The Pub Across the Pond (28 page)

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Authors: Mary Carter

BOOK: The Pub Across the Pond
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“I'm a fucking coward now, am I so?”
“Yes.”
“And just what am I so frightened of?”
“Yourself.”
“Look who's talking? It's too late for me with my da, but yours is still around. Only you're too afraid to stand up for yourself, like. You've been carrying around all this guilt, and you wear those blue rubber gloves around the place like some kind of nutter.”
“Go to hell.”
“I'm already in it.”
For the third time Carlene started to walk away, and this time, nobody followed.
C
HAPTER
34
The Americans
Carlene was so jealous of the Irish people she met. Besides knowing how to let go and have a good time, they were really proud of being Irish. They sang about it, joked about it, wrote about it, and drank to it. She could only think of three songs about Ohio; one was thanks to the Pretenders, another was a very sad song about the shootings on the Kent State campus in 1970 (“Ohio” by Neil Young), and then there was some folk song about the “Banks of the Ohio” that she just couldn't remember. Still, none of them made her rejoice at the top of her lungs.
And if she were to walk into a dive bar in Cleveland, Ohio, she wouldn't have wanted to hear any of the stories from the drunks at the bar. But in her little pub in Ireland, she longed for their stories. Since her blowout with Ronan, she needed her pub and regulars more than ever. And they didn't disappoint. Even Riley had grown on her. Lately, he'd always hit the door talking, and now that she could fully understand his accent, she was starting to appreciate him all the more. Today he came in looking over his shoulder.
“If you see the wicked woman coming to drag me home . . .” he said with a wag of his finger.
“I'll invite her in and give her a drink on the house,” Carlene said. Riley continued the finger wag until his body was on the stool and his hand rested on the bar. They were old hands, wrinkled hands, shaking hands.
“Even if you come home intoxicated, come home with something for her,” he said. Carlene laughed as if she'd never heard him say this, and served him his pint and shot of whiskey that she had pre-poured. Riley was always on time for the pub. Carlene found comfort in being able to count on her regulars. He smiled, showing what teeth he had left, and winked at her. “She's looked after me for forty-six years,” he said. “Would you look after a man for forty-six years?” A movie flickered through Carlene's mind. It involved kissing Ronan for the next forty-six years.
“I wouldn't look after you for forty-six minutes,” Anchor said on cue. When he put down his pint, foam stuck to his goatee. He winked at Carlene too.
“You're so nice you remind me of myself,” Riley said. He turned his attention to Carlene, although his words were directed at Anchor. “Show a little kindness, overlook the blindness of a mean-sighted people on a mean-sighted seat,” he said. Anchor grinned and gave one of his head jerks to Carlene that she'd come to read as: Get a load of him. “I met my wife by the red mill on Jerome Street,” Riley said.
“That sounds very romantic,” Carlene said.
“I met my love by the gasworks wall,” Anchor said.
“I wouldn't go there now without a machine gun,” Riley said.
 
It had been six days since she'd met Ronan on the cliffs (then plunged off them), and even though she pretended otherwise, she'd been waiting for him. She was tortured by the things she said to him, and she wanted to make everything better. Every time the door opened, her heart skipped a beat, hoping she'd see him coming through the door. Worse, she knew his absence meant he hadn't told Sally the truth about their engagement. Carlene told herself to forget about him and move on. Now she was actually enjoying some peace with her regulars, and getting used to being around Sally again. Then, without warning, when she wasn't even looking at the door, he suddenly came through it.
“Hi, baby,” she heard Sally say.
“Hey,” Ronan said softly. Carlene turned around. Their eyes met and locked. Was it her imagination or did his smile fade upon seeing her? He adjusted quickly, rubbed his hands together, pulled up a stool next to Riley. He pounded Riley on the back.
“The Americans are coming tonight,” he announced. This time when he looked at Carlene, his smile was back.
“Americans?” Riley said with great alarm.
“Her buddies,” Ronan said. “From Dublin. Ohio, that is.”
