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going on long,
aimless walks, and Mother objected. Tramping, she called it. No way for a solicitor’s daughter to behave. I wished she’d leave me in peace to walk off my worry and loneliness my own way, but she wouldn’t have it. It would give scandal, and wasn’t it just absolutely typical of me, to be looking for notice and causing aggravation, when it was Liam we should all be thinking about and praying for.
    She insisted I go to lessons in musical appreciation with Florrie, even though I was tone deaf. I’d spent the past week trying to learn the artistic arrangement of flowers from her friend Minnie Whelan, who boasted the best garden in Glasnevin outside of the Botanics. I didn’t mind the music so much. I wished I could understand it, since other people got such pleasure from it. I didn’t even mind Minnie and her flowers; they were lovely, and the way Minnie talked about them made them interesting. But I did mind having to join Mother’s knitting circle every Friday after Mass, making socks and mufflers for soldiers at the Front. I’d ten thumbs when it came to any kind of needlework.
    ‘Go easy on your mother,’ Dad said. ‘She does her best.’
    I knew perfectly well that she was the one who’d objected to my return to college. She’d have stopped me going in the very first place, if she’d had her way, just as she’d prevented Eva from going to the School of Art. I sometimes wondered if she’d regretted that. Eva went on to marry Bartley, a Protestant, despite everything Mother did to try to stop her.
    ‘Is it really the money?’ I’d asked Dad, when he told me I couldn’t go back for a higher degree.
    He went pink in the face. ‘It’s not the only reason. You’ll have to ask your mother.’
    When I pressed her, she told me she’d seen Mary Corballis loitering in the porch of the National Library, a dozen laughing men grouped around her. ‘What’s more, no one seemed
to think a thing about it. If that’s the sort of carry-on we can expect from university women, you needn’t think I’ll ever give it my blessing!’ She gave me an old-fashioned look. ‘No daughter of mine.’
    ‘It’s too late. There’s no sense talking about it.’ I tucked my hand into the crook of my father’s arm.
    He lifted the hand further in and folded his arm around mine. ‘I’ll talk to her again. I’ll bring her around for next year.’
    Next year was too far away to be real. I doubted Professor Hayden would take a second application seriously. We’d arrived at the steps leading up to the Mansion House, where Dad was greeted by several acquaintances. Inside, the hall was nearly full. We found seats at the end of a row near the front.
    The speaker, a stocky man who looked more suited to work behind a counter than public speaking, stood off to one side, waiting to be introduced. He shuffled his notes with trembling hands. I sympathized. Just as another man rose to the podium to introduce him, a thin woman dressed all in brown appeared at the end of our row. Dad and I moved up to make room for her. She settled a large bag on the floor, took off her soft hat and stuffed it inside the bag quickly, with no regard for its shape. ‘Thank you,’ she whispered, under cover of the applause that welcomed the speaker. Her hair was the colour of steel. Dad smiled and extended his hand. ‘Miss Colclough! How are you?’ He whispered introductions and we settled to listen.
    So, there was Liam, off in another country, learning about firearms and explosives and the finer points of drill, and there was I, the youngest person in that room by at least twenty years, listening to a white-bearded antiquarian describe the distinguishing features of the house we lived in – and the
thousands of houses like it that characterized the centre of Dublin, remnants of more prosperous times.
    Despite my general distraction, I was drawn into the story of the Gardiners, and the development of Mountjoy Square, the next square over