IT SUITS YOU SIR — SIÚN IS CHEERED BY CLERYS STRIP
SIÚN Ó SÉ was just 15 years old when her father one day inveigled her to accompany him on a trip to Dublin. He always liked to have one, if not all three, of his children with him when he made the long journey by road to conduct whatever business had to be done. Naturally, Siún needed an incentive. It came in the form of a cheque, made out to cash. A few hundred euro. The cheque could be cashed in The Merchant bar when they arrived in the capital. The deal was done. Throughout the journey, while her father made a succession of phone calls or chatted about abstract things, such as football, Siún was planning her shopping expedition. Grafton Street and the St Stephen’s Green Centre would be the focus of the trip. She didn’t expect to be bringing home any change. They parted on the quays in the middle of the morning. ‘Tell the O’Sheas I said hello,’ said Páidí in reference to the owners of The Merchant. ‘I’ll give you a call around five. We’ll head for home then.’ Siún had a full day to buy, buy, buy. She took her time in the first couple of hours and was just hitting full stride, finding little treasures here and there, when the phone rang. ‘I’ll meet you under Clerys clock at one,’ said her father, and the line went dead. They duly met. ‘My meeting finished early … we’ll head. Get out before the traffic.’ ‘No Dad, that’s not fair,’ protested a furious teenager with loads of unspent notes in her purse. ‘You promised me a whole day shopping. You lied.’ ‘You’ll be fine,’ he said, not identifying the rage within. It was the pout that made him realise he was in a spot of bother. ‘I was thick,’ Siún recalls. ‘I had a puss on me. He kept talking to me but I just ignored him.’ Páidí had one small task to complete. He needed a new suit. Páidí always seemed to need a new suit. Best’s Menswear was situated on the top floor of Clerys department store. He was greeted warmly by the staff when he arrived with a fuming daughter in tow. Siún sat on a window ledge scowling angrily while the manager fussed over Páidí. Her father looked over at her every 15 seconds or so, asking questions. All he received in reply was a monosyllable or silence. He would pick out a suit. ‘What do you think Siún?’ ‘Fine, whatever.’ ‘This cream one looks good, Siún.’ ‘Yeah.’ In his mind Páidí was thinking, ‘I’ll get her to smile … get that puss off her.’ ‘I’ll try this one on,’ he declared. The manager pointed to the dressing room. ‘No … no,’ said Páidí. ‘I’ll try it on here. There’s much more room. I’d be smothered in there.’ Siún realised what was about to happen. She jumped up. ‘Don’t you dare … ‘ … don’t even try it.’ The manager looked perplexed. In the middle of the floor Páidí began a routine. He first removed his jacket, then his trousers. Then his shirt. The shop floor went silent. In his briefs and socks Páidí began to do his own version of Riverdance across the floor. ‘Jaysus, Páidí Ó Sé is gone nuts,’ said a voice in a thick Dublin accent. Siún did not know where to look. So she looked at her father. ‘He stood there in the middle of the menswear department, wearing nothing but his underpants and socks. And he winked at me.’ She burst out laughing. Suit purchased, they headed for home. Happy.