“Ohio,” Riley said. “Now, that's a right nice place.” Carlene was surprised. She couldn't imagine Riley outside of Ireland.
“When were you there?” Carlene asked.
“Oh, I was never there,” Riley said. “But I heard it was a nice place, all right. A buddy of mine was on a train once that stopped in Ohio. He said they had nice ham sandwiches there, all right.” Sally served Ronan a pint. Carlene wanted to dump it, but she was torn as to whom she should drench first.
“It's on me,” Sally said. She leaned across the bar and kissed Ronan on the lips. Ronan didn't let it last long, and Sally wasn't thrilled when he pulled away. “You'd better not be this shy when we're married,” Sally said.
Carlene moved as far away from Ronan as possible and busied herself with the customers at the opposite end of the bar. She had been anticipating the arrival of the Americans as well. It was a Thursday night. She'd invited all the locals and paid the trad band extra to play tonight instead of Sunday. She'd even invited Joe, although she highly doubted he would come. The half dozen said they'd try to make it, but Mary McBride didn't like coming to the pub, which made Carlene immeasurably sad, even if she understood it. But the others, it looked like were going to come through. The place was already buzzing, and it was early yet.
Billy arrived with a couple of girls on his arm. Collin arrived, took one look at Ronan and Sally, and started flirting with Carlene. His T-shirt read: M
AKE
A
WKWARD
S
EXUAL
A
DVANCES
, N
OT
W
AR
. Ronan watched him with a scowl on his face, and practically jumped out of his seat every time Collin touched Carlene on the arm. Let him be jealous. It had been too long since their meeting on the cliff and the little seductive interlude underneath the town gate, then his refusal to come, all under the guise that he had to set things straight with Sally first. She didn't need games or thoughts of how good things could be between them if only he weren't so afraid to commit. Maybe she should give Collin a chance. Maybe the kind of love that made your heart leap into your throat was the kind that could kill you. Maybe she'd be better off with a nice guy like Collin. Her thoughts were disrupted by Anchor, who lifted his head and started to sniff.
“You burning something?” he asked.
“Oh shit,” Carlene said. “The cheese toasties.” She ran to the little toaster oven and threw open the door. Her little sandwiches were black and hard. If Sally hadn't been so busy throwing herself at Ronan, she would have noticed.
“Is that how the Americans like them?” Ronan asked. He was cheerful again. Carlene pried what was left off the rack and dropped it on the counter in front of him. She leaned in so only he could hear her.
“Just like your heart,” she said. Immediately, she was horrified that she would say such a thing, but it was too late to take it back, so she just smiled. “Only messing,” she said loudly. The band arrived in time to save her from having to listen to heavy metal. Anchor groaned as she shut off the jukebox. The fiddler, tin whistler, and guitar player started to warm up, and Carlene got them pints. Her second batch of cheese toasties was perfect. Declan walked in the door.
“How ya,” he called.
“What's the craic?” several of the lads answered.
“Damn all,” Declan said, slipping behind the bar. He started on the third round of cheese toasties, refilled drinks, and began chin-wagging about football scores, babies being born, and gossip about who was doing what work these days, or buying what property. He did the job with the skill and finesse of an Olympic gold medalist. She was amateur, he was all pro. If he had been forty years younger, she would have married him on the spot.
“Ran into Katie in town,” Declan said. “The girls should be here shortly—at least, the three single ones are beautifying themselves.” Billy perked up at the mention of the girls.
“Katie's coming?” Billy said. The two women with him exchanged disappointed glances. Billy put an arm around each. “There's plenty of me to go around,” he said. The band started to play, and second, third, fourth rounds were bought. So far no sign of the Americans. Maybe they wouldn't show. True to Declan's word, the three single McBride girls walked in the door. Katie, Siobhan, and Clare were wearing fancy dresses, high heels, and matching bags. Billy let out a wolf whistle and all eyes were on them, including the band. Carlene was just thinking how lucky she was, what a great evening this was going to be when suddenly, in the corner, she saw the woman from the museum.
