only an hour and a half until they were on duty again, but she was so full of nervy anticipation about seeing Ferdia that she had to do something – anything – to keep her from going bananas. She looked at the programme. What was on now?
‘Whatever you’re doing now, can you take the bunnies?’ Jessie swung by, looking harried.
‘Y’okay?’
‘Grand. Just, chefs, you know.’
Slightly late, Nell arrived at the Lightbulb Zone. It was crowded, all the seats were taken and some people were sitting on the floor. Ferdia was standing on the low stage, lanky and dishevelled, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up. ‘… Abolishing Direct Provision is the endgame,’ he was saying. ‘That’s going to take work. The current system, where Ireland seems unattractive to asylum-seekers, suits our government. Only when the weight of public opinion becomes too great will change happen.’
Mic in hand, he was pacing slightly, looking like a hot young politician on the campaign trail. Nell felt horribly in love with him.
Beside her, Dilly whispered, ‘He looks like a man.’
‘He is a man,’ Bridey hissed.
‘No! Like a man off the telly. One we don’t know.’
‘… Sanitary protection costs approximately ten euro a month. Which is six per cent of the annual allowance women in Direct Provision get from our government. It’s a lot.’
He was loose and rangy, relaxed in his body. People were listening.
‘One of the reasons sanitary protection for periods isn’t free is that people are uncomfortable talking about it.’ His laugh was soft. ‘Yeah, you know you are.’
An appreciative wave of laughter rose.
‘Not so long since I was mortified too. You’re probably thinking I’ve some neck talking about period poverty. But the reality is that the public purse is controlled by men. If men don’t ally themselves with this issue, the chances of change are reduced.
‘Seriously, men need to get past their embarrassment. It’s a bodily function that happens to fifty per cent of the earth’s population. For the men here today, this analogy might help. Imagine you stepped in a puddle. Your sock is wet and your shoe is wet. You’re far from home, so you have to walk around all day with your wet sock and your wet shoe, the cold seeping into your skin and bones. Your friends might laugh at you because you were so stupid to step in the puddle in the first place, so you say nothing. Now imagine that happening for up to seven days in a row … and that it will happen again next month. And the month after. And the month after that.’
‘Being a woman is the worst,’ TJ said quietly. ‘The literal worst.’
‘In living memory,’ Ferdia said, ‘it was considered a bit off for heavily pregnant women to be out in public. Or they were draped in circus marquees, loose enough to hide their “condition”. Now? A woman who’s nine months pregnant can wear a bikini without anyone batting an eye.
‘But taboos don’t bust themselves. That change happened because enough women ignored the unspoken law. With this issue, the more it’s talked about, especially by men, the more we normalize it. Asking for free sanitary care for women in Direct Provision will kick off a lot of whatabout-ery: what about homeless women, what about women in refuges, what about women with low incomes? Here’s the deal: in a perfect world, sanitary protection would be freely available to all. But we’ve got to start some place, some time. Thank you for listening.’
He finished, to applause and one or two whoops.
Next, Perla told her story, but Nell couldn’t concentrate. As soon as the event ended, she hopped up, wove through the people and intercepted Ferdia as he jumped down from the stage.
‘Nell!’ He smiled.
Almost angrily, she demanded, ‘Why didn’t you tell me you were doing this?’
The smile vanished. ‘I started a few times, but something always got in the way. I didn’t want to be all performative about it. You know? I didn’t want you thinking I was doing it for praise.’
‘Wow.’ Then, ‘You’ve changed.’
‘I’ve been telling you.’
‘You were great up there.’ Her chin wobbled. ‘You were amazing.’
‘So what’s everyone doing now?’ he asked. ‘Food? I just need to get my charger from my tent.’
‘Where is it?’
‘Opposite yours. I’m in with Ed.’
She was confused. Maybe, for the benefit of the kids, he and Perla were pretending they weren’t sleeping together.