Where Old Ghosts Meet - Kate Evans [72]
“No, girl, nothin’ like that, but I tells the odd yarn time to time.”
“I heard you did a fine imitation of Father O’Reilly one time.” She was beginning to find her voice.
“Ah, that oul’ would-be politician you been hangin’ round with been goin’ off at the mouth again. Likes to hear hisself, he does, all wind and business he is, mostly wind.”
A cheer went up from the crowd, followed by clapping.
“The men is dancin’ up,” he said, straining to see what was goin’ on. He urged her forward. “Give the missus a bit of room there now. Clear the decks, b’ys.”
In a small clearing, an elderly man danced alone, his legs jiggling about in a complicated shuffle, punctuated every so often with a loud stamp on the floor before taking off again. When he finally showed signs of tiring, another dancer took over, trying in turn to outdo the previous performer with fancy footwork. Up on the stage the accordion player leaned into her instrument, while by her side the fiddler whipped his bow back and forth, his foot tapping out the rhythm. The crowd whooped with delight. When Joey Coady took the floor the yelps grew wilder, and the more they yelped the better he liked it. His bony legs, as if rubber below the knees, waggled hither and thither, his feet stamping the boards, rocking side to side on the outer edges of his shoes, kicking out randomly to the point where Nora was certain he’d end up in a heap on the floor. But Joey was surefooted and now his arms were into the action, swinging back and forth in front of his body. All the while he looked at his feet. The quiff, having bobbed along with him for quite a while, had now come undone and hung in a sweaty mass across his forehead. The fiddler continued the frantic pace, the accordion player waltzed her instrument back and forth to keep up, and Joey danced, his steps becoming more exaggerated by the minute until just as suddenly as it all had begun, the music stopped.
He dragged his sleeve across his forehead and saluted the crowd. Some reached out to thump him heartily on the back. He caught Nora’s eye, gave her a nod, and disappeared into the crowd. She looked around again, hoping to spot Gerry. He was nowhere to be seen. She spotted Joey heading outdoors. She followed and found him on the steps, his legs spread wide, elbows resting on his knees, a bottle of Pepsi in his hand. A dark sweat stain spread between his shoulder blades, dulling the brightness of his shirt. A car spun away out of the parking lot, leaving behind a cloud of dust.
“It’s nice and cool out here,” she said.
“Yes, girl.” He turned to look up at her.
“Do you mind if I sit with you? It’s hot in there.”
“Yes, girl, I mean, no, girl, you sit down.”
“You’re a great man to dance,” she said, taking a seat on the steps.
He set down his bottle, reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a packet of Craven A cigarettes and a silver Zippo lighter. He tapped the packet against his index finger and picked out a cigarette, pushed it between his lips and held out the packet to her. She shook her head. The lighter lid flipped back with a clunk. It flamed, a tall arrow of white light, and for a brief moment the deep pockmarks on his face and neck were clearly visible. He inhaled deeply and with his right hand pushed back the hair from his damp forehead.
“I’m glad you think of him kindly,” she said after a while.
Smoke came from his nose in little puffs and then from his mouth as he spoke. “Don’t you go feelin’ bad,” he said as if reading her mind. “Him and me, we was the