Circle of Friends (8 page)

Nobody else could either.

So Emily had worked in a hotel shop since then; her own little world surrounded by nice things: glass and linen and high-class souvenirs for tourists. At first the hotel had been unwilling to employ someone with a young daughter. She would constantly need time off they told her. Emily had been able to look them straight in the eye even then and say that Nan would cause no trouble. And she had been right. It was only Brian who had ever interrupted the even style of her working life by phoning or calling, to ask idiotic questions
about things that had already been agreed or arranged, but forgotten through drink.

She called them, as she did every morning. “Breakfast going on the table.”

Down they came, her two big sons, dark like their father, square and looking as if they had been manufactured by a toy firm to look like younger versions of a father in a game. Then came Brian, who had cut himself shaving, and was dabbing the blood on his chin. He looked at his wife without pleasure.

“Do you have to wear that bloody garment in the house? Isn’t it bad enough going out to work as a skivvy in someone’s shop without dressing as a skivvy at home.”

“It’s to keep my blouse clean,” Emily said mildly.

“And you have your clothes draped so that the place looks like a hand-me-down shop,” he grumbled.

Nan came in at that moment. Her blond curls looked as if she had just come from a hairdresser rather than from the handbasin in her own bedroom, which was where she had washed her hair this morning. Brian Mahon might have skimped on comfort for the rest of the house, but his daughter’s bedroom had the best of everything. A washbasin neatly boxed in, a big fitted wardrobe with even a rail for her shoes in it. Nothing had been spared on Nan’s room. Each item was an apology for a drunken bout. She wore a smart blue skirt, and her new navy three-quarter-length coat over her shoulders; a white lacy blouse with a navy blue trimming. She looked like the cover of a magazine.

“That’s right, attack Em for leaving her blouse there, but if it’s seven of your shirts and seven each of the boys’, that’s twenty-one shirts ironed for you and there’s no word of it being a hand-me-down shop then, is there?”

Her father looked at her in open admiration. “They’re going to look twice when you walk in the door of University College,” he said. Nan showed no pleasure at the compliment—in fact Emily seemed to think it irritated her.

“Yes, that’s all very well, but we never discussed the matter of pocket money.”

Emily wondered why Nan brought it up now. If she were to ask her father on her own, he would give her anything.

“There’s never been any shortage of pocket money in this house.” His face was red and angry already.

“Well, there hasn’t been any question of it up till now. Paul and Nasey went in to work for you, so they got a wage from the start.”

“A
sort
of wage,” Paul said.

“More than any other human would give a lout like you,” his father retorted.

Nan continued, “I wanted it to be clear from the start rather than having to ask every week.”

“What’s wrong with asking every week?” he wanted to know.

“It’s undignified,” she said shortly.

That was exactly what Emily had felt each week asking for her housekeeping; now she could work out a budget to suit herself.

“What do you want?” He was annoyed.

“I don’t know. I’m not really entitled to anything. I’m going to be dependent on you for three or four years. What do
you
suggest?”

He was at a loss. “We’ll see.”

“I’d prefer if we could decide today. It would get things off to a good start. I’d know what I could buy, how long it would take me to save for something … a new dress or whatever.”

“I bought you that coat there! It cost me an arm and a leg—it’s an ordinary navy coat to me, and it cost as much as a fur.”

“It’s very well cut, that’s why. It will last for years.”

“I should hope so,” he muttered.

“So you see in order not to have discussions like this all the time, don’t you think …”

Emily held her breath.

“A pound a week for …”

“Fares and lunches, yes, that’s fair …” She stood looking at him expectantly.

“And what else is there …?”

“Well, I suppose there’s cinema, newspapers, books, coffee, going to a dance.”

“Another two pounds a week for that?” He looked anxiously at her.

“Oh, that’s very generous, thank you. That would be marvelous.”

“And what about clothes then …?” He nodded over at the coat that had cost him an arm and a leg.

“I could manage stockings out of what you’ve given me.”

“I want you as well dressed as the next man’s daughter.”

Nan said nothing.

“What would it cost?” He was like a child now.

Nan looked at him thoughtfully, as if she knew he was in her power now.

“Some people’s fathers give them an allowance by the month for clothes. A sum like … I don’t know … twenty … but I don’t know …”

“You’ll have thirty pounds a month, nothing is shortchanged in this house.” He almost roared it.

Emily Mahon watched Nan start to smile.

“Thank you very much, Daddy, that’s more than generous,” she said.

“Well”—he was gruff—“I won’t have you saying I’m not generous.”

“I never said that, never once,” she answered him.

“Well, all this business putting me on the carpet … implying that I might leave you short.”

“In your right mind, Daddy, you’d never leave me short, but I don’t want to rely on your always being in your right mind.”

Emily caught her breath.

“What do you mean?” He was like a turkeycock now. “You know exactly what I mean. You’re two people, Daddy.”

“You’re in no position to be giving me lectures.”

“I’m not. I’m explaining why I wanted it on a regular arrangement so that I wouldn’t have to be annoying you when you’re … well, when you’ve had a drink I suppose.”

There was a moment’s silence. Even the boys wondered what would happen now. The usual way of coping with their father had been to make no reference to anything untoward that might have happened, for fear of bringing it all upon them again. But Nan had chosen her time and place well.

The silence was broken by Emily.

“Well, that’s a very good allowance, there can’t be many girls setting off today who’d get that.”

“No indeed.” Nan was undisturbed by the tension around her. “I mean it, Daddy. And I honestly think that if you are going to give me that much, it’s probably easier for you to do it once a month.”

