The next day was Nicky’s last in Dublin, and she was due to travel home on an evening flight. As on Saturday, she spent the morning chatting with Supergran, hearing all about the run-up to the Easter Rising, the Cumann na mBan meetings she’d attended, the Volunteers’ manoeuvres on St Patrick’s Day in 1916 and other plans. Nicky jotted down pages and pages of notes. By lunchtime Gráinne was tired.
‘We haven’t yet got to Easter week,’ Nicky said. ‘Shall we continue this afternoon?’
‘Ah, my sweet colleen, I think we will have to continue this by phone. Or perhaps you’ll be able to come to stay again in a week or two? I will pay your airfare. I’ve loved having you here, Nicky. But I’ve underestimated how long I can talk to you at any one time.’
Nicky was disappointed. She’d hoped to get enough material in this visit to write up her project. But Supergran had been so closely involved she had more to say than Nicky had expected. The main events of Easter week, 1916, she’d be able to glean from textbooks but the setting, the atmosphere, and the actions of ordinary people like her great-grandmother were not written up anywhere. She’d definitely have to come back. Phone calls would cost a fortune and would not be the same. She hadn’t even had a chance to go into the city centre and tour the key places involved in the Rising. She smiled. ‘Yes, I’d love to come back again. Actually, I don’t have to complete this project until the middle of May. So how about I come back over Easter? That would mean I could stay longer.’
‘Sure and wouldn’t that be perfect?’ Gráinne smiled, obviously delighted by the idea. ‘It’ll be grand to have company again over that period. And so fitting for you to be here at Easter too.’
Mum wouldn’t think so, Nicky thought. She’d no doubt be disappointed Nicky wasn’t going home over the Easter break, but she wouldn’t be able to complain if the reason was because she was getting on with her project – the one Mum herself had suggested. And it wasn’t as though Nicky had actually promised to go home. Mum had just assumed she would. Yes, it was a perfect solution. ‘Fantastic. I’d love to come. Thank you so much.’
Jimmy arrived, as promised, after lunch, to take her out to Portmarnock beach while Supergran had her afternoon nap. As Nicky climbed into his Ford Galaxy, she had an idea. A bit of a brainwave, she thought, though she wasn’t quite sure how to broach the subject with him.
It was a short distance through Malahide to the coast road, and along to Portmarnock. Jimmy found a parking spot and they left the car to walk along the beach. It was very different to the steeply shelving shingle of Brighton beach that Nicky was used to. With the tide out, there was a huge expanse of sand stretching for miles. They walked to the water’s edge, with Nicky picking up occasional seashells that caught her eye.
‘It feels as though you could paddle across to Wales, when the tide is this far out,’ she commented, and Jimmy laughed.
‘I wouldn’t try it if I were you. But yes, the sea goes out a long way on this coast. Did you get much more from Gráinne this morning? You’re off back to England this evening, aren’t you?’
‘I did, yes, and I am. But I’m going to have to come back over in a couple of weeks. She has so many stories to tell and she gets tired quickly.’ Nicky smiled. ‘I want to do a good job on this project.’
‘I envy you doing something you are so interested in. What job do you think you’ll do when you finish university?’
Nicky shrugged. She’d never given it much thought. To date, life had been school, sixth form college, university. Study, study, study, while trying to have a life of her own around it all. She’d never really thought beyond it, and she still had over two years left. ‘I don’t know, Jimmy. Teach, maybe? I could do a post-grad teaching course. I’ll wait and see how I feel when I graduate. I want to travel a bit before settling down to a career, anyway.’ And maybe take part in a few protests along with Seb, see if they could make the world a better place. She didn’t feel as though she wanted to say this to Jimmy though. He might laugh, or say something to put her off, or question her about exactly how she wanted to change the world, which was something she did not feel she had an answer to.
‘Travel’s a good idea, while you’re young. Wish I’d had the money to do it. Sure and it’s a bit late for me now,’ Jimmy said, kicking up a mound of sand with his foot.
‘Never too late. And doesn’t need to cost much if you do it on the cheap.’
‘I’ve not a penny to my name, so I haven’t,’ Jimmy said. ‘I need to find a job soon.’
