I met Fiona’s mother, Sue, a few nights ago, in the bowels of the Róisín Dubh — Galway’s premier music venue, but for all that a bit of a dump. The lighting’s bad, it smells like warm Guinness, and the floor is sticky. Plus Fiona made a point of cutting the interaction short, hurrying Sue out of the place the way you would an important diplomat. I guess after three months of dating, I still hadn’t been cleared to meet her only living parent.
So it’s now, here in the front hall of Sue’s place, that I’m really meeting her for the first time. She’s compact and beautiful and has none of her daughter’s nervous energy.