She was wearing a navy skirt, black top, and black hat. She was tapping her foot to the music even though her hands remained clenched on her purse in front of her. Her black eye was either all healed or she'd covered it with makeup. Carlene hoped she would stay long enough to try to have a chat with her, but right now she was too busy to stop and talk.
The conversation rose and fell all around her. Carlene loved standing back and listening collectively to all the chatter. It was like a symphony of words. It had its own life, breath, and rhythms, just like music. It would grow loud and fall soft. Male and female voices blended together in harmony. She heard deep laughter and high trills. Banter back and forth was like a waltz. A long story was a ballad, a grumble about a bad day was heavy metal, jokes and gossip were pop music—but the really good ones, the phrases that stuck in your mind forever, were rock and roll. The girls finished their tour around the bar, then pulled up stools around their brother.
“Not here for a long time,” Siobhan called.
“Just here for a good time,” he answered. Siobhan grinned and smacked Ronan on the head with her clutch purse. Carlene wished she'd do it again.
“What did we have to see?” she asked Ronan. He threw her a warning look. Carlene was about to gloat that the Americans weren't coming in after all when the first of several video cameras came through the door. All the noise in the pub couldn't have possibly come to a screeching halt when they burst in, but that's how Carlene would always remember it. She couldn't hear anything but a buzzing in her head.
There were indeed fifteen of them, in khaki shorts and sandals with white socks, and T-shirts with shamrocks and pints of Guinness and leprechauns, and so many things hanging off their necks (maps, cameras, binoculars, sunglasses) it was a wonder they could stand up straight. If they had it, they hung it. Or, in the case of their video cameras, they swung it.
“Top of the morning to ya!” one of the American women yelled out.
“Play ‘Danny Boy'!” one of the American men shouted to the band. Then they stood at the edge of the crowd, grinning, as if waiting to be greeted, or perhaps announced, like the honored guests at a surprise party they'd secretly thrown themselves. When no such announcement came, they commandeered a table in the center of the room to which the band had already laid claim. Carlene watched in horror as they removed the empty instrument cases and put them down by the stage so they could merge that table with another and plant themselves front and center. Cameras immediately began snapping. The group photographed the walls, the band, and the regulars, who watched on with slightly horrified amusement, as if watching a middle-aged version of
Jersey Shore
. Carlene spotted Lorraine and Michael in the middle of the group.
“Hey, Lorraine,” Michael yelled.
“The lungs on him,” Ciaran said under his breath. Now that he mentioned it, it did seem as if all of them were yelling. Were Americans always this loud? Carlene had never noticed it before. Michael was pointing at an Irish man who had been doing a bit of a jig to the music, minding his own business. “Get a load of this,” Michael screamed.
“I'm Twittering about it as we speak,” Lorraine said. Carlene finally met Ronan's gaze. It would have been impossible not to; you could feel the heat coming off his grin. She'd never seen him look so happy. The regulars were all staring at Carlene too.
“Are those your folks?” Eoin said.
“God, no,” Carlene said. “Definitely not.”
“They're from Ohio too,” Ronan said. “So they're practically family.”
“They are not practically family,” Carlene said. Eoin, Anchor, and Collin got off their stools and wandered over to say hello. Everyone offered to buy them drinks. They wanted virgin strawberry daiquiris, iced teas, and Cokes. Declan was the only one keeping her sane. He handled all their requests with a smile, and when she went to help, he waved her away.
“But we don't make strawberry daiquiris,” she said.
“Don't worry, pet,” Declan said. “I'll find something red. We'll tell 'em it's the Irish way.”
The band played “Danny Boy.” Anchor and Eoin soon returned to the bar, but Collin stayed and entertained the tourists. He even danced for them. Carlene raised an eyebrow at Anchor and Eoin.
“Riverdancing,” Anchor said with a smirk. “Bet ye miss me heavy metal now.” One of the larger men in the group stood on a chair and started videotaping.
“If he falls off that chair, you'll be liable,” Ronan said.

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