Sorcha is sitting at the kitchen island with her laptop open and a pleased-with-herself smile that I recognise from the Mount Anville Class of 1998 graduation photograph on her bedside table.
I’m like, “What are you so happy about? And that’s not me accusing you of having an affair.”
She doesn’t bat an eyelid. I wonder is she having an affair?
“I’m writing an opinion piece for The Irish Times,” she goes, “about the SUV Avenger.”
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?’
I’m like, “Er, cool. So – yeah, no – what’s the angle of this, like, orticle?”
She goes, “Well, as a victim of the Avenger myself, I’m saying that we – as a society – should be applauding their actions?”
I’m like, “Jesus, Sorcha, that’s not going to go down well around here. All the neighbours have had their tyres done.”
“Well, the point I’m making,” she goes, “is that everything we value on this planet that we call, well, Earth is in jeopardy – we’re talking all human and non-human life? – due to our failure to move away from fossil fuels. Why do we value a few cor tyres over that?”
It’s more than a few cor tyres, in fairness to Honor. She’s up to 500, according to a report I heard on the radio.
I’m making the point that we celebrate many protesters down through history who broke the law in the name of just causes. What about the Suffragettes?
I’m there, “But, Sorcha, people around here have worked hord for their cors – maybe not literally, but they’re entitled to spend their money on whatever they want.”
“Ross,” she goes, “ask yourself this. Who stands to lose most from climate change?”
“Jesus, it’s not us, is it?”
“Young people and those not yet born.”
“Well, thank fock for that.”
“And yet both those categories are criminally under-represented within our democratic system. You might almost say they have no voice? Which is why I believe – as a member of Seanad Éireann and a mother of young children – that acts of, like, non-violent civil disobedience are fully, fully justified.”
“Sorcha, can I just say –?”
“I’m also making the point that we celebrate many protesters down through history who broke the law in the name of just causes. What about the Suffragettes?”
“The which?”
“They torgeted works of ort in their struggle to gain voting rights for women and today we regord them as heroes.”
My phone beeps. It’s, like, a text message from Ronan, asking me to come outside and not to tell Sorcha.
I’m there, “Babes, maybe just hold off on hitting send until we’ve properly talked it through, yeah?”
She sort of, like, snort-laughs, then goes, “I’m perfectly capable of expressing what I feel without first running it through your man-filter, thank you very much.”
Anyway, I tip outside and there’s Ro, standing on the doorstep in his black boilersuit and his rolled-up balaclava.
I’m like, “Hey, Ro, what’s the story?”
“What’s the stordee?” he goes. “We caught the SUV Avenger tonight. That’s the stordee, Rosser.”
I’m there, “Er, did you?” trying to just style it out.
“In the act, Rosser. Putting a screwthriver into the fruddent passenger tyre of a Subaru Foddester in Glenageerdy.”
“Glenageary. Jesus. So did you, em, turn them in – for the reward money, like?”
“Turden them in?” he goes, disgusted with me. “Me own famidy?”
And that’s when Honor steps forward out of the dorkness. I’d like to say that she looks ashamed of herself but that isn’t how we raised her.
Rosser, there’s a bounty on her head for a quather-of-a-middion snots. The next person who catches her might not be so understanding
She goes, “Thanks, Ronan.”
And he’s like, “You’re mustard, Hodor – but remember what I said to you.”
She steps into the gaff, then turns around and goes, “Can I have my screwdriver back?”
I’m there, “Do not give her that screwdriver back. Go to your room. I’ll deal with you in a minute.”
She goes, “You’ll deal with nothing, you knob.”
Then upstairs she trots.
“We’re arthur been driving the roads of south Dublin every night for the past two weeks,” Ronan goes. “Why didn’t you tell me it was Hodor?”
I’m there, “I don’t know. I thought I could persuade her to stop.”
He goes, “Rosser, there’s a bounty on her head for a quather-of-a-middion snots. The next person who catches her might not be so understanding.”
I’m like, “Thanks, Ro – for not turning her in. Giving up that amount of money can’t have been easy.”
[ Ross O’Carroll-Kelly: The SUV Avenger has slashed the tyres on Sorcha’s corOpens in new window ]
He’s offended by that. “She’s me bleaten sister,” he goes. “Don’t fooken insult me, Rosser.”
I’m there, “Sorry, Ro.”
“Having said that,” he goes, “Buckets, Nudger and Gull aren’t related to her at all.”
Honor, you have to stop this thing. Your old dear is writing an opinion piece for The Irish Times saying that the SUV Avenger is a hero
I’m there, “You’re not telling me that I have to give them a quarter of a million squids or they’ll turn her in?”
He laughs.
“Of course not,” he goes. “They think the wurdled of Hodor.”
I’m there, “Right.”
He goes, “Twenty grand for each of them should sort it.”
I’m like, “Fine, I’ll Revolut you. Teenagers, huh? I’d better go and talk to the girl.”
Off he focks then and I tip upstairs to do the whole tough parenting routine. I knock on her door and I walk in. I’m like, “You were lucky that it was your brother who caught you instead of the hundreds of other people out there searching for you.”
She goes, “Shut the door on your way out, will you?”
I’m like, “Honor, you have to stop this thing. Your old dear is writing an opinion piece for The Irish Times saying that the SUV Avenger is a hero.”
“Cool.”
“Well, you can be guaranteed she wouldn’t think that if she knew it was her own daughter. And if it comes out that it is, well, it could be very embarrassing for her politically.”
“Hilarious.”
“Honor, there has to be a better way of trying to save the planet than this.”
She laughs in my actual face.
“I don’t care about the planet,” she goes. “I’m doing this for fun.”
I’m like, “What?”
“I don’t care about anything,” she goes. “I’m a sociopath, Dad.”
I’m there, “I know that. But I still thought –”
And that’s when Sorcha calls up the stairs. She’s like, “Was that Honor coming in that time?”
I’m there, “Er, yeah, no, it was.”
She goes, “Honor, come down here. I’ve written an opinion piece for The Irish Times and I’d value your opinion on it as a young person.”
Honor goes, “Watch this,” and then she’s like, “Oh my God, Mom! I can’t wait to hear it!” and down the stairs she trots.
Over the banister, I go, “I’ll tell her the truth.”
But she’s like, “You won’t, because then I’ll tell her that you’ve known it was me all along.”
