Chapter Text
After a deceptively gentle spring in the town of New Ross, County Wexford, summer had announced itself with harsh rays of sunlight that brought little warmth.
Kathleen Furlong had just celebrated her sixteenth birthday with her best friends on a three-day road trip to Waterford—to catch early sunrises and flocks of puffins and conversations over mugs of bittersweet coffee. She now prepared herself to spend many a Saturday during the next few months at the humble, one and only office of her father’s coal and fuel business—to be his one and only secretary, taking phone calls and sorting out delivery orders and invoices.
The local economy was not great. Some jobs were hard to even hold on to, and new jobs were even harder to come by. Kathleen, proud about how her father’s business provided energy to the town and often plugged the electricity gap on the coldest days, would rather be working as a glorified clerk here than be a waitstaff or dishwasher down at one of the restaurants, nameless but for a nametag.
Her father promised to double her pocket money for that. But more importantly to her, when her first day of work had ended, he’d said a simple, “Thank you,” as he’d placed a hand on her shoulder.
Daddy was extremely polite. No, more than that—she’d always had the impression each and every one of his ‘thank you’s were said with purpose. They were more than words to him.
Even before she could reply with a ‘you’re welcome, Daddy’, his touch was gone, and they had packed up the paperwork and locked up the yard and walked home in time for dinner, and that small moment was left to linger in Kathleen’s mind.
Daddy seemed quietly but sincerely grateful for every little thing, even though little seemed to truly amaze or fascinate him. It wasn’t out of bitter cynicism, Kathleen had concluded quite early on. Her fleeting, surreptitious observations over the years showed her that after each work day, he scrubbed his hands clean of soot, alone, thoroughly and methodically, with the kind of determination that a bitter cynic couldn’t possibly have.
He always showed up to the dinner table and tried to be present, no matter how exhausted he looked. It wasn’t a grand epiphany that told her that, but rather a slow, dawning realization, and with it a fierce and tender admiration.
Kathleen’s daydreams were interrupted by noise in the present. “Morning, Boss. Patrick called in sick for tomorrow,” Mr Connolly greeted as he thudded into the office. Only then did he notice Kathleen sitting at the desk instead of her father. “Excuse me,” he said. “Morning, Miss Furlong.”
“Good morning,” she greeted back. “Da’s out behind the yard sorting the deliveries, you can still catch him before he drives off.” She gestured beyond the grimy office windows.
“Got it,” Mr Connolly agreed. Even as he turned to leave, he added on, “You’re awfully sound for spending your weekend sorting out paperwork instead of hanging out with your mates.”
Kathleen thought about Daddy hefting sacks of coal onto his shoulder, hauling them from the lorry to customers with no complaints. Always ready to take over a duty or chore, no matter how menial, despite being the boss here.
She shrugged. “We’ve all got to chip in, like,” she reasoned.