This morning it was Lisa who felt sick because today was the day which preceded the night when she would discover how well or how ill she had succeeded in the Leaving Certificate examinations. She had a whole day at Goode’s to endure, and several more hours thereafter—she would go to see a film—before it was time to go down to the Herald or the Telegraph and discover the worst. Her stomach was already in a state of turmoil.
“I can’t eat a thing,” she said to her mother, and the latter for once did not insist.
Just after Mr. Miles arrived at his place in the composing room late in the afternoon, one of his colleagues came over to him.
“Hey, Ed,” he said, “haven’t you got a daughter who’s just done the Leaving? They’ve finished setting the results. Go and have a look. Put the kid out of her misery.”
Ed Miles was in a grump.
“Nah,” he said. “Let her sweat. She wanted to do the Leaving. I told her it was a waste of time but she and her mother wouldn’t listen. I haven’t got time for looking at results, I’ve got work to do.”
“Ah, come on,” said his colleague. “Don’t be a spoilsport. It’s a big day for her. What school was she?”
Mr. Miles informed him grudgingly. Five minutes later his colleague returned.
“Hey, Ed,” he said, “is her name Lesley? Right. Listen to this.”
He had a slip of paper. He read out a list of results which as even Mr. Miles could see were rather impressive. There was a brief silence while Mr. Miles continued to all appearances to carry on with his work. At last he spoke.
“That sounds all right, doesn’t it?” he said. “Thanks.”
“Geez, Ed,” said his colleague, “you’re a cool one. It’s bloody good, that’s what. You should be celebrating.”
“Well I’m not,” said Mr. Miles. “I’ve got work to do, so leave me to get on with it.”
“Gee whiz,” said his colleague. “You bet.”
He went away and regaled the rest of the crew with the tale of Ed Miles’s phlegm in the face of his daughter’s brilliance.
The night editor now came in; he sauntered over to Ed Miles.
“I hear your daughter’s distinguished herself famously,” he said. “Congratulations! Wonderful news! I suppose she’ll be off to the university in the new term? You must be proud.”
“Well, I don’t know about that,” said Mr. Miles. “I don’t know about the university.”
“Oh, surely!” exclaimed the night editor. “You can’t waste brains like that. She’ll have a wonderful time. And you tell her to come and see us if she wants a cadetship—first-class honours in English, she must know how to write. Yes, university’s the thing—mine are both there now, they’re having the time of their lives. You tell her from me, she can’t do anything better at her age!”
He sauntered away again. Eventually Mr. Miles got so fed up with his workmates coming over and shaking his hand and congratulating him that he acceded to their irritating expectations by going and telephoning home. His daughter was of course absent; he spoke to his wife.
“Just thought I might as well tell you Lesley’s results,” he said, “if you want to know. I’ve got ’em here.”
He read them out to her. She gasped, and burst into tears.
“This is the happiest day of my life,” she said. “Can’t you come home early? She should be back soon.”
“Can’t really,” he said. “I’ll see youse tomorrow. Got to go now.”
He hung up.
Lisa thought of ringing her mother but there were so many others queuing for the nearest public telephones for the same purpose that she thought it would be almost as quick simply to go home. She saw some other girls from her school then and they all jumped and squealed together for a minute and pranced away along the street towards downtown and Wynyard Station, chattering disjointedly about their futures, which by the time they entered the station had begun to take on fantastical elements: university life had now fairly begun.
Mrs. Miles ran to the door as Lisa opened it.
“Mum!” she cried, her eyes alight.
“I—I know,” said Mrs. Miles. “Your father telephoned.”
“Gosh,” said Lisa. “What did he say?”
“Nothing much,” said Mrs. Miles. “But you couldn’t expect it. He’s suffering from shock, or he wouldn’t even have phoned. You just let him stew for a bit. You’ll see him tomorrow. Don’t press him; let it sink in. Oh, Lesley. This is the happiest day of my life!”
“Mine too,” said Lisa, “so far.”
And they laughed and hugged each other and began to cry, and then they danced a jig, and then Mrs. Miles made some Milo, because Lisa had to get up in the morning and go to work, exam results or no exam results, and this was no time to be doing without a proper night’s sleep, was it?