they give?’ I asked, outraged.
‘Ach, Jenny, it’s simple. Quite logical. If I’m independent enough to go against all their wishes in my choice of company and in my course of study, then I may as well be totally independent. Just simple blackmail.’
I looked at him in amazement. How could he be so steady, so easy? How could he possibly manage without a student grant or an allowance?
He shook his head and glanced at me as we drew up at traffic lights. ‘So that’s that. Know any good hotels that need a waiter? Speek Engleesh var gud,’ he went on, grinning broadly.
I had to laugh, but what he’d said wasn’t at all funny. ‘Oh, Keith, you can’t manage a job in your third year, you need all the study time you’ve got.’
‘That’s what Siobhan says.’
‘Well, she’s right. Tell her we’ll have to work out something. When can you come to supper? I’ll talk to Colin about it. We might be able to help.’ I stopped short, aware of the implications of what I’d just said. Unless we could persuade William John to change his mind, the only real way I could help Keith was out of my own salary. And that was bound to cause trouble in both families.
‘Did Maisie quote Paisley at you?’ I asked as the traffic came to a halt yet again.
‘Paisley?’ Keith sounded horrified.
‘I thought I’d better warn you,’ I went on quietly. ‘I think the pair of them have been going to some of his services. My mother has a whole set of new catchphrases and you know she’s never original. We could even be in for a religious phase.’
‘Oh Lord. Your poor father. How does he stand it, Jenny?’
‘I honestly don’t know,’ I said sadly. ‘He seems to let a lot of it pass over him. But then I suppose he hasn’t much alternative. Daddy’s always been a realist, as you know.’
We crawled slowly into Shaftesbury Square and I spotted the newsboy I’d met on the way down.
‘So the march is off, Keith. Are you very disappointed?’
He smiled and shook his head. ‘The march isn’t off, Jenny. Don’t pay any attention to the papers. If the organisers can’t get it together, the Young Socialists will still march. There’s a meeting tonight. It’s got to go ahead. It’s just got to. Even if there’s only a handful of us.’
I opened my mouth to protest and then shut it again. ‘And Siobhan’s going too,’ I said quietly.
‘Of course.’
We stopped at the pedestrian crossing opposite the front gates of Queen’s. Students streamed in front of us, clutching books and ring files. Five years ago, I would have been among them, walking along this very pavement, hurrying up the hill, past the Ulster Museum, the great grey block of the Keir Building and the familiar shops of Stranmillis village.
‘How’re we doing?’ Keith asked as he accelerated again.
I saw the lights go out in the bakery. ‘About half past, I expect,’ I said, as casually as I could manage.
‘Sorry we’ve been so slow. The bus would have been even worse.’
We turned into Rathmore Drive and stopped outside the Victorian villa with the beech hedge that had borne the name of ‘home’ for me ever since I was six years old.
‘I wish we’d had time for that coffee,’ he said.
‘So do I,’ I said unhappily as I got out and came round to the pavement.
He looked down at me and smiled. ‘Perhaps she’ll be in a good mood,’ he suggested lightly.
‘Oh damn that, Keith,’ I said vehemently. ‘It’s not my mother I’m worried about. It’s time I learnt to cope with her. It’s you and Siobhan. D’you think there’ll be trouble?’
He nodded easily. ‘Of course there’ll be trouble. But there’s no other way. And you’ve forgotten something. We do have one weapon.’
I couldn’t think what it could possibly be. That was the whole point. All I could think of were crowds of students and young people, unarmed, totally unprotected, up against a force of trained men who’d been ordered to work them over. The thought of it made me feel sick with fear.
‘The cameras, Jenny, the cameras,’ he said as he leaned into the back seat and brought out my briefcase and basket. ‘I can’t promise you it won’t be nasty, perhaps very nasty, but the cameras will be some protection.’
He stood looking down at me, a slight reassuring smile on his face. ‘It’s one thing people just hearing about police brutality, it’s another thing when they see it themselves in their own living rooms at teatime. And the B Specials know that now too. It’s some protection. All right, not a lot. But some.’
I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.
‘Now don’t worry. I’ll give you a ring Sunday night when we get back,’ he went on, bending down to kiss my cheek. ‘Don’t take the Saturday newspapers too seriously. Wait till you get the Sundays.’
I looked up at him and managed a smile. At least I could try to take the comfort he was offering me. ‘Good luck, Keith. Give Siobhan my love,’ I said firmly. ‘Supper next week. We’ll make a date on Sunday.’
‘Right ye be.’
‘Thanks for running me up.’
‘And good luck to you, too,’ he said, raising his eyes heavenward at the thought of my mother.
‘I’ll need it,’ I said, laughing ruefully as I opened the garden gate and hurried up the crazy paving path between the rosebeds.
George opened his eyes. The log cracked again in the fire and a spark arced through the air and struck the log basket. Lucky it didn’t get as far as the new rug, he thought, as he straightened himself up and reached for the polished brass poker. Edna would not be well pleased if she came home and found a scorch mark on it and the fire so low it was almost out.
He’d been thinking about the specifications for those new tractors Bertie had brought back from the exhibition in Birmingham and the next thing he knew he was away back in Ballymena fitting a new axle on a traction engine with old Willie Prentice. Years ago that was. The only place you’d see that engine now was in a museum. Wasn’t it funny the things that came back to you if you nodded off for a minute or two after your lunch.
He glanced at the clock. It was nearly three. Surely he hadn’t slept that long. He leaned over for another log without getting out of his chair. He tried to place it in the hottest part of the glowing embers but the pain caught him unexpectedly and the log fell short.
‘Bad luck, George, you should’ve stood up in the first place,’ he said aloud. He put a hand to his chest and straightened his shoulders cautiously. ‘And if that’s the way the wind’s blowing you’d better take your pills and forget all about hoeing that rose bed.’
He
