Maeve Binchy - Circle of Friends

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 pockets 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. Now could a man have a cup of tea in this place does anyone think?"

In a big terraced house in Dunlaoghaire, another household was getting ready for the opening of the university term. Almost a town in itself, Dunlaoghaire was some miles from the centre of Dublin, a big harbour 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 coast line 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 favoured 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 realised that this determined woman could look after students better than anyone.

She had turned her big diningroom 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, lab 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 any more. 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 up Frank 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 honour, on the chest of drawers, but moved to a shelf where it could hardly be seen, and then face down, and then in the bottom of a drawer.

Tall, gangly Frank Hegarty didn't need any mythical father's picture any more.

Kit wondered whether Joseph, if he had stayed around, would have had any views on Frank's motorbike. It was a black 550cc 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 so 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 on to 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 grey check 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," she 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.

Annabel had wanted to hug her and tell her that she looked lovely.

Big, certainly, but with that lovely skin and all that chestnut hair tied back in a navy and white ribbon, she looked what she was: a girl from a nice family, from a house in the country, whose father ran an established business.

But it wasn't a morning for hugging. Instead she had reached out her hand.

"You are a handsome, lovely girl, and they'll all see that," she said softly.

"Thank you, Mother," Benny said dutifully. "And what's more, you'll be very, very happy there. You won't be going back to dreary little bedsitters like a lot of girls have to do, or being half starved in some digs," Annabel sighed with pleasure. "You'll be coming home to your own good home every night."

Benny had smiled at her but again it had seemed a little as if it were expected. The girl was nervous, as any girl would be starting out in a new place, with strangers. "It'll be a quiet house from now on, Mam."