‘That’s the Rossmeister immediately out of the equation. I’m, like, three steps behind them on the escalator – Father’s Day suddenly forgotten’
MY FIVE-AND-A-HALF-YEAR-OLD daughter has 60,000 followers on Twitter. Which is, like, 30 for every day that she’s been on this basic Earth. Well, that’s according to Sorcha. And she’s the one with the C in honours maths in the Leaving.
I’m standing in the kitchen checking out some of her recent tweets. “Omg i SO heart blueberry swirl cheescak!” and “Lmao selena gomez is SUCH a desperate bitch!”
"No offence," I go, "but who'd be interested in actually followingthat? 'Vogue Williams has SO gone down in my estimation – we're talking toats!' I mean, you'd hear that kind of thing queuing for a focking Bucky's in Dundrum."
Sorcha takes my jacket from me and, like, hangs it on the back of one of the chairs. She's like, "Ross, do you have any idea how big a deal our daughter suddenly is? She's become an actualcelebrity? Especially since that magazine article."
She's talking about the photo-spread in the last edition of, like, VIP. It was like, "At Home With the Star of Mom, They Said They'd Never Heard Of Sundried Tomatoes." There were, like, eight pages of photographs of Honor and Sorcha, dressed in various matching outfits, like Suri Cruise and Katie Holmes, while baking brownies, sharing a joke on the swing in the back gorden and pretending to do Honor's Mandarin Chinese homework together.
I actually laugh. “I don’t get how they can already call her an ‘acting sensation’. They only storted filming, like, three weeks ago.”
She hands me a mug of coffee. “Well, it’s based on what that director said. She’s the best child actor he’s ever seen. And he’s worked with Anna Paquin, Ross. And Michelle Trachtenberg.”
“Fair focks would be my usual attitude, Sorcha. But you know how I feel. I’m just worried it’s going to go to her head. I mean, she’s already a little wagon. I suppose what I’m trying to say is that we don’t want her turning out like Lindsay Lohan, do we?”
Sorcha shakes her head like it’s a ridiculous idea. “Lindsay had a dysfunctional family background, Ross.” There’s things I could say but I don’t.
“What am I doing here anyway?” I go. “Thursday’s not my usual unsupervised access day.”
She’s like, “Honor has a day off from filming. She wants to take you shopping for, like, Father’s Day?” I’m suddenly grinning like a monkey. I haven’t honestly felt this proud since Mary McAleese handed me the famous tinware back in 1999. I’m like, “Did she actually say that?”
“No,” Sorcha goes, showing me her phone and at the same time laughing, “she tweeted it.” I end up just shaking my head. Kids.
The next thing, roysh, Honor arrives into the kitchen. Doesn’t say hello – air-kisses me. It’s like, “Mwoi, mwoi.” Her old dear asks her if she has her BT storecord and Honor pulls a face that I take to mean, “Er – whatever!” and a few minutes later we’re on the old Ferris Bueller on the way into town.
I do the whole concerned father bit during the drive. “The stordom thing,” I go, “I hope it’s not going to your head. I mean just because you’re earning however many hundred thousand it is for this movie. And just because you’ve got, like, 60,000 people following you . . .”
“65,000.”
“I thought it was . . .”
"That was, like, yesterday?"
“Fair focks. But my point still stands, Honor. Just because you’re going to be, obviously, a big-time movie stor doesn’t mean you can’t also enjoy a happy and normal childhood.” I can’t actually believe I’m coming out with this shit.
"Oh my God," she goes, "you're solame." Which might well be true. But the other thing I'd have to admit about myself – especially with the week that's in it – is that I've turned out to be an amazing, amazing, amazing father.
I'm going to be honest with you, I'm also wondering what she's going to, like, buyme? Like I said, the kid's rolling in it and I've got my eye on a pair of Tiffany cufflinks that I wouldn't mind wearing to Fionn and Erika's wedding, if it goes ahead.
But there's no preparing me – or any father, no matter how good – for what happens when we walk through the doors of BTs. No sooner have we rounded the famous Crème de la Mer concession stand than we're met– yes, met – by a woman who introduces herself to us as a personal shopper.
Don’t get me wrong, she’s a serious looker – a ringer for Mollie King – and I’d be in there like swimwear if she showed even a flicker of interest. The point is that she doesn’t. All she says to me is hi, then she turns to my daughter and goes, “And you must be Honor. It’s so lovely to meet you. I can’t wait to show you the new Children’s Rooms on Three.”
And that's the Rossmeister immediately out of the equation. I'm, like, three steps behind them on the escalator – Father's Day suddenly forgotten – listening to this woman rhyme off brands like she's telling her focking nursery rhymes. "Chloé, Cyrillus, Baby Dior, Stella, Oopsy Daisy, Tartine et Chocolat, Lily Sid, Junior Gaultier . . ." The next two hours end up being like the battle scene at the stort of Saving Private Ryan– people running around, shouting the odds, shoes flying back and forth, clothes strewn all over the shop.
Honor actually loses it. She’s giving it, “I want that but only if you have it in midnight blue. These shoes are hurting my feet – can they be stretched? Take that T-shirt away from me – it’s hurting my eyes. I’ll take this – but I also want it in the next size down, for when I hit my catwalk weight.” Jesus, it’s like going shopping with her mother back in the day. I’m just standing there thinking, all my fears about stardom going to her head seem to be coming true.
After, like, 15 minutes, I’ve honestly got battle fatigue and I’m wondering could I possibly hit Bucky’s – leave her to it for an hour. That’s when she looks at me, her little eyes narrowed, and goes, “Are you going to just stand with your mouth open, or are you going to get me this dress in my size – like I focking asked you to, like, 10 minutes ago?”
And what can I say, except, “Er, okay.” As I’m wandering over to get it, I hear her go, “Oh my God, you do Armani Junior as well!”
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