“Yes, that’s agreed,” he said.

“So will I ask you for forty-two pounds today and then not come near you for a month?”

Paul and Nasey looked at each other with widened eyes.

“Forty-two pounds?” Her father seemed astounded.

“You said three pounds a week, and thirty pounds for clothes.” She seemed apologetic. “It is a lot, I know.”

“I’m not going back on my word.” He reached into his back pocket and took out a wad of old notes. He peeled them off.

Emily willed her daughter to show the right amount of gratitude, she prayed that the girl wouldn’t take it for granted.

But as usual Nan seemed to know better than everyone what to do.

“I’m not going to go down on my knees and thank you, Daddy, because that would just be words. I’ll try to make you proud of me. Make you feel glad you’ve spent so much to put a daughter through College.”

Brian Mahon’s eyes misted slightly. He swallowed but could say nothing. “That’s it,” he said eventually in a hoarse voice. “That’s it. Now could a man have a cup of tea in this place does anyone think?”

In a big terraced house in Dun Laoghaire, another household was getting ready for the opening of the university term. Almost a town in itself, Dun Laoghaire was some miles from the center of Dublin, a big harbor where the mail boat came in and left every day for Holyhead bringing the holiday visitors. Full also on the outgoing journeys with emigrants about to seek their fortune in London.

Ever since the days it had been called Kingstown, it had been a lovely place to live; tropical palm trees along the coastline made it seem like somewhere much more exotic than it really was. The sturdy Victorian houses spoke of a time when this was a place of substance and quality. It was healthy too; the two great arms of piers reached out into the sea and were a regular walking spot for anyone in need of a breath of air or some exercise.

It was a curious mixture of staid respectability with overtones of holiday fun. Every year there was a big noisy carnival with its ghost trains and chairoplanes, and yet matrons with shallow baskets did sociable shopping excursions usually ending with coffee in Marine Road and tut-tutting over the state of the borough.

Kit Hegarty moved swiftly around her large house in a quiet road that led down to the sea. She had a lot to do. The first day was always important, it set the tone for the whole year. She would cook them all a good breakfast and make it clear that she expected them to be at the table on time.

She had kept students for seven years now, and was known as one of the University’s favored landladies. Normally they didn’t like to sanction a digs so far away from the city and the University buildings, but Mrs. Hegarty had been quick to explain how near her house was to the railway station, how short was the train journey into town, how good the bracing sea air.

She didn’t need to plead for long; soon the authorities realized that this determined woman could look after students better than anyone. She had turned her big dining room into a study; there each boy had his own place at the big felt-covered table, books could be left undisturbed. It was expected in Kit’s house that there would be some period of study after supper, most nights at any rate. And her only son, Frank, studied with them too. It made him feel grown up sitting at the same table as real university students, engineers and agricultural science students, law or medicine, they had all sat and studied around the Hegarty dining table while young Frank was working for his Intermediate and his Leaving Certificate.

Today he would join them as a fully fledged student himself.

Kit hugged herself with pleasure at the thought that she had raised a son who would be an engineer. And raised him all on her own. Joseph Hegarty had been long gone now, his life in England was no concern of hers anymore. He had sent money for a little while, and dates when he was going to be back; and then excuses, and little money. And then nothing.

She had tried not to bring Frank up with any bitterness against his father. She had even left a photograph of Joseph
Hegarty in the boy’s room lest he should think that his father was being banished from his memory on top of everything else. It had been a heady day when she noticed the photograph no longer in a place of honor, on the chest of drawers, but moved to a shelf where it could hardly be seen, and then facedown, and then in the bottom of a drawer.

Tall, gangly Frank Hegarty didn’t need any mythical father’s picture anymore.

Kit wondered whether Joseph, if he had stayed around, would have had any views on Frank’s motorbike. It was a black 250cc BSA—his pride and joy.

Probably not. He had never been a man to face up to anything unpleasant. And Frank’s bike was unpleasant. And dangerous, and it was the only black cloud in her life on this morning when her son started university.

In vain she had pleaded and begged him to use the train. They were only minutes from the railway station, the service was frequent. She would pay for his weekly ticket. He could make as many journeys as he liked. It was the only thing he had ever stood out for.

He had gone to Peterborough and worked long hours in a canning factory only that he could own this bike. Why did she want to take away the one possession that was truly valuable to him? Just because she didn’t know how to ride a motorbike or even want to, it was unfair that she should try to stop him.

He was eighteen years and six months. Kit looked at the statue of the Infant of Prague that she kept in the house to impress the mothers of the students who boarded with her. She wished she had a stronger conviction that the Infant of Prague might be any earthly use in keeping her son safe on this terrible machine. It would be nice to have been able to offload your worries onto someone or something like that.

Patsy asked Mrs. Hogan if she’d like her to wet another pot of tea.

“Ah, go on, mam, you’d need tea on a bad day like this,” Patsy said encouragingly.

“That would be nice, Patsy.” She sank back into her chair relieved.

It hadn’t been so wet earlier, when Benny had left for her first day at College. Benny in her navy jumper and white blouse with the navy and gray checked skirt.

“You’ll be the belle of the ball,” Eddie had said to her, bursting with pride.

“Oh, Father, I won’t. I’m so big and drab-looking,” Benny had said suddenly. “I’m like some kind of hearse. I caught sight of myself in the mirror.”

Eddie’s eyes had filled with tears. “Child, you’re beautiful,” he had said. “Don’t talk about yourself like that.
Please
. Don’t upset your mother and me.”