Prima Donna (43 page)

‘Hoh!’ Finn laughed, unaccustomed to these sophisticated social mores. ‘Doubly good to see you too.’

Sophie laughed. ‘Won’t you join us?’ she asked, pulling out a chair for him.

‘Well, I’d love to, but I’m with that rowdy bunch at the bar,’ he said, rolling his eyes towards a group of guys all clutching their pints and looking over
expectantly.

Sophie caught Esther’s eye. ‘They’re good lads,’ she shrugged.

‘What the hell? The more the merrier,’ Sophie smiled.

‘Right you are, then. Hey, lads!’ Finn shouted, indicating for them all to come over.

They each grabbed a chair on the way over, and much shuffling of the surrounding tables ensued. They thrust out friendly hands as they sat down.

‘Tom Driscoll,’ beamed the ginger-haired one with the bright blue, naughty eyes.

‘Joe Scanlan,’ grinned the tall one, with shaggy brown hair and a face full of freckles.

‘Tony Byrne,’ said the last one, with pitch-black hair and green-flecked eyes. He was wearing a chunky white cable-knit jumper, even though it was May.

‘Sophie,’ she said, even though they all knew perfectly well who she was. ‘Don’t tell me you’re cold?’ she said to Tony as he sat down next to her.

‘Ach, he’s always bothering about the cold,’ Tom joshed, digging him in the ribs.

‘Well, you were worth the wait,’ Finn said, watching Sophie as she settled back to her drink, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass.

Sophie looked up. ‘What do you mean?’

Finn shrugged. ‘Well, it’s been the talk of the village you coming home. We’ve been coming here every night hoping to see you. Fair spent a month’s wages in here waiting
for you to come in.’

‘Sorry to have kept you waiting. What can I say? Jet lag,’ she lied.

‘Where did you come in from?’ Joe asked, a slug of foam on his top lip.

‘America.’

‘Really? Whereabouts?’ Tom asked.

‘Chicago.’

‘Is it as windy as they say over there, then?’ Finn asked.

‘Well, they do sell a lot of kites,’ she nodded.

‘What did you do over there?’ Joe asked.

Esther smiled, leaning forward. ‘See if you can guess.’

The guys tipped their heads in consideration.

‘Banking.’

‘Doctor.’

‘No, advertising.’

‘I reckon it was scaffolding,’ Finn grinned.

‘What?’ Sophie said, bursting out laughing and smacking him on the arm.

‘You’re all way off the mark, the lot of you,’ Esther said proudly, taking an impressive swig of cider.

‘What was it, then?’

‘Sophie’s an artist. She had an exhibition out there and everything.’

‘Seriously?’ Joe said. ‘You must be pretty good. What kind of art?’

Sophie paused. ‘Portraits, mainly.’

‘Hey! Would you do mine?’ Joe grinned, pushing a napkin towards her. ‘Emer, have you got a pen?’ he called over to the woman behind the bar.

She pushed a biro over the counter and he got up to get it.

‘Ah well, seeing as you’re up, you can get another round in, Joe,’ Tom laughed.

Joe dropped his head in his hands, and Sophie and Esther laughed as he threw a peanut at Tom – before dutifully ordering another round.

Sophie picked up the pen. ‘Okay, who’s first, then?’ she said boldly, looking at them all in turn. ‘Tom.’

‘How d’you want me?’ he asked, turning his head to the side and puckering up.

‘Oh nice, nice,’ Sophie laughed, getting a handle on the shape of his eyes, in spite of his best efforts to manipulate and distort his face. She drew quickly and effortlessly, the
months spent sitting in the studio capturing split-second movements as Adam and Ava whipped past her, finally paying off.

‘God, you’re fast,’ Finn said, watching her hand expertly reproduce his mate’s features.

‘How’s that?’ she asked, pushing the napkin towards Tom and sitting back in her chair. She took a large, proud swig of her drink.

‘Jesus, you’re good,’ Tom said, laughing. ‘Although I don’t think you’ve
quite
captured exactly how handsome I really am.’

Joe cuffed his shoulder. ‘You’d look like that in your dreams, mate.’

‘Who’s next?’ Sophie asked, handing her empty glass to Emer as she came over with the fresh drinks. ‘Tony?’ She smiled at the quietest member of the group.
He’d said scarcely a word since sitting down but she sensed he’d been watching her closely all the while. ‘You’ve been suspiciously quiet,’ she teased.

