FREYA’S PHONE GIVES a little trill and vibrates three times against her thigh, but she resists the urge to pull it out while the woman speaks.
‘Look, love,’ the woman says, ‘we aren’t interested in the ins and outs of people’s private lives.’ She picks up a sheet of printed paper, and waves it. ‘The bottom line is this – these are the documents you need. They won’t process the application without these documents, it’s that simple. That’s just the way it is.’
Jem pulls at Freya’s sleeve and says very quietly, ‘Your phone, Mammy.’
‘Thanks, little man, I’ll look at it in a minute.’
‘Listen I’m finishing up now,’ says the woman. ‘Sorry it hasn’t worked out for you. You seem well-heeled enough. I’m sure you’ll figure something out.’
The reception desk is very high. Freya has put the application form down flat on the marble top, and she can’t look at it without going up on her tiptoes.
‘But do you understand the situation? I have no contact with my mother…’
‘Look, if you’re fighting with your mother it’s really not our concern… As far as we’re concerned you’ve been in third-level education since leaving school – you’re the financial responsibility of your parents. If your parents are under the threshold you can apply for funding by providing proof of their income. If they’re not, you can’t. They can write a letter saying they won’t support you, but that’s not usually very successful… that usually turns out to be a scam.’
‘But there’s no way my mother will write me a letter or give me her bank statements or anything like that… I have no way of getting any proof of anything. I was raised by my grandmother…’
‘Is she your legal guardian?’
‘I’m twenty-four!’
‘I’m sure you get a single mother’s allowance or whatever.’
‘No, you can’t get that if you’re in full-time education…’
‘Well, tell me this,’ says the woman, ‘you’re in fourth year now, is that right?’
‘I just started in fourth year, but I can’t pay the registration fee or buy the books or anything. I’m supposed to be…’
‘I find it very hard to believe you’re hard up, love, to be honest, judging by the cut of you. Your blouse and your accent and all. And three years at Trinity. How did you live for the last three years if you’d no parents and no money?’
‘My grandmother…’
‘Right, so ask her to sort you out for fourth year.’
‘No, she’s in a home now, she’s not—’
Her phone sounds again, and Jem yanks her cuff: ‘Mammy, you got another message.’
‘Yes, thank you, Jem, I’ll get it in a minute.’
The woman lifts Freya’s form between the tip of her thumb and her forefinger, and hands it down to her.
‘Could I write a letter, explaining? I live with my sister, she could verify…’
The woman rolls her eyes and gives a growl of private despair. ‘Look, they have criteria,’ she says. ‘They’re not going to change the criteria because you write a letter. They won’t read it, to be honest. I won’t process it. I’d be shot for wasting time… we have too many applications as it is…’
*
Freya makes her way down the steps of the City Council office, Jem skipping along beside her.
‘Are you going to read your messages, Mammy?’
‘Shit’ she says, ‘it’s nearly six, the parking must be up…’
Jem’s lips pull small in panic. ‘Oh no, Mammy,’ he says, ‘are they going to clamp us?’
‘I don’t know, Jem. Let’s just hurry.’
‘Don’t worry, Mammy! Come on, Mammy, run.’ He grabs her hand and pulls her down the steps, his bony fingers slippery on hers, his feet clacking like a tap-dancer’s – and the guilt nicks her gut. She shouldn’t have said that to him.