No Way to Say Goodbye - Anna McPartlin [66]
“Aren’t you a great believer in gut feelings?”
“And don’t you think my gut feelings are a load of crap?” Mary retaliated, attempting to defuse a potentially uncomfortable conversation.
Penny let it go – she’d made her point. She wasn’t sure what it was. All she knew was that she didn’t want to be around Sam, not after what had happened. He was an arsehole. She hoped he liked the blonde with the stupid name so that she’d get her best friend back. “Do you think he likes her?” she asked, her eyes on Sam and Flory again.
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
Later, when night had fallen and Ivan’s garden was lit up from the porch to the sea, when Justine was asleep on her grandfather’s knee and Chris was in the den watching a DVD with a friend who was sleeping over, the party continued.
Denis and his band, a Dubliners tribute called the Pale Pretenders, arrived a little after nine. The first time Mary had slept with Denis she’d mentioned that their name was pretty bloody stupid. He insisted on explaining its origins, hoping to change her mind. “You see, they’re the Dubliners, meaning they’re from Dublin. Dublin is also known as the Pale. We’re not the Dubliners but we do play the music of the Dubliners so we’re the Pale Pretenders.”
“I get the reference and it’s still rubbish.”
“Fair enough,” he’d acquiesced. “Any chance of a shag?”
He was the most relaxed man she’d ever met. Then again, he, like her neighbour Mossy, smoked hash like others smoked cigarettes, which pretty much explained his permanently numb state. Initially, although she was attracted to him, she had thought him to be one of life’s losers, which hadn’t bothered her at all. His grubby appearance suggested as much and his lackadaisical approach to life almost confirmed it – but that was before she had become aware of his past. He intrigued her, with his sharp green eyes, his matted hair and the clothes that were ten years old even though he owned half of Kildare. Later she would discover that he had bought his first property at sixteen, his second at seventeen, and while she was night-swimming and getting herself pregnant he had been building an empire. At twenty-six he’d got bored and learned how to play the guitar. He had always been a fan of traditional music, especially the Dubliners, so by the age of thirty-two he was a bona fide Traveling Wilbury, touring wherever the music took him. She had liked him instantly, especially as he was only in town for one night every few months.
Now he smiled, bringing her back to the present, and made his way over to the area that would become his stage. The fiddle player, Dillon, and the kid who sang with the voice of an old man followed him.
“Howya, Mary.”
“Good, Dillon. You?”
“Just like jam.”
She had no idea what that meant but guessed that it was good – he looked pretty happy.
As the band were setting up Mary brought Denis a drink. “It’s nice of you to do this,” she said. “I didn’t know Ivan had asked.”
“We were in Tralee last night. It was no problem.”
It had been four months since she and Denis had seen one another.
“So, are we on tonight?” he asked.
“You don’t waste time,” she responded, swirling the contents of her glass.
“I think Jesus would be sad if I did.”
She laughed. “I’m sorry – it’s not a good night.”
“No harm in asking.” He grinned, glanced at Dillon and the boy, and suddenly there was live music and dancing.
Sam had viewed the guy talking with Mary from a distance. He looked like a hippie with dreads and was wearing a jumper two sizes too big. There was a hole in the sleeve that hung over his hand: his thumb, which bore a thick silver ring, stuck through it. He was tall, well built and his face was chiselled like rock. When he introduced their first song his voice was like gravel, briefly reminding Sam of Danziger. The guy beside him with the fiddle was smaller and rounder and the hair on his head had absconded. He made up for that with a long, grey-speckled beard. The third guy looked like a kid in a suit – short hair and rosy cheeks with freckles. He was engaging – close your eyes