Heartstones (18 page)

As Phoebe looked up she was surprised to find that she’d eaten the entire packet of biscuits and that the light was already fading outside. She looked at the clock on her phone; she was half an hour late, Mrs Flannigan would not be impressed and her jumper was covered in crumbs. Wrenching it off she started rifling through the chest of drawers full of Anna’s clothes. She pulled out a lacy shirt and slipped it on. As she checked her reflection in the large mirror she could see that the shirt was a little tight across the bust, she undid some of the buttons and hoped she didn’t have too much on show. Adding her boots and coat she flew out of the door straight into the solid torso of Theo Casson.

‘Hey, watch where you’re going,’ he growled. Phoebe looked up. He didn’t look good; his face was ashen, dark circles hung in crescents under his bloodshot eyes.

‘Are you all right?’ asked Phoebe. ‘You look terrible.’

‘Thanks, and you’ve got crumbs in your hair.’ He pushed past her through the boathouse door.

‘Shall we have another go at the
Hello and how are youʼ
s?’ she shouted after the door had slammed shut in her face. ‘No? We’ll give it a try next time then, maybe have a practice at home first.’

She stomped down the path, shaking out her hair with her hands. As she reached the car she realised she’d left her car keys on the chest of drawers.

Muttering about grumpy men under her breath she set off up the lane on foot.

Chapter Seventeen

As Phoebe took her place behind the bar Mrs Flannigan looked pointedly at her watch.

The pub was already filling up and the band were busy tuning their instruments on a makeshift stage in front of the big TV screen. Phoebe hadn’t expected such a crowd on a Sunday night. Once more Carraigmore seemed to be out in force, from teenage girls already dressed for summer to a table full of old men so wizened they looked almost mummified as they defiantly puffed on cigarettes and pipes. She recognised the man who’d bought her the gin on her very first night; he raised his glass to her and she gave a brief wave back. Sally O’Connell was there with a paunchy-looking man with a beard and a Breton cap. Phoebe wondered if he was Sally’s husband. Molly from the Hair Hut was also there, along with the large woman from the General Store (her hand deep in a packet of sweet chilli crisps) and numerous other faces that were already becoming quite familiar. She pulled pint after pint as customers poured in, and she became quite adept with the slightly faulty optic on the whiskey bottle.

From the corner of her eye she watched the band. There seemed to be a lot of musicians, Phoebe counted at least seven. All of them wore tight “Na Buachaillí Trá” emblazoned T-shirts that showed off their surf-honed bodies to good effect. She was surprised; for a small village in the back of beyond Carraigmore seemed to be blessed with a plethora of fine-looking young men, and that wasn’t counting the football team who were also a good-looking bunch, if you liked the Neanderthal type.

Rory had his back to her, one foot resting on a chair, his guitar supported on his knee. He was picking out chords and chatting to a dreadlocked fiddle player and a bearded young man with soulful eyes and a hefty accordion. A man in a pork-pie hat was putting a new string on his banjo while he shared a joke with a second fiddle player. Beside him an elfin-faced boy with long blond hair and a tin whistle started chatting to a table full of nubile girls next to the stage. A tall David Beckham lookalike wandered in, his chiselled face and tight jeans briefly distracting the girls. Seemingly oblivious to the stir he had caused he picked up a bodhrán, sat on a high stool, and started absentmindedly to tap out a rhythm like a heartbeat while he waited.

After a while the second fiddle player took off a checked shirt to reveal an impressive collection of Celtic symbols tattooed down both arms. He downed a pint of Guinness and then picked up another; that pint seemed to have belonged to the first fiddle player and a brief argument ensued until Rory calmed the situation by giving the second fiddle player his own pint.

Rory came over to the bar to replace his drink. ‘Nice shirt, it gives you a fantastic cleavage.’ Phoebe felt herself blushing and tried to fasten up her buttons. ‘What do you think of the boys?’ Rory asked.

‘Is the one with the beard Brian Wilson?’

‘Very funny. How was the unpacking?’

‘Exhausting, it took all of five minutes.’

‘Rumour has it you’ve been spotted bulk-buying processed cheese and biscuits in the store.’

‘Can’t a girl do anything round here without it becoming fodder for the local gossips?’

Rory grinned. ‘You’ll get used to it.’ As he took his pint Phoebe noticed that his quiff was more elaborately styled than before, standing almost vertically, each hair perfectly gelled into place. ‘I think we’re just about ready to play now,’ he said and winked at her. ‘You’re in for a treat.’

Rory jumped back on to the low stage and adjusted the microphone down to his height. He briefly introduced the band to lively jeers from the audience.

‘Our first number is dedicated to the new girl in town, Phoebe Brennan. She’s been a long time away but she’s back on home soil now,’ and with a cheer from the crowd the band were off with an extremely fast version of “The Irish Rover”, followed by “If I Should Fall from Grace with God”, a few instrumental reels, “A Pair of Brown Eyes”, a quick Celtic version of “Human” and then “Whiskey in the Jar”.

