believed, her mind kept avoiding it — something that would not go away, that could only get worse. She would do anything, she realised, to wish it away.
When some other school principals arrived, a porter came to take them upstairs.
'The Minister is here,' the porter said, 'and he wants to be introduced to you all before the meeting.'
A year earlier, the Minister had come to open the new science laboratories in Helen's school, and he had stayed afterwards for more than an hour in her office, asking questions, listening carefully.
When Helen walked into the room, she saw a few civil servants whom she recognised, including one with whom she had constant problems. Now, because of the Minister's imminent arrival, they were all polite and cowed. They shook hands and made small talk until the Minister came in.
'The Minister says he's met all of you at some time or another, but I'm going to introduce you all nonetheless.' John Oakley, the most senior civil servant, spoke.
The Minister greeted each person introduced and then politely asked them to take a seat. He remained standing.
'You're all welcome here,' he began. 'I know you're busy and I know you're going on holidays and we're all grateful to you for coming in today. These meetings are informal. However, there will be a report at the end and John Oakley here is going to write it and it will be done by Christmas. We've asked you to come here specifically because each of your schools has excelled in a certain area, areas which are particularly weak in other schools. The ones which come most to mind are absenteeism, in both teachers and pupils — Helen O'Doherty here has the lowest absentee rate or sick-leave rate for pupils or teachers anywhere; European languages — Sister here has been getting extraordinary results, especially in the spoken languages, and girls doing well in physics and higher maths, and George Fitzmaurice's school in Clonmel has excelled in that. These are just a few of the areas, and we want to know how it's done and apply it elsewhere. If you want to submit written reports, by all means do so, but please come to a few of these informal meetings between now and Christmas. And, as I think you know, if you have any particular concerns or problems, come to me with them, either directly or through John Oakley, our door is always open. That's all I'm going to say now. Thank you all, and I'll leave you to it.'
The Minister smiled at them and spoke briefly to one of the civil servants. On the way out of the room, he caught Helen's eye.
'I've been meaning to talk to you,' he said. 'I think you told me the day I was out at the school that you were from Enniscorthy and your father was a teacher too. But I heard more about you when I was down there at the Mercy Convent and the nuns said that one of their past pupils was a school principal in Dublin and that your maiden name was Breen and that your father was Michael Breen. I knew your father well. We were both on the committee, the very first one, of the Irish Branch of the Association of European Teachers.'
'My father is dead twenty years,' Helen said. 'I didn't think you'd remember him.'
'It was a great loss, Helen,' the Minister said. 'You know, you might be too young to remember this about him, but he was brilliant and dedicated, one of the very best. He'd be very proud of you now, Helen.'
The Minister's tone was so personal and confidential, so unreserved, that Helen wanted to say something else to him, talk to him more, but he squeezed her hand and moved away and was soon talking to one of the other principals.
Helen waited until the Minister had left and then approached John Oakley.
'I have to go,' she said. 'I can't stay. I'll send you in a report and I'll be in touch.'
'Even if you could stay for half an hour,' he said.
'I can't.'
'Was it something the Minister said?' he asked suspiciously.
'I have to go to Wexford,' she said. 'I'll be in touch.'
As she walked down the corridor, she began