Here was her opening. ‘I had a thought about that, last night,’ Nicky said, tentatively.
‘About a job for me? Typing up your thesis or something like that?’
She laughed. ‘No, I was thinking about you having that big car, and living so near the airport … have you thought about signing up with a minicab company? You obviously like driving people around, and you might as well make money from it!’
‘Ah, my car’s old and scruffy,’ Jimmy said. ‘People want something smarter from a taxi.’
‘If you gave it a thorough clean inside it’d be fine. And there aren’t that many seven-seaters around. I reckon there could be quite a demand for large taxis going to and from the airport.’
‘Hmm. It’s worth looking at, sure. I’ll investigate. Thank you, young cousin.’
Nicky smiled with satisfaction. She’d passed her idea on. She had no clue how difficult it would be for Jimmy to set himself up as a minicab driver, or whether he’d ever considered it before. But she could imagine the job might suit him well.
They strolled along the beach chatting about various topics, from the relative prices of beer in England and Ireland, to the ongoing peace talks aimed at ending the Troubles. There’d been a ceasefire since the previous summer, and peace talks between Unionists and Republicans had begun. Jimmy was hopeful it would lead to a lasting agreement. ‘It’s been more than seventy-five years since the treaty was signed and Ireland was partitioned,’ he said, ‘and there’s been violence on and off ever since. It’s about time it all came to an end, and sure aren’t I feeling more hopeful now than at any time in my life before.’ He turned and grinned at her. ‘If they reach an agreement, wouldn’t that make a fabulous end to your project – it would bring it right up to date.’
‘It would.’ Nicky made a mental note to check up on current affairs. Her head was usually so deeply buried in history she forgot to check the news.
There were dark clouds coming over, and Jimmy glanced up at them. ‘I’m thinking we should be heading back to the car, before that lot reaches us,’ he said.
Nicky nodded. ‘Time to get back to Supergran and say goodbye, anyway.’
They just made it back to the car before the first spots of rain began to fall. ‘Irish weather,’ Jimmy commented. ‘You know what they say: if you don’t like the weather in Ireland, wait five minutes and it’ll change. We had the best of the day anyway.’
Back at Gráinne’s, Nicky packed her bag and said goodbye to her great-grandmother over yet another cup of tea.
‘Sure and won’t you be back again in no time?’ Supergran said with a smile. ‘As soon as you have your ticket booked, telephone me and let me know. Jimmy’ll pick you up at the airport again, won’t you, Jimmy?’
‘Of course. Delighted to.’
It was an uneventful early evening flight back to Gatwick followed by a train to Brighton and then the short journey up to the campus. Nicky dumped her bag in her room and went straight to the pay phone to call Seb. She’d missed him so much. His protest would have started, and she was keen to find out what it was all about.
There was a queue at the pay phone – it was Sunday evening and many students chose that time to call their parents. Nicky fidgeted as she waited, drumming her fingers on the wall and shifting from foot to foot. What was Seb doing? She’d promised she’d phone him as soon as she got back. He’d be expecting her call. She needed her own mobile phone, she decided. Maybe she could get a cheap pay-as-you-go one. Or ask Mum for one for her next birthday. But then Mum would be able to call her anytime she wanted. It’d be good to have a phone, but the downside would be losing the control she had regarding when she phoned home.
At last it was her turn, and she dialled Seb’s number. He answered within a few rings.
‘Hey, Seb, it’s me. I got back from Dublin. Where are you?’ There was a loud hubbub in the background. People talking and laughing, someone singing, We shall not, we shall not be moved. It was clear the protest was definitely underway and well supported.
‘Hi Nicky! Glad you’re back. Come and join us! We moved in around midday and we’re not moving. Actually, bring me a sandwich, yeah? I didn’t bring enough food and they’ve turned the gas and electric off so we can’t cook anything here.’
‘Sure, will do. But where are you?’
‘Student union bar.’
‘Right. A sit-in?’
‘Yeah, a sit-in. Got about twenty here. Real party atmosphere, babe. It’s going well.’
‘I’ll come and join you, if you’ll let me in. What’s the protest about?’
