Free Circle of Friends by Maeve Binchy

her power now.
    “Some people’s fathers give them an allowance by the month for clothes. A sum like … I don’t know … twenty … but I don’t know …”
    “You’ll have thirty pounds a month, nothing is shortchanged in this house.” He almost roared it.
    Emily Mahon watched Nan start to smile.
    “Thank you very much, Daddy, that’s more than generous,” she said.
    “Well”—he was gruff—“I won’t have you saying I’m not generous.”
    “I never said that, never once,” she answered him.
    “Well, all this business putting me on the carpet … implying that I might leave you short.”
    “In your right mind, Daddy, you’d never leave me short, but I don’t want to rely on your always being in your right mind.”
    Emily caught her breath.
    “What do you mean?” He was like a turkeycock now. “You know exactly what I mean. You’re two people, Daddy.”
    “You’re in no position to be giving me lectures.”
    “I’m not. I’m explaining why I wanted it on a regular arrangement so that I wouldn’t have to be annoying you when you’re … well, when you’ve had a drink I suppose.”
    There was a moment’s silence. Even the boys wondered what would happen now. The usual way of coping with their father had been to make no reference to anything untoward that might have happened, for fear of bringing it all upon them again. But Nan had chosen her time and place well.
    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 pocket 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,” he said eventually in a hoarse voice. “That’s it. Now could a man have a cup of tea in this place does anyone think?”
    In a big terraced house in Dun Laoghaire, another household was getting ready for the opening of the university term. Almost a town in itself, Dun Laoghaire was some miles from the center of Dublin, a big harbor 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 coastline 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