“You should be so lucky.”
After getting her change, she left a couple of quarters in the tip jar and they went and claimed a section of wall to lean against. From where they stood they had a good view of both stage and dance floor. Jigabout were in the middle of a set of Kerry polkas. Out on the dance floor, Jilly and the others they’d come with were doing impressions of mad Irish dervishes, combining spins and twirls with their own rather curious ideas of stepdancing. Riverdance it wasn’t, but they were obviously having a great time.
“They’re like bloody dancing machines,” Donal said. “I don’t know how they keep it up.”
“You’re just jealous because you don’t have their stamina.”
“I suppose that could be one theory,” he said. He popped the tab on his can, pulling a face when he took a sip. “Thanks,” he added, toasting her with the can, eyes mournful.
“Oh, at least pretend you’re enjoying it.”
“Never tasted better,” he assured her. “At least from a can____”
Ellie shook her head. “You’re incorrigible.” She had a sip of her own drink. “Anyway. So Miki won’t record. But why won’t she tour? I mean, listen to them.”
“I know,” Donal said. “Bloody magic, isn’t it? And they don’t even play together regularly.”
Ellie nodded. “Exactly. Fall Down Dancing are even better.”
“Or at least different.”
“But easily as good.”
“Easily.”
“So why does she stick around here?”
“I don’t know.” Donal reached forward and tapped the shoulder of a man standing in front of them. “What do you say, Hunter?” he asked. “Is it true that the only reason Miki doesn’t go off touring is because you’ve got her locked into some fairy-tale contract that she can only buy her way out of with her firstborn child?”
When Hunter turned around, Ellie recognized him from the record store. He was of medium height, an inch or so taller than Ellie herself, with green eyes and short brown hair. She’d always liked his features—there was so much character and kindness in them—but she’d never gotten up the nerve to ask him to pose for her. He smiled a hello to her, then frowned at Donal.
“I think I’m supposed to be irritated with you,” he said.
He didn’t really seem to be put out, Ellie decided, since the frown didn’t reach his eyes.
“What for?” Donal wanted to know. “It’s not about the other night, is it? Jaysus, can’t you take a joke?” Turning to Ellie, he explained, “I was telling him at the session how much Miki fancies him.”
“And does she?” Ellie asked.
“Who knows? I only said it for a bit of a laugh.” He winked at Ellie before turning back to Hunter. “But I’m thinking someone took it seriously.”
Hunter nodded. “See, I knew there was a reason.”
“I’m the one who should be annoyed,” Donal said. “After all, you gave your solemn word to keep it to yourself, only the next thing I know you’ve told Miki herself and who knows how many others.” He glanced back at Ellie again, adding, “A word to the wise. Never trust your man here with a confidence.”
“Don’t mind him,” Ellie told Hunter. “As I’m sure you know, he has no sense of propriety or manners.”
“I’d resent that,” Donal said, “except it’s true.”
“And he’s surly, too,” Ellie added.
“No, I draw the line at surly,” Donal said. “Morose, yes. Even bitter. But I’m a bloody artist.” He patted his pockets with his free hand. “And somewhere I’ve got the license to prove it. I’m allowed to be melancholy. Actually, if I read it right, I’m supposed to be melancholy.”
“Oh, yes,” Ellie said. “And he can also get very defensive.”
“Do you think he has to work at?” Hunter asked.
She shrugged. “I hope not. Think how depressing it would be if it turned out he actually wanted to be the way he is.”
“This is true.”
“Right,” Donal said. “I’m off to the loo. Will someone hold my drink?” He held the can of Guinness out, but pulled it back when Ellie reached for it. “Never mind,” he said. “The mood you two are in, you’d probably drink it yourselves. Or give it away. Waste of a good drink, even if it does come in a can….”
He wandered off to the men’s restroom, his voice trailing along behind him. Ellie and Hunter looked at each other, then they both began to laugh.
“I think you owed him that,” Ellie said.
Hunter nodded. “Of course it won’t stop him from doing the same thing again, given half a chance.”
“Of course.”
Hunter took Donal’s place by the wall, his shoulder next to hers, and the two of them listened to the band play through a set of jigs.
“What were you saying about Miki and touring?” he asked when the applause died down.
“I was just wondering why she doesn’t. She’s so good.”
Hunter looked up at the stage where Miki had launched into an improbable story about the origin of some tune’s name.
“You see,” she was saying, “ ‘The Gravel Walk’ is actually from China, not the Shetlands. The clue’s in the misspelling of the title. It’s supposed to be w-o-k. not w-a-l-k.”
“All lies,” Geordie put in.
“No,” Miki assured the audience with a grin. “This is all true. I hope you’re taking notes. Anyway…”
“I think she’s got a phobia about traveling,” Hunter said, returning his gaze to Ellie. “You know what it was like for her growing up, staying with relatives all up and down Ireland, and then emigrating here.”
Ellie nodded. The same pattern had been repeated once the Greers had moved to North America, except they didn’t have the same extended family to fall back upon here as there had been back home. Then Miki and Donal’s mother had died giving birth to a stillborn girl and their father had taken to drinking worse than ever. He was rarely home, abusive when he was. Eventually he simply stopped working and was always home, always drunk. When they lost the last apartment they’d been living in, Miki and Donal had taken to living on the streets to escape Miki’s being put into a foster home. Miki had been fourteen, Donal six years older.
“I never saw anyone so happy as Miki was when she got that apartment with Judy,” Hunter was saying. “She was so proud of having her own place. Of having a home.”
“I guess you’ve known them longer than I have,” Ellie said.
“I suppose. I first met Miki when she was playing at one of The Harp’s sessions. Thomas would turn a blind eye when she’d sneak into the pub. I mean, she was just this raggedy little girl—all bones and thick wild hair in those days. Too young to be able to order a drink, but lord could she play.” His gaze drifted back to the stage where the band had begun another set of tunes. “I wish she would take the music further, too, but for all that she acts like such a free spirit, she’s in serious nesting mode. The very idea of having to pack up and leave—if only for a short tour—terrifies her.”
“It’s a shame,” Ellie said.
Hunter shrugged. “Well, yes and no. She’s happy the way things are now, so why should she change? Besides, there’s something to be said for playing music for the love of it, rather than it being merely the springboard towards fame and fortune.”
“I guess you see a lot of that in your business.”
“Lots of one-hit wonders,” Hunter agreed. “That’s why I admire musicians like them,” he added, nodding towards the stage. “They haven’t lost track of the music yet.”
This was reminding Ellie of her own feelings this morning, weighing commissioned work and the steady money it promised against following her own muse and being broke.