“If some wooden comes at you with a shank,” Ronan goes, “grab them be the wrist and twist it, then hit them at the base of the nose with the heel of yisser hand, driving upwards. Upwards – that’s it.”
Yeah, no, it’s the morning of Honor’s sentencing and he’s giving his sister some self-defence tips that might come in handy in the event of her being sent down.
He’s like, “The utter one you could do is – again – grab the wrist of the hand what’s holding the shank and then you kick out the sham’s kneecap – like this. Bang!”
I turn to Sorcha and I go, “He’s got mixed mortial orts training – it’s some comfort, I suppose.”
Sorcha is standing at the island with a boning knife in one hand and an espresso in the other, grinning at us like a serial killer
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?’
This is us in the corridor outside the courtroom, by the way. Sorcha has got, like, tears in her eyes. She goes, “They don’t really send people from our background to prison, do they?”
I’m there, “I wouldn’t have thought so. But she damaged a lot of cors, Sorcha – good people’s cors. We’re talking BMW X7s. We’re talking Toyota Sequoias. We’re talking Jeep Grand Cherokees.”
She goes, “But my dad is a family law solicitor and my mom is a Minister of the Eucharist,” like she’s sitting the interview for the position of Mount Anville Head Girl all over again. “Could we somehow get that information to the judge?”
I’m there, “I’m sure our barrister would have mentioned it if he thought it would cut any ice with the dude.”
‘You were going to ask are we in any way responsible for the way our daughter turned out. And the answer, I’m happy to say, is no’
“And your schools rugby career. Could that help her?”
“He mentioned it during the hearing, Sorcha. There’s a reason these goys are paid the big bucks.”
She seems to relax when she’s reminded of that. But then she hears Ronan, at the other end of the corridor, go, “Now, I’ll show you what to do if some wooden tries to scald with you with boiling wather,” and I watch her eyes fill up again.
She goes, “Ross, I wonder are we–?”
And I’m there, “Sorcha, don’t even finish that question.”
“You don’t even know what I was going to say.”
“You were going to ask are we in any way responsible for the way our daughter turned out. And the answer, I’m happy to say, is no.”
“How can you be so certain?”
“Sorcha, think about it. We gave that girl everything she ever wanted – no questions asked, didn’t we?”
“We did.”
“So we have absolutely nothing to feel guilty about – thanks be to God.”
Into the court we go. We sit down, then we stand up again when the judge arrives, even though Honor has to be told twice to do it?
“I was awake all night and I was thinking about the day she was born. She was such a beautiful baby.”
“Sorcha, like I always say, our daughter came out of the womb with her two middle fingers raised to the world. That’s not down to us. That’s down to – I want to say – genetics?”
That’s when Honor’s name is suddenly called.
Ronan’s going, “Remember the vunnerdobble points – eyes, nose, throat, chest, kneecap and groin. Say for them me.”
Honor’s like, “Eyes, nose, throat–”
I’m there, “Ding-ding! Round’s over, goys! Come on, Honor, you’re up.”
She walks past me and into the court with a swagger that reminds me of myself in my rugby prime.
Ronan goes, “Doatunt woody, Sorcha. I know one or two of the screws in Oberstown. If she gets jayult, thee’ll make shurden she does her poddidge on a piddow.”
Sorcha’s like, “Does her what on a what?”
I’m there, “Her porridge on a pillow. It’s street slang, Sorcha. Means they’ll make it easy for her inside – am I right, Ro?”
He goes, “You’re bang on the muddy, Rosser.”
Into the court we go. We sit down, then we stand up again when the judge arrives, even though Honor has to be told twice to do it?
“Honor O’Carroll-Kelly,” the dude goes, getting straight down to business, “you have never wanted for anything – just as you have never worked a single day in your entire life”.
I turn to Sorcha and I smile as if to say, ‘See what I mean? Two words – model parenting!’
I turn to Sorcha. I’m like, ‘Two-hundred focking K’s? There’s no way we’re paying that. I’ll get it off my old man’
He goes, “It’s clear to me that you have been indulged by your father and your mother to a degree that is unhealthy–”
Fock, I think, this is an unexpected twist.
“–indeed, to a degree that has severed, in your mind, the connection between actions and consequences,” the dude goes, “and desensitised you to the seriousness of these crimes you committed”.
Sorcha’s like, “Oh my God, he is blaming us, Ross?”
The dude goes, “The destruction of other people’s property is not, whatever you may been brought up to believe, a victimless crime. People who park their cars in public areas, or outside their homes at night, are entitled to do so in the full confidence that they won’t be vandalised or damaged. You slashed the tyres of at least 150 cars, causing an estimated €200,000 worth of damage. That you did this under the cover of environmental activism is of no interest to this court. You will pay back every single cent of that money.”
I turn to Sorcha. I’m like, “Two-hundred focking K’s? There’s no way we’re paying that. I’ll get it off my old man.”
The dude isn’t leaving it there, though.
He goes, “Having read the social worker’s report on this case, it is my view that a custodial sentence might do you some good with regard to teaching you vital lessons in personal responsibility that were clearly denied to you as part of your upbringing.”
I’m there, “S**t, he’s going to send her to jail.”
Sorcha’s like, “Oh! My God!” and – yeah, no – I notice that even Honor has turned pale and she’s sitting up straight in her seat. I’m wondering should I shout out something about playing for Castlerock after all, but then there’s no telling what school he might have gone to. It’s probably Clongowes or Belvedere, in which case he wouldn’t be a fan.
“However,” the dude goes, “against the urge to impose a custodial sentence, I must balance the circumstances of your upbringing, which was without rules, without boundaries and without any sense of accountability or understanding of the differences between right and wrong. So I am imposing a sentence of 18 months’ imprisonment, suspended for two years. You will pay a fine in the amount of whatever the car repairs cost and you will perform 500 hours of community service.”
And in the relief of the moment, all Honor can think to say is, “Do I get paid for that?”