‘Our rights, Nicky. Protesting against the curtailment of our rights. What better thing to protest against?’
‘But what, exactly?’ She was trying to work out why they’d chosen a sit-in in the student union bar of all places. Seb sounded elated and excited and it was rubbing off on her. He was right – protesting about losing your rights was definitely worthwhile.
‘Come and see. Gotta go, babe. Come round to the kitchen entrance, yeah? We’ll let you in. Password is Benson. Got that?’
‘Benson?’
‘Yeah. Don’t talk to any press or police. Not yet. We gotta bed this in first, then we’ll work on getting publicity tomorrow. See you soon.’
He hung up before Nicky had a chance to ask if she needed to bring anything else. He’d asked for a sandwich. She went to the kitchen she shared with nine other students and checked the contents of her cupboard. Half a loaf of bread; out of date but with no visible mould. Half a jar of jam. She had some cheese in the fridge, she thought, but when she checked it had gone. Someone else had probably used it. Jam sandwiches it was, then. She made as many as she could, wrapped them in foil and put them in a carrier bag along with a packet of biscuits and a bag of crisps. She wondered about making up a flask of drink of some sort, tea perhaps, or coffee, but then remembered the sit-in was in a bar. They’d have enough drink. Probably too much.
She went back to her room and looked around, trying to decide if she should take anything else. Was she going to join the sit-in overnight? Should she take some clean underwear? Her sleeping bag? She decided against it. She’d go there with the food, find out what was going on, and then come back for anything else that was needed. Maybe her job would be as a runner, fetching and carrying, taking messages, rather than actually joining the sit-in. She would be on the edge, rather than in the thick of it. Nicky couldn’t decide whether that would be more or less fulfilling. Well, soon enough she’d find out.
She locked her room, stuffed her key into her jeans pocket and set off to the union bar at the other end of campus, with the carrier bag of food swinging at her side. Halfway there she realised she’d only catered for Seb. Was she supposed to be providing sandwiches for everyone? There was a small supermarket on campus, but it would be closed at this time on a Sunday evening. What she had in the carrier bag would have to do.
At the student union building, there was a handful of people outside the front entrance to the bar. Most looked like students, though there was one older man who Nicky thought might be the manager of the union bar. He was talking loudly on a mobile phone, sounding cross. As she watched him, he paced around, waving his arm. ‘I can’t get in. Just a bunch of students, smoking. Probably best to leave them be for tonight. They’ll soon get bored. If they’ve damaged anything they’ll pay. Yes, we’ll probably open up tomorrow, if it’s not in too bad a state in there.’ With that he walked away, brushing off a student brandishing a notepad who tried to talk to him.
Nicky went around to the back entrance of the bar, as she’d been told. Again, there were a couple of students hanging around, all of them smoking. She walked past them and tried the door, which was locked. She banged on it.
‘Trying to get in, love?’ one of the smoking students said.
‘Yes, got some food for one of them.’ She held up the carrier bag.
The student banged loudly on the door. ‘Someone wanting to come in, guys,’ he yelled.
‘Password?’ came a call from the other side of the door.
‘Um, I was told to say Benson?’ Nicky said, feeling faintly ridiculous.
The door was unlocked and Nicky ushered in. She followed the student – a scruffy chap in ripped jeans with unwashed hair – through the bar’s kitchen area and into the main room. It was dark – the only light came from a few candles and a couple of torches. The bar itself was brighter, lit by external streetlamps that shone through the front windows. There was a pall of cigarette smoke over everything.
She scanned the room for Seb and spotted him, sitting at a table with a few others. All were smoking. She made her way over.
‘Hey, Seb. Brought you something to eat. Not much, but all I had, and the campus shop is closed …’
‘Babe!’ He stood up and kissed her. ‘You made it. That’s fantastic! We need a non-smoker here, to show that what we’re doing is supported by everyone.’
She smiled, and was on the point of asking once more what the protest was about, but stopped herself. It would look bad on him if his girlfriend wasn’t sure what was going on. ‘Well, here I am.’ She handed him the carrier bag which he took without a word and began rummaging through. A moment later he was munching on the jam sandwiches.
