I hear Hennessy’s voice before I even put the key in the front door?
“The Devil appears to a lawyer,” he goes. “And the Devil tells him, ‘I can give you a beautiful wife, a huge house and make you rich beyond your wildest dreams. All you have to do is give me your soul.’ And the lawyer says, ‘Okay – so what’s the catch?’”
The old man laughs like he hasn’t heard it 200 times before?
“Oh, Hennessy,” he goes, “you’d humour a dying man!”
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?’
And that’s when I hear the sound of Honor laughing – a rare enough occurrence – then she goes, “That is so funny, Hennessy! So what are we going to do about this problem of mine?”
I turn around to Sorcha. I’m wondering if she’s thinking the exact same thing as me. Is she looking to have someone killed?
I push the door of the kitchen and the three of them are sitting around the island, looking as thick as thieves. Which is exactly what they are, of course.
“Kicker!” the old man tries to go. “Evenings getting dorker, eh?” and it’s obvious he’s trying to change the subject. “Won’t be long now until the autumn internationals!”
I’m like, “Yeah, no, I actually think we’ll stuff the All Blacks – ” and then I remember myself. “What the fock is going on? What’s this problem that Honor’s talking about?”
Sorcha’s there, “You’re not looking to have someone – ,” and then she can’t stop herself from looking at Hennessy, “ – bumped off, are you?”
Hennessy goes, “I’m afraid I can’t answer that question due to attorney-client privilege.”
I’m there, “Then you can get the fock out of this house.”
Thia focking Hall. She fancies herself as some kind of, like, investigative journalist?
— Honor
“Oh, calm down,” Honor goes. “We’re talking about this!” and she produces the latest edition of The MAG – as in, the Mount Anville Gazette, in other words, the school’s monthly magazine. “There’s a column in it about me.”
Sorcha’s there, “A column about you?” and then she gives it the old left to right. “Oh my God! Oh! My actual? God!”
I’m there, “What does it say?”
She goes, “Honor O’Carroll-Kelly stands to make a profit of €100k from the sixth-year ski trip.”
Hennessy’s there, “My client has had her good name slandered, traduced and grossly defamed.”
I’m there, “I take it everyone wasn’t happy with the outcome of auction.”
Yeah, no, everyone had to submit blind bids to become one of the lucky 50 to go to St Moritz in January.
“Thia focking Hall,” Honor goes. “She fancies herself as some kind of, like, investigative journalist?”
Sorcha keeps on reading. She’s like, “Everyone needs to be held to account. Honor O’Carroll-Kelly is not above that. As a matter of fact, as head girl, she should be held to the very, very highest standards of behaviour. Well, I do agree with that bit. The MAG will continue to ask questions where we think they are justified.”
The old man goes, “I think we’ll get the blunderbuss out for this one, Old Scout. Like that time when the – quote-unquote – paper of record referred to Ross in one of its so-called match reports as Ross O’Carroll-Kenny. And I told them I wasn’t just going to sue the newspaper. I was going to sue everyone who had sight of the copy and take all of their homes away from them.”
Sorcha goes, “Well, if they seek discovery of Honor’s bank account details, they’ll discover that €100,000 is exactly what Honor stands to make from the school trip – and I suspect you’re making a similar sum, Chorles?”
The old man’s face changes. He doesn’t want that coming out in court.
“You know, Honor,” he goes, “I think we should consider alternatives to suing.”
Hennessy’s there, “Like what?” sounding disappointed, because he loves suing people.
“Well,” the old man goes, “we could have the magazine shut down.”
Sorcha’s there, “You can’t do that?”
Honor’s like, “He can do anything he wants. He’s Chorles O’Carroll-Kelly.”
The old man smiles – validation from his granddaughter. He’s like, “Thank you, Honor!”
Sorcha goes, “You can’t close it down because I was the one who storted it. The MAG was one of my legacy projects – along with the school’s mission statement on environmental sustainability, the indoor mood gorden and the past pupil prayers and prosecco mornings.”
The old man goes, “Things have changed since you were at school, Sorcha.”
She’s like, “Er, how?”
He’s there, “We recognise that the traditional media is our enemy now. Honor, you have to close this publication down before it becomes a thorn in your proverbial side.”
Honor, if you send me a cease and desist letter, God help me, I will send you a cease and desist letter straight back
— Sorcha
Honor goes, “Oh my God, it would be so funny to see the smile wiped off Thia Hall’s face! So how are we going to get it closed down?”
“Well,” the old man goes, “the magazine is full of advertising. All the top legal firms. All the top accountancy firms. They all advertise in it.”
Sorcha goes, “That’s just parents trying to support their children.”
The old man’s there, “Hennessy, you and I are not without friends in this town. We could lean on them, pull in a few favours, and ask them to stop advertising in a magazine that publishes blatant lies – .”
I’m like, “They’re not lies. She’s trousered a hundred K’s.”
“ – such blatant lies,” he goes, “about a girl who only has the best interests of the school at hort.”
Sorcha goes, “You will not close the MAG down, Honor. It’s been publishing monthly for more than a quarter of a century.”
Hennessy’s there, “You must close it to down. Pour decourager les autres – if you’ll pardon the French.”
The old man’s there, “Quite right, Old Bean! Today, they’re making an issue of the ski trip. Imagine what they’ll say when they find out you want to sell the naming rights to the school concert hall.”
Sorcha’s like, “What?”
Honor goes, “Yeah, stay the fock out of it, Mom.”
Hennessy’s there, “Will I send her a cease and desist letter?”
Sorcha goes, “You will not send me a cease and desist letter.”
He’s like, “I will if my client requests it.”
“Honor,” Sorcha goes, “if you send me a cease and desist letter, God help me, I will send you a cease and desist letter straight back.”
Honor thinks about this for a second, then turns to Hennessy and goes, “Actually, do send her one? It might gag her for a while.”
Sorcha’s like, “Ross, are you not going to say something?”
I open my mouth, but I’m just like, “Fock!”
