It would be an understatement to say that Honor was never the most popular girl growing up. As a matter of fact, on the very rare occasions when she was invited to a porty, Sorcha used to sew cubes of pancetta into the hem of her dress so that at least the family’s dog would play with her.
Not that we’ve ever told her that, of course.
Well, anyway, those days are well and truly gone if the reception she receives in the deportures hall of Dublin Airport is anything to go by. Yeah, no, as head girl of Mount Anville, she’s leading the sixth-year skiing trip to St Moritz, where the 50 girls who submitted the highest bids in a blind auction will be staying in my old man’s villa for a week. We’re standing there with all of the other parents to see off our daughters in their designer ski clobber. And the girls, like I said, are all over Honor, telling her that she looks so amazing and that her snow jacket is so cute on her.
They’re all delighted to have made the cut, although they paid through the nose for it. The rumour is that Honor and my old man made a profit of €100k from the trip, although I’ve no way of checking this, having no access to my daughter’s bank account. I’m going to say fair focks, though. As a matter of fact, I do?
‘You’re both loved and feared, Honor – and I’m so proud’
Ross O’Carroll-Kelly: ‘Why do you want to go disinterring the past, Ross?’
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’
“What do you mean, fair focks?” Sorcha goes.
I’m there, “I’m just saying she is suddenly one popular girl.”
Sorcha goes, “Ross, she’s surrounded herself with sycophants who are just happy to have got on the trip ahead of a hundred disappointed girls who got priced out of it.”
I’m there, “A pretty good preparation, I would have said, for the world that’s waiting for them out there.”
She’s like, “Ross, I honestly don’t know how you can be happy about this.”
But I’m looking at my daughter and she’s in her actual element. She’s got, like, 50 Mounties fawning all over her. And as a former Leinster Schools Senior Cup winner, I know how that feels.
She manages to tear herself away from the adulation to ask us why the fock we’re still hanging around like a bad smell.
Sorcha goes, “We said we were going to see you off, Honor, and that’s what we’re doing. Although I’m storting to wish I’d volunteered to go on this trip as a chaperone.”
Honor’s there, “Er, why?” like she couldn’t think of anything worse.
Sorcha’s like, “Because I’ve been Mount Anville head girl, remember? I navigated all of the hazards that the role involves.”
Honor goes, “Do you see any hazards? All I see is a bunch of 50 saps who I’ve manipulated into liking me.”
Sorcha’s like, “I don’t want to lecture you again, Honor, but being head girl of any school is an important, important responsibility. It’s not about enhancing your popularity within your peer group.”
Honor’s there, “Maybe that’s why everyone hated you then.”
“I’d like to think that no one hated me. I just didn’t court approval, that’s all.”
“Yeah, but the girls in your year never looked at you the way that lot are looking at me right now.”
Sorcha tries to urinate on the girl’s parade, though. She goes, “It’s not the whole year, Honor. It’s 50 students. I might have been at times – yeah, no – unpopular, like when I decided the school cafeteria should go vegan, but I always sought to be a unifying force among my fellow students. I tried to bring them with me.”
But Honor’s there, “I tried to bring them with me too. It’s not my fault that their parents bid too low.”
I decide to say something positive just to counter all the negativity she’s getting from her old dear. I don’t want to knock the girl’s confidence.
I’m there, “You’re both loved and feared, Honor – and I’m so proud of you. It’s hord to believe your old dear had to sew pancetta into the hem of your porty dress so that dogs would show an interest in you.”
It’s, like, me and my big mouth.
She goes, “Excuse me?”
And I’m there, “Er, yeah, no, it was, like, a joke, Honor?”
Which it wasn’t, of course.
She goes, “Whatevs. I’ll see you in a week,” and she makes her way back over to her fan club.
Sorcha goes, “Look at the dirty looks we’re getting from the other parents, Ross. They know that our daughter has basically extorted them.”
But before I get a chance to go, “That’s their tough shit,” there’s a sudden change in the atmosphere in the deportures hall. Every conversation has stopped.
I spin around – following what suddenly seems to be everyone’s line of vision? – to see that Thia Hall has arrived. And I watch Honor mouth the words, “The fock is she doing here?”
Thia Hall, just to give you some context, was Honor’s main rival for the role of head girl. She’s also the editor of the school magazine, which has been highly critical of the way she’s performed the job, describing her as “fascistic” – probably not even a word – and “a threat to the democracy we cherish”.
That’s teenage girls for you.
Honor makes a beeline for her. She’s like, “Where are you going? Let me guess – Disneyland Paris with your parents! You’re so lame!”
But Thia’s like, “I’m going skiing. We’re going skiing.”
And that’s when Honor looks over her shoulder and notices a bunch of other girls from her year congregating behind her.
Honor’s like, “Skiing? Skiing where?”
Thia’s there, “Gstaad.”
Honor goes, “Gstaad?”
Thia’s like, “Yeah, no, it’s in Switzerland.”
Honor’s there, “I know where Gstaad is.”
Given that she failed geography in her Christmas exams, I’m guessing that’s a lie.
Honor looks her up and down and goes, “I bet it ends up being shit.”
But Thia’s there, “I doubt it. We’re going with the St Michael’s boys.”
There’s suddenly, like, gasps from Honor’s crew. A skiing trip is one thing. A skiing trip with boys is a total game-changer.
“My cousin is the head prefect,” Thia goes. “They had some free places so he asked if I knew any girls who’d be interested.”
Suddenly, I notice that Honor’s friends are looking at her – yeah, no – differently?
And as a master of strategy myself, I can’t help but go – under my breath for obvious reasons – “Oh, well played, Thia. Very well played.”
