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me off the train and took me to the pub I was to work in. He introduced me to the owner, and the two older men I’d work with, who were going to train me. They were countrymen. They’d worked in the bar for forty years; they each shook hands with me, and told me to start the next morning. One of themsaid the apprenticeship was three years. I thanked them and said I’d see them in the morning. The cousin next drove me to a grocery on Lower Drumcondra Road. He told me to buy what food I needed and not to forget the fifty-pence pieces for the meter.
    My father gave me twenty pounds. We were standing on the platform at Limerick Junction. Hannah was holding the sleeve of my jumper. I don’t recall what my father said when he handed me the money. He probably said, Good luck to you now. And he would have warned me to not forget to send the money back when I was on my feet, and he would have warned me not to forget to write to my mother when I arrived at the digs that evening and to post the letter tomorrow, because my mother would be anxious to hear from me. His reddened hand with the purple veins dipped into the coat pocket. With her free hand Hannah was pointing at the train. She was saying how much she’d like to take the train to Dublin with me. She’d take it and then take the next one back home. Then his fist came out and he slipped me the note. It was folded up in a small square. His sharp nails touched my palms and the corners of the square were sharp. I didn’t look but shoved the money down my left pants pocket. But I did look the moment I found a seat on the train. I flattened the note out on my left knee then lifted my face and waved and smiled through the window at Hannah, who was waving and smiling too. Her brown hair was tangled. She wore the bright red cardigan that my mother’s friend in England had posted, and seeing Hannah by herself on that platform made me mad all over again at Tess—but him waiting till the last moment to do that. The platform empty except for the three of us. My father turned from us and lit a Sweet Afton. Hannah tugged at my sleeve. Coleman Daly, the train guard, sauntered up, orange flag in hand, and said that if I didn’t get on, it would leave without me. Then he asked Hannah which of the two Dwyer girls she was. Hannah said her name. Coleman said she was a lovely girl, and one fine day she’d make a handsome man like her father frightfully happy. Hannah giggled, and Coleman looked at his watch and said that the train was going to boot it in thenext three minutes. Hannah tugged harder on my sleeve. I was staring at the faces on the train. My father and Coleman were talking about last Saturday’s horse races. I turned from the train faces. Coleman shoved the flag into his back pocket, clapped his hands, and said it was a fierce cold day for a journey. Hannah piped up and said it was a lovely day to take the train. The smile appeared at the corner of my father’s mouth. I picked up the bag. The cushioned handles felt warm. Coleman was saying to my father that he fancied two, maybe even three horses in two or three races next Saturday. He was going to put a few pounds on a few of them. Coleman mentioned the horses’ names, and my father said to Coleman he couldn’t put a foot wrong there. I stepped closer to the train. Hannah gasped when I pushed her hand away.
    The Sunday afternoon in late July when I first visited Una’s flat, that day in January already felt like years ago. And you never stood on the train platform with your sister and your father—but bright sunlight lit the snowy fields. Cattle crowded around troughs filled with silage and hay, and the pale, stern winter faces on the train stared out. And I was ashamed. Ashamed of my father. I could not see myself then. Could not see what I was or who I wasn’t—but ashamed of the cowshit underneath his nails, the ragged everyday coat and cap, and the hand slipping into the pocket at the last moment, for all those pale