He sat back in his chair, his arms resting languidly on the table. He seemed to say more with his silence than the rest of the guys managed in full banter.

‘Ach, not for long,’ Finn said finally. ‘You’ll be sick of the sound of him two minutes into his set.’

‘His set? What do you mean?’ Sophie asked, intrigued.

‘No, no. I’m not doing that tonight,’ Tony protested, batting the suggestion away with an idle hand.

‘Tony here’s our resident star,’ Finn grinned. ‘At least, he was till you came back.’

Sophie looked at him, her interest piqued. ‘What do you do?’ she asked, leaning her arms on the table. ‘Tell me.’

He looked at her, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. ‘I’m a carpenter,’ he said, before taking a defensive gulp of his beer.

The guys roared at his evasiveness.

Sophie looked at them all and at Esther. ‘And when you’re not doing that for a living, what are you really?’ she asked, refusing to be deterred.

He stared at her with a smouldering defiance and she knew in a flash he’d judged her as the big city girl with the glitzy career, flirting with the locals as she passed through on her way
to bigger and brighter things. He refused to compete.

There was a sudden piercing whine and she saw Finn had got up and was standing on a small stage in the opposite corner by the fireplace. ‘Ahem, ladies and gentlemen,’ he drawled
suavely into the microphone. ‘In honour of the return of one of Fennor’s finest womenfolk, Tony Byrne is going to play a small set for you all tonight.’

A massive cheer went up through the pub and, groaning, Tony slapped his hand across his forehead.

Sophie raised her eyebrows in amusement as he reluctantly stood up. ‘Good luck.’

He walked between the tables and sat down at the piano, the top of which was covered with half-full pints. ‘Emer, do you mind?’ he asked blandly, sending the barmaid running over
with a tray. ‘It’s just I wouldn’t want them to fall off while I’m playing,’ he added apologetically as she hurried to clear them.

‘For sure, Tony,’ the woman smiled. ‘You’re always so thoughtful like that.’

He stared at the keys for a moment, then began to play, his fingers teasing out a haunting ballad. Sophie sat back in the chair, watching him as his voice – low and steady – filled
the room.

Everyone had fallen silent now. He was sitting facing her but his eyes were pinned to the ivory keys. Sophie took the opportunity to examine him – how his hair flopped across his forehead
as he moved, the hollow of his cheeks as he sang, how his eyelashes cast shadows when he looked down. He really was . . . not handsome, but beautiful, like some medieval angel.

Slowly, she drew a clean napkin across the table and began to sketch again, her hands moving while her eyes remained upon him. Not that he would notice. His absorption was mesmerizing as he
segued easily from one song to the next. She’d never heard of any of them.

‘What are these songs?’ she whispered to Esther. ‘I don’t remember any of them.’

‘You wouldn’t,’ her sister shrugged. ‘He wrote them all. This is a rare thing nowadays, him playing impromptu like this, let me tell you. Usually, Emer has to put tickets
on the door to control numbers when he does a gig.’

‘I’m not surprised. He’s amazing.’

Esther rolled her eyes and put a hand on her arm. ‘Join the queue, sis. Half of Cork’s already madly in love with him.’

Sophie tutted, annoyed. ‘As if,’ she whispered. ‘I just mean that I like his music.’

‘Yeah, well, I think he’s going to be going places anyway. He won’t be hanging around here for much longer. The bright city lights are already beckoning.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘A talent scout came all the way from Dublin a few weeks ago to come and listen to him. He’s going to go and do some gigs there.’

‘Oh. Well, that’s . . . great,’ Sophie said, looking back and catching him watching her after all, his eyes steady as his fingers flew. She swallowed and tried to smile as
everyone broke into applause.

The boys stood up, whistling and cheering. ‘See what I mean?’ Finn grinned, sitting down and turning back to her. ‘Our resident star.’

‘He certainly is,’ Sophie agreed, clapping so hard her hands burnt.

Finn saw the sketch of Tony on the napkin. ‘Hey, let’s have a look,’ he said, turning it around.

Tony came back over, a shy smile on his face. He was flushed slightly and he pulled off his jumper, his grey T-shirt lifting to reveal a slice of brown, rock-hard stomach.

Sophie looked back at Esther and found her already grinning at her.

Finn pushed the napkin over to Tony. ‘You should use that for your first album cover,’ he said.

Tony lifted an eyebrow. Sophie looked away, embarrassed, feeling she’d overdrawn. She’d flattered him.

