“The Dáil. On Kildare Street. You know, the parliament building.”
“I know what the Dáil is,” replied Seán, laughing. “I’m just surprised, that’s all. What class of a job is it at all? Are you to be a TD? Are we to have our first female Taoiseach?”
“I’d be serving in the tearoom. I’m to meet a Mrs. Hennessy at eleven o’clock and she’s going to give me the once-over.”
“Well, that’s a bit of good news anyway. Do you think you’ll—”
A key in the lock, it stuck for a moment, was taken out and reinserted, and when my mother heard Smoot walking into the other room she moved over a little on the bed so that he wouldn’t notice her sitting there, her eyes resting on the crack in the wall that looked like the journey of the River Shannon through the Midlands.
“There you are,” he said, using a tender sort of voice that she had never heard him employ before. “Now, there’s a fine sight to return home to.”
“Jack,” snapped Seán immediately, his tone different too, quick to silence him. “Catherine’s inside.”
My mother turned around on the bed and glanced toward the front room at the same moment that Smoot looked across, and her glance, she told me afterward, was torn between the fine bare chest on Seán, muscled and hairless as he lay in the dirty water, and the face on Smoot, which was growing more annoyed by the second. Confused, uncertain what mistake she had made exactly, she turned back around, glad to hide her blushing face.
“Hello, Jack,” she cried cheerfully.
“Kitty.”
“Back from the slog?”
He said nothing and there was a long silence from the living room and my mother longed to turn around to see what was going on. The two boys weren’t talking aloud but even in the silence she could tell there was some class of a conversation going on between them, even if it was only through the way that they looked at each other. Finally, Seán spoke.
“Catherine was just telling me that she has a job interview in the morning. In the tearoom of the Dáil, if you can believe it.”
“I’d believe anything she tells me,” said Smoot. “Is this right, Kitty? Will you be joining the ranks of the working women at last? Christ alive, there’ll be a united Ireland next.”
“If I give a good account of myself,” said Catherine, ignoring his sarcasm. “If I impress the manageress, then hopefully the job will be mine.”
“Catherine,” said Seán, raising his voice. “I’m getting out now, so don’t turn around.”
“Sure I’ll close the door altogether and leave you to dry yourself. Do you need fresh clothes?”
“I’ll get them,” said Smoot, walking into the bedroom and taking Seán’s trousers from the back of a chair and a fresh shirt, underwear and socks from the dresser drawer, which he held in his hands for half a minute while staring down at Catherine, daring her to look up at him, which, eventually, she did.
“Will they not have a problem, do you think?” he asked. “The lads in the Dáil?”
“With what?” she asked, noticing how he held Seán’s clothes protectively in his arms, the boy’s smalls to the fore as if he wanted to intimidate her with them.
“With that,” he said, pointing toward my mother’s stomach.
“I bought a ring,” she replied, holding out her left hand and showing it to him.
“It’s well for those with money. And what about when the child is born?”
“I have a Great Plan for that,” she said.
“So you keep saying. Will you ever tell us what it is or do we have to guess?”
My mother said nothing and Smoot walked away.
“I hope you get it,” he muttered as he passed her, quiet enough so only the two of them could hear. “I hope you get the bloody job and then you can get the fuck out of here and leave us both in peace.”
An Interview at Dáil éireann
When my mother arrived at the Dáil the following morning, the wedding ring was clearly visible on the fourth finger of her left hand. She gave her name to the Garda standing on duty at the front door, a sturdy-looking individual whose expression suggested there were a hundred places he would rather be than there, and he consulted a clipboard of the day’s visitors before shaking his head and declaring that she wasn’t on the list.
“I am,” said my mother, leaning forward and pointing at a name next to 11:00—for Mrs. C. Hennessy.
“That says Gogan,” said the Garda. “Catherine Gogan.”
“Well, that’s just a mistake,” said my mother. “My name is Goggin, not Gogan.”
“If you don’t have an appointment, I can’t let you in.”
“Garda,” said my mother, smiling sweetly at him. “I assure you that I am the Catherine Gogan whom Mrs. Hennessy is expecting. Someone has merely written my name down incorrectly, that’s all.”
“And how am I to know that?”
“Well, what if I wait here and if no Catherine Gogan shows up, then can you let me in instead of her? She’ll have missed her chance and I might be in luck for the job instead.”
The Garda sighed. “Ah here,” he said. “I get enough of this at home.”
“Enough of what?”
“I come to work to get away from this type of thing,” he said.
“Away from what type of thing?”
“Go along in and don’t be annoying me,” he said, practically pushing her through the doors. “The waiting room is on the left there. Don’t even think of going anywhere else or I’ll be after you faster than green grass through a goose.”
“Charming,” said my mother, slipping past him and walking toward the room he’d indicated. Stepping inside and sitting down, she looked around at the grandeur of the place and found that her heart was beating hard within her chest.
A few minutes later, the door opened and a woman of about fifty entered, slender as a willow tree with dark-black hair that she wore cropped close to her head.
“Miss Goggin?” she said, stepping forward. “I’m Charlotte Hennessy.”
“It’s Mrs. Goggin, actually,” said my mother quickly, standing up, and in a moment the expression on the older lady’s face changed from friendly to disconcerted.
“Oh,” she said, noticing my mother’s belly. “Oh dear.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” said my mother. “Thank you for taking the time. I hope the position is still available?”
Mrs. Hennessy’s mouth opened and shut several times like a fish twisting back and forth on the deck of a boat until the life drained out of it. “Mrs. Goggin,” she said, her smile reasserting itself as she indicated that they should both sit down. “It is still available, yes, but I’m afraid there’s been a misunderstanding.”
“Oh?” said my mother.
“I was looking for a girl for the tearoom, do you see? Not a married woman with a child on the way. We can’t have married women here in Dáil éireann. A married woman must be at home with her husband. Does your husband not work, no?”