trip Advisor?"
“Are you two even listening to me?” Sorcha goes. “We are not going to Magaluf!”
I'm like, "So where are we going then?"
She's there – and this is, like, word for word what comes out of her mouth - "We're going to Ballycanew. "
I end up staring at her for a good, like, thirty seconds.
“What country is that in?” I eventually go.
She's like, "It's in Ireland, Ross."
I’m there, “I thought it might be. Has that kind of ring to it alright.”
Honor goes, “I would rather rip out my own molars with a pliers than go on holidays in Ireland again.”
Sorcha laughs.
She goes, “Oh, come on, you two! We live in this amazing, amazing country and we’ve hordly seen any of it.”
Honor’s there, “What’s there to even see?”
“Er, hello?” she goes. “Ireland is one of the most beautiful countries in the world!” although she doesn’t name anything specific, I notice. “We should use this pandemic as an opportunity to see as much of it as we possibly can.”
I'm there, 'Sorcha, I'm not being melodramatic here, but this is turning out to be the worst day of my life'
I’m like, “So what’s there to see in Ballycanew?”
"A Daybreak and a Londis, " Honor goes. "That's according to Wikipedia."
I’m there, “I’m presuming there’s a five-stor destination spa hotel as well, though.”
"No," Sorcha goes, smiling at me in a patronising way, "we're going to be staying here," and she shows me a photograph on her phone of – I'm not making this up – a literal caravan.
I’m there, “Sorcha, I’m not being melodramatic here, but this is turning out to be the worst day of my life.”
I look at Honor and she’s just, like, white in the face.
I’m there, “Honor, breathe!”
“It belongs to Claire’s parents,” Sorcha goes.
I’m there, “Claire from Bray of all places?”
“Yes, Claire from Bray of all places. She used to spend entire summers in it when she was growing up.”
“Yeah, presumably because they couldn’t afford a place in QDL. Honor, please breathe – you’re storting to scare me now.”
I grab the Donnybrook Fair shopping bag from the island, tip out the contents and hand it to the girl. She holds it to her mouth and tries to bring her breathing under control.
“She had so much fun staying in it when she was younger,” Sorcha goes.
I’m there, “I can’t believe you tried to sell this to me as my Leaving Cert holiday. That’s some honours standard bullshit right there, Sorcha. It’s a genuine mystery that the voters of Dublin Bay South rejected you at the polls.”
But the worst news is yet to come.
She’s there, “Ross, Claire and Garret have invited us to come and stay with them and that’s what we are going to do.”
I'm like, "Whoa, whoa, whoa – say that again?"
“It’s got three bedrooms,” she goes. “There’s one for us and one for the kids.”
“But I hate Claire and Garret! I hate them more than, I don’t know, war!”
“Ross,” she goes, “we are staycationing in Ballycanew next week with Claire and Garret and that’s the end of the matter.”
I suddenly tear the Donnybrook Fair bag out of my daughter’s hands and I go, “Sorry, Honor, my need is greater.”