‘Cheers for this,’ he said, waving one around. A lit cigarette was still lodged between his fingers.
Nicky looked around the room and realised that everyone was smoking. Every table had an overflowing ashtray on it. A pile of packets of cigarettes was on the bar beside a handful of lighters, and the protesters every now and again were helping themselves to yet another smoke. Was this it, then? The big protest? She remembered Seb had been outraged that smoking had been banned in this bar, after an asthmatic student had a bad reaction. He’d gone on about how it infringed on his liberties, and smokers should be allowed to smoke anywhere.
She moved to a quiet corner and gestured for him to come over to her. She needed to hear it from him.
‘So, you’re protesting against the smoking ban, right?’
‘Too right, babe! People have smoked where they like in this country for thousands of years. Just because some asthmatic had a coughing fit, doesn’t mean the rights of all smokers should be stamped on.’
‘Um, about 500 years,’ Nicky said quietly, trying to remember when tobacco had first been introduced to Europe from America.
‘What? Whatever. You’re with us, yeah? I know it’s like one bar in one university, but it’s the principle of the thing. They can just have a no-smoking corner or something, if it’s that important. Like the no-smoking carriages in trains and that. Got to fight for our rights – otherwise it’s like the thin end of the wedge, yeah? We give in here, and before we know it smoking’ll be banned in all bars on campus, all pubs in Brighton, all public transport. Then they’ll say we can’t even smoke in our own homes. It’s a curtailment of our rights. Need to nip this in the bud, here and now, is what I think. Got to fight for our freedom.’
He took a drag of his cigarette and coughed. Nicky was trying to decide how to respond. She had sympathy with what he was trying to do – so often rights were eroded bit by bit, so people barely noticed each incremental change, and by the time they did it was too late and things had gone too far. But this – this was about health. That student had been hospitalised after a major asthma attack, which was thought to have been brought on or exacerbated by her being in a very smoky atmosphere. Surely she and others like her had the right to go to a bar and drink safely? There were other bars, or perhaps smokers could go outside to smoke …
‘So what I want you to do, babe, and by the way, cheers for the food, is to get in contact with the local press. The Evening Argus, the Falmer magazine, any others you can think of. And then the nationals. Get phone numbers of journalists, and give them my number. They’ll want to cover this. Look, we got twenty students here, and we ain’t moving, not till the smoking ban’s been lifted. They’re good people. They’ve all promised they won’t touch the booze or damage anything. We’re not doing this to nick stuff – we got principles, yeah?’
He took a drag of his cigarette. ‘This’ll be huge. This’ll stop the trend towards banning smoking, when they see that smokers ain’t gonna take it lying down. You’ll do that for me?’ He stepped towards her and cupped her face in his hand, then leaned over to kiss her.
It wasn’t the best kiss she’d ever had. He’d been smoking so much, it was all she could taste. And he had to break away to cough again.
‘I will, Seb. But you know … this chain smoking isn’t doing you any good. I mean you can have your protest without having to ruin your own health in the process, can’t you?’
He stared at her. ‘My choice, babe. That’s what it’s all about.’
‘Well, I suppose for the greater good we all have to make personal sacrifices.’ She hoped he wouldn’t notice the hint of sarcasm that had crept into her tone of voice.
‘Sod that. It’s all about freedom, innit?’
‘Whose, Seb?’ It was on the tip of her tongue to ask about the asthmatic student’s freedom to visit a bar without endangering her health but she held back.
‘Mine, babe.’ He grinned at her. ‘I’ll cut back on smoking once this protest is over.’ He dropped his cigarette butt on the floor and ground it under his heel, then walked away from her to the stash on the bar and lit up another.
She shrugged. His choice, as he’d said, and she respected that. Maybe, after the sit-in had ended, she’d find a way to gently broach the topic again. She’d prefer him to give up altogether. There was nothing sexy about those coughing fits.
Well, she’d promised to help, and he’d given her a job to do. It was a better one than spending the night locked in the bar in that smoky atmosphere. She went out the same way she’d entered, and headed to the library. She could use one of the bank of computers there to look up contact details for newspapers. Hopefully all of them, in this day and age, would have a website.