‘Not bad,’ he said, looking down at it but leaving it on the table.

‘Not bad yourself,’ she countered, taking a sip of her drink and fixing her eyes on the bottom of the glass.

There was an awkward silence as Esther and the guys all shot each other amused looks.

‘Right, well, I think we’d better be off,’ Sophie said, suddenly desperate to get out of there.

‘Sure,’ Esther murmured.

‘Yup, us too,’ Joe said, draining his drink. ‘I’ve an early start in the morning.’

They all drank the dregs and stood up to go.

‘It was good to see you, Finn,’ Sophie said, feeling awkward again as she put on her jacket. ‘And to meet all of you guys,’ she added, looking at Tom and Joe but not
quite able to meet Tony’s eyes. She could feel his scorn that she was patronizing them with her presence.

‘Likewise,’ Tom smiled. ‘We’ll see you in here again soon, I hope.’

She shrugged noncommittally. ‘Yes. Maybe.’

‘How long are you back for?’ Tony asked casually, pulling his jumper back on. Sophie couldn’t help looking down at his stomach again as his head disappeared inside it.

‘I’m not sure,’ she replied.

His head emerged through the neck of his jumper and he raked a hand through his hair to pull it back off his face. They stared at each other for a moment.

There was a pause. ‘Well, if we don’t see you again, have a nice trip,’ he said blandly.

Sophie swallowed, feeling suddenly crushed. ‘Thanks,’ she said finally. ‘I will.’

‘Come on, then,’ Esther said, pulling her sister away by the arm.

They walked out together into the night, Esther getting out a torch from her pocket. Sophie grabbed her arm, having forgotten exactly how dark it gets in the countryside without street
lights.

‘Are y’on Florence Nightingale duty tomorrow, Esther?’ Joe called after her.

‘What do you think?’

‘Great,’ he called back and she could hear him grinning in the darkness. ‘I’ll make sure to get in the way when Tom gets the ball. That should guarantee a whacked shin as
he fluffs his pass!’

‘Oi!’ Tom protested, giving him a shove.

Esther giggled delightedly and squeezed Sophie’s arm tighter. Sophie smiled back. Esther had done a lot of growing up in her absence and she felt a sharp pain when she thought about
exactly how much of her family’s life she must have missed out on.

Inside the pub, Emer started clearing away the empties. She picked up the sketch of Tom that had been left, forgotten, on the table. She admired it for a moment and then stuffed it into a glass
with the empty crisp packets.

The door opened again, and Tony suddenly ran back in. ‘Sorry, Emer,’ he said, flashing her a smile and picking up the napkin Sophie had drawn on for him. He folded it carefully into
his back pocket. ‘I just forgot something.’

Sophie sat on the picnic blanket and helped herself to another sandwich. It was a glorious day in May – mild and bright – and even the gulls seemed to be enjoying
the high pressure, gliding to ever-loftier heights until they became nothing more than black dots in the sky.

She sighed happily and looked around her. It was a typical Saturday afternoon, exactly as she remembered them – just as she’d left them: the men of the village playing a to-the-death
hurling match against the men of the next village, the womenfolk of both sitting round the sides, blethering and sewing, and not taking a blind bit of notice.

The twins were running around, playing Forty Forty It with their friends in the silver birches – just as she had – and Esther was chopping up oranges for half-time.

‘You’ve really grown up, Ess,’ Sophie said, watching her slice her way through the bag. ‘That always used to be Mam’s job.’

‘Ay, well, it’s not so good for her hands to hold such a small knife nowadays,’ she said. ‘They get ever so stiff.’

Sophie nodded. The shame she was so used to wrapped around her like cling film – accusing her, reminding her that she never should have gone, that her family had needed her.

She watched her mother sitting with the other women on the deck chairs around the pitch. She was knitting an Aran jumper – her speciality – for Eilidh, and laughing as Eithne Finlay
regaled the group with a story about her husband backing his tractor into the slurry tank and how she’d made him sleep downstairs for a month.

She watched the way her mother put her knitting in her lap when she laughed hard – to save from dropping stitches – and how she tilted her head to the right when she was listening,
how she rested her knitting needles on her tummy (a habit from childhood) rather than letting them waggle in the air in the traditional fashion, and how a sheen of fear flickered over her face
every time her eyes sought out her children – not the youngest two but her eldest daughters, who were sitting with their long slender legs stretched out before them, their matching red hair
blowing behind them like pennants in the breeze.