‘They are not half good, yes?’ Katrina stood by Phoebe; she had to shout to be hard above the music. Phoebe nodded. ‘There is nothing like a man playing with his instrument to make him look sexy.’ Phoebe looked around for Fibber to correct Katrina’s phraseology but he was down the other end of the bar.

Honey appeared, already dressed in her pyjamas. Phoebe bent down. ‘I wondered where you were,’ she said. Honey put her hands over her ears. Mrs Flannigan appeared at the little girl’s side.

‘It’s too noisy.’ Honey tugged at Mrs Flannigan’s sleeve. ‘Tell Mr O’Brian to be quiet, Tell him I have to wake up for school in the morning.’

‘Don’t worry.’ Mrs Flannigan drew Honey into an embrace against her sturdy hips. ‘They will be over soon, they only know a few songs.’

A frenzied version of “Boys of Killybegs” came to a boisterous end and Rory stepped up to the microphone again. ‘I’m afraid this next one will be our last song for tonight as some of us have school in the morning,’ there was much groaning from the audience. Mrs Flannigan gave Honey a squeeze, Honey made a face and Mrs Flannigan gave one of her rare smiles; Phoebe could suddenly see that she would once have been quite pretty. ‘This is a new one we’ve been practising all week,’ continued Rory and he moved away to lean his guitar against the wall. He walked back to the microphone and lowered his head, eyes looking down at the floor, his expression far away; after a few seconds complete silence fell around the crowded room – every one was waiting. Quietly, very quietly, the bodhrán started up a steady, single beat and then, still looking at the floor, with his voice almost a whisper, Rory started to sing.

‘We’ll do it all, everything on our own.’

Phoebe’s heart lurched; she recognised the song immediately. Rory looked up at the crowd, his voice stronger,
‘We don’t need anything or anyone.’
The fiddle players joined in, softly followed by the accordion and banjo. Phoebe wanted to cry, ‘If I lay here, if I just lay here would you lie with me and just forget the world.’ It had been their song, “Chasing Cars” by Snow Patrol, their special song. She bit her lip and closed her eyes. David hadn’t known it was their special song, she didn’t know if he even knew the song at all – but on her own, in the lonely evenings and on the long weekends that they had been forced to spend apart, Phoebe would play it again and again. And sometimes, when they were together lying on the rumpled sheets of her double bed, the words would repeat themselves silently in Phoebe’s mind, over and over again.

The song was building to a crescendo, Rory’s voice sounded more beautiful than the original, the words more poignant: ‘All that I am, all that I ever was, is here in your perfect eyes, they’re all I can see.’ Phoebe felt a light touch on her shoulder and opening her eyes she turned to see Katrina’s concerned face staring at her.

‘Are you OK?’ Katrina mouthed. Phoebe realised she had one hand clasped to her mouth, the other tightly gripping the edge of the bar. She put her hands down by her sides and nodded, trying to smile. Rory’s voice had dropped again and, apart from the drum, the band had stopped playing. Rory softly murmured the last few lines and the drum stopped. The room remained silent for a few seconds and then erupted into loud applause and foot stamping. The nubile girls clapped their hands above their heads and the old men in the corner put their fingers to their lips and whistled loudly. The band grinned at one another and set off again with a shorter version of “The Irish Rover” and then Rory announced that that was their lot, and Fibber got up and thanked them for ‘the great crack’ and the bar began to empty as steadily as it had filled up. The nubile girls lingered as the band packed up their instruments. Rory came across to where Phoebe was collecting the empty glasses.

‘Well, what did you think?’ his eyes sparkled.

‘You were great! Fantastic, almost as good as the real thing, though I do think a Celtic version of “Good Vibrations” would go down rather well.’ Moving down the bar she scrunched up a crisp packet and stuffed it in a glass. Rory followed her, picked up two empty bottles and put them on her tray.

‘Are you all right? You looked very sad at the end there.’

Phoebe hesitated. ‘Just old memories being stirred up.’

‘Pam Lynch told me you’d lost your husband recently. Liam O’Casey said it was an accident with a car and Fibber told me you’d lost everything in a house fire. It must be very hard for you.’

Phoebe wondered who Pam Lynch and Liam O’Casey were and she had to think hard to remember about the fire.

One of the boys from the band shouted something across the room Phoebe didn’t quite catch. ‘You go on,’ Rory called back. ‘I’d better get home; I’ve a nature trail to plan for tomorrow.’

‘Look at you, living the rock and roll lifestyle, you sap,’ the second fiddle player called back, his arm already around a skinny girl with a miniscule skirt and streaky orange legs.

‘Enjoy yourselves.’ Rory waved at the retreating band and accompanying girls and then turned back to Phoebe. ‘I’ll introduce you to the boys another time. They get a bit carried away after a gig, acting like they’ve just played the O
₂
Arena.’

