“My husband did work,” said my mother, looking her full in the face and allowing her lower lip to tremble a little, a performance that she’d been practicing in the bathroom mirror all morning.
“And he’s lost his position? I’m sorry, but there’s still nothing that I can do for you. All our girls are single girls. Young girls like you, naturally, but unmarried. That’s how the gentlemen members prefer things.”
“He didn’t lose his position, Mrs. Hennessy,” said my mother, removing her handkerchief from her pocket and dabbing at her eyes. “He lost his life.”
“Oh, my dear, I’m so sorry,” said Mrs. Hennessy, a hand to her throat now in shock. “The poor man. What happened to him, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“The war happened to him, Mrs. Hennessy.”
“The war?”
“The war. He went over to fight just as his father had fought before him and his grandfather before that. The Germans got him. Less than a month ago now. A grenade ripped him to shreds. All I have left of him is his wristwatch and his false teeth. The lower set.”
This was the story that she had concocted and even in her own mind she knew it was a risky one, for there were those, many of whom worked in that very House, who thought poorly of Irishmen who went to fight for the British. But there was a heroic sound to the tale and, for whatever reason, she had decided this was the way to go.
“You poor unfortunate creature,” said Mrs. Hennessy, and when she reached out to squeeze my mother’s hand, she knew that she was halfway home. “And you in the family way. That is a tragedy.”
“If I had time to think of tragedies, it would be,” said my mother. “But I can’t afford to, that’s the truth of it. I’ve this little one to think of,” she added, placing a hand across her belly protectively.
“You’ll not believe this,” said Mrs. Hennessy, “but the same thing happened to my Auntie Jocelyn during the First War. She’d been married to my Uncle Albert for only a year and didn’t he only sign up with the Brits and get himself killed at Passchendaele? The day she heard the news was the same day she found out that she was to have a child.”
“Do you mind if I ask, Mrs. Hennessy,” asked my mother, leaning forward, “how did your Auntie Jocelyn cope? Was she all right in the end?”
“Oh not a bother on her,” declared Mrs. Hennessy. “You never met a woman like her for positivity. She just got on with things, didn’t she? But then that’s what people did in those days. Great women, every one of them.”
“Magnificent women, Mrs. Hennessy. I could probably learn a thing or two from your Auntie Jocelyn.”
The older woman beamed in pleasure but then her smile faded a little again. “Still and all,” she said. “I don’t know if this could work. Do you mind if I ask how long you have to go?”
“Three months,” said my mother.
“Three months. The job is full time. I’d expect you’d have to leave after the baby is born.”
My mother nodded. Of course she had her Great Plan so knew that this wouldn’t be the case but here was her moment and she was determined to seize it.
“Mrs. Hennessy,” she said. “You seem like a kind woman. You remind me of my late mother, who took care of me every day of her life until she succumbed to the cancer last year—”
“Oh, my dear, your trials!”
“You have her kindness in your face, Mrs. Hennessy. Let me cast aside all dignity now and throw myself on your mercy and make a suggestion. I need a job, Mrs. Hennessy, I need one badly so I can put money away for the child when he or she arrives and I have almost nothing as it is. If you could find it in your heart to take me on for these next three months, then I will work like a cart horse for you and give you no cause to regret your decision, and when my time comes, perhaps you can advertise again and find a young girl who needs a chance then just like I need a chance right now.”
Mrs. Hennessy sat back, the tears forming in her eyes. I think of it now and wonder why my mother was applying for a job in the Dáil at all when she should have been across the Liffey giving an audition for Ernest Blythe.
“Your health,” asked Mrs. Hennessy finally. “Do you mind if I ask how your health is in general?”
“Tip-top,” said my mother. “I haven’t had a day’s illness in my life. Not even during these last six months.”
Mrs. Hennessy sighed and looked around the walls, as if all the men represented there in gilt-edged frames could give her guidance. A portrait of W. T. Cosgrave hung over her shoulder and he seemed to be glaring at my mother as if to say that he could see through every one of her lies and if he could only wrench himself away from that canvas he’d chase her out of the place with a stick.
“And the war’s almost over,” said my mother after a moment, a bit of a non sequitur considering the conversation they were having. “Did you hear that Hitler’s killed himself? The future looks bright for us all.”
Mrs. Hennessy nodded. “I did hear, yes,” she said with a shrug. “And good riddance to him, if God will forgive me for saying so. We’ll all have better times ahead of us now, I hope.”
A Longer Stay
“So it’s up to the pair of you,” my mother told Seán and Smoot that night as they sat together in the Brazen Head eating a good stew that they shared out between them from a ceramic tureen. “I can go next week when I get my first week’s pay or I can stay in the flat on Chatham Street until after the baby’s born and give you a third of what I earn in the meantime to cover my rent. I’d like to stay, as it’s comfortable and you’re the only two people I know in Dublin, but you’ve been very good to me since I got here and I don’t want to outstay my welcome.”
“I don’t mind,” said Seán, smiling at her. “I’m happy as things are. But of course, it’s Jack’s place really, so it’s up to him.”
Smoot took a piece of bread from a plate in the center of the table and dragged it around the rim of his bowl, not letting a single morsel of the stew go to waste. He put it in his mouth and chewed it carefully before swallowing and then reached for his pint to wash it down.
“Sure we’ve put up with you this long, Kitty,” he said. “A few more months won’t make much difference, I suppose.”
The Tearoom