‘Not you though?’

Rory shook his head. ‘No, I don’t let playing a few songs in the local pub go to my head; it’s just a bit of a laugh. My glory moment will be when I reach the top of Mount Everest.’

Fibber appeared beside them and took the tray out of Phoebe’s hands. ‘Do you want to get off? You look shattered.’

Phoebe nodded. She suddenly realised that she was exhausted.

‘Katrina’s got a big box of food to give you,’ said Fibber. ‘She was very concerned to hear you’d been buying a whole load of processed rubbish in the store, so she’s made you some soda bread and a loaf of barmbrack, and she’s given you some Cashel Blue cheese, home-cured ham, some of her tomato chutney, a jar of her raspberry jam, and the last bottle of elderflower cordial that I myself made last summer.’

‘You didn’t need to do that.’ Phoebe felt embarrassed. ‘I was just indulging in a bit of a nostalgic binge. All that processed food reminds me of my holidays here as a child.’

‘Well, Ireland’s moved on in culinary terms; you’ll be surprised. There’s a deli in the next village, plus a new patisserie and oyster bar in Waterville – and don’t miss the farmers’ market in the hall here every Wednesday.’

Phoebe nodded deferentially.

‘I’m going now, so I’ll carry the box to the car for you,’ said Rory.

Phoebe suddenly remembered that she’d left the car at the boathouse.

‘I’ll walk you back then,’ said Rory. ‘I was going to leave my guitar here and run home anyway, so the half a mile extra will be all the better for me.’

‘Do you never run out of energy?’ Phoebe asked. Rory looked at her as though the very thought was inconceivable to him.

‘He’s our resident bionic man.’ Fibber laughed.

Thin clouds scudded across a full, bright moon as Phoebe and Rory walked down the sandy lane towards the boathouse.

Rory carried the big crisp box filled with Katrina’s supplies.

He talked non-stop, regaling her with stories from his mountain-climbing adventures. He’d travelled the world almost as much as she had, but while she’d spent an awful lot of time in bars and on beaches, interspersed with the odd spot of eastern meditation and voluntary work, Rory’s travelling experiences had been all about physical activity.

‘Did you never even climb Mount Abu in India, that’s an easy one.’ Phoebe shook her head. ‘You must have tried bungee jumping in New Zealand?’ Again Phoebe shook her head. ‘White-water rafting down the Tully River in Australia?’

‘No.’

‘I don’t suppose you climbed Mount Kosciusko while you were in Australia either?’

‘I’m afraid not.’

‘Ah well, I’ll just have to get you up a mountain round here. Once you try it you’ll love it. Shall we give MacGillicuddy’s Reeks a go? You’ll have to wear your walking boots?

Light flooded from the boathouse windows as they turned the corner.

‘Looks like Theo’s still working,’ said Phoebe, her heart sinking.

‘Will you be all right?’ asked Rory. ‘He’s not the easiest of men to be around.’

‘I may not have had much experience of extreme sports on my travels,’ said Phoebe. ‘But I did get a lot of experience with dealing with difficult men. I’m not going to let him drive me out of the boathouse. Anyway, he’s not all bad, I saw a softer side of him yesterday and he obviously adores Honey in his own way.’

‘Well, don’t let him bully you. Have you asked him yet about helping Honey?’

‘No, I think I’ll leave it till tomorrow,’ Phoebe took the box of food from Rory. Rory ran his hand across his stiffly styled hair, looking suddenly ill-at-ease.

‘I feel bad,’ he said, speaking uncharacteristically hesitantly, ‘I feel as though I’ve been unenthusiastic about your attempts to help Honey with her reading and spelling. I don’t want you to think I don’t care about her – it’s just –’ he paused.

‘It’s all right,’ said Phoebe. ‘No teacher likes other people wading in and implying they can do things better.’

‘That’s why we’re the teacher, because we like to think we’re the ones that know the answers.’ Rory smiled.

‘Do you want to come in for a cup of tea?’ Phoebe smiled back at him. ‘And as you know I have a lot of Kimberley biscuits.’

‘You’re all right. My mother will be waiting to hear how the gig went.’

A movement at the window caused them both to turn around. Theo’s face appeared, then quickly disappeared again behind the glass.

‘I’ll come in with you if you want me to,’ said Rory.

‘Don’t worry,’ replied Phoebe. ‘I can look after myself.’ She took a step towards the door. ‘Thanks for walking me back, though. Enjoy your jog home.’

‘Actually I don’t jog, I run,’ said Rory. Phoebe tried not to laugh at his earnest expression. ‘There is a difference, I could show you. You could give it a try.’

‘I’m sure there is a difference, but please don’t ask me to do it with you.’

‘You can only pass on the running if you promise to join me up a mountain next weekend.’

‘OK, you’re on.’

Rory held out his hand and they shook on the agreement.