“That’s whatyou’regoing with?”
Finally, Ollie cracked a smile, and it was bright enough to break the hypo-haze clouding Shay’s vision. “I’m not going with anything. I’m here doing my thing, and you’re doing yours. How much the two cross over is up to you.”
The statement seemed to answer a question Shay hadn’t asked. He swallowed the last bite of banana and folded the peel into a neat pile. “Are you saying you want me involved in production, or you’d rather I left you alone to get on with it?”
“I’m saying it’s up to you. It doesn’t matter to me, mate. I’m just doing my job.”
An odd disappointment swept over Shay. Ollie’s cool demeanour had returned as fast as Shay’s cognition, but he hadn’t considered that Ollie’s work might be nothing more than a pay cheque to him. In Shay’s world, pretty much everyone except the bus driver was emotionally shackled to their job. Even Corina. Especially Corina. “How far back have you gone?”
“With your family tree?”
Shay guzzled more Pepsi. “Yeah. I mean, I know my ma had some pretty cool artists in her family, and my dad’s brothers were all pilots, so….” Shay broke off as the weight of Ollie’s stare hit him. “What?”
Ollie closed his laptop, his perpetual frown deepening. “I think there’s been a misunderstanding here.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean about what we’re doing.” Ollie reached down and drew a thick folder of papers from his bag. He laid them on the table and spun it so Shay could see the first page. At the top was a name Shay didn’t recognise. Ollie tapped his finger on it. “Shay, I’m not researching your adoptive family. I’m researchingyou.”
* * *
Guilt wasn’tan emotion Ollie had expected to deal with when he’d agreed to take on the Shay Maloney project at the eleventh hour, but it was hard not to feel bad for Shay. He’d had all of ten seconds to react to Ollie’s unwitting bombshell before he’d been called away, and he’d left the bus with his lovely face twisted in a painful combination of shock and confusion.
Jesus Christ.Ollie fired off a rapid text to his producer in London.
Ollie:I thought Maloney knew he was adopted?
Amir:He does, according to the record company. That’s it, though. I’m not sure the kid even knows his birth name.
With a low growl, Ollie tossed his phone aside.Shit, shit, shit.More guilt. It had been clear since he’d set eyes on Shay that afternoon that he’d been walking blind into this project, but to not even realise the Irish roots of his adoptive parents were totally fucking irrelevant? Damn. Someone had some explaining to do, and with Ollie the only idiot on the ground, chances were it would have to be him.
Ollie pulled Shay’s file towards him. In the hour that had passed since Shay’s manager had hustled him out for soundcheck, it had remained where Shay left it—stacked and heavy and stuck on the first page. Ollie leafed through a few generations until he came to a photograph of Shay’s great-uncle. The young man had short hair and a thick beard, but his willowy build was unmistakable. From his never-ending legs to his elegant hands, clutched around a battered cart rattle, he was Shay. Or Shay was him. Or perhaps it was neither, as Shay’s name was something else entirely. Ollie traced Shay’s birth name and more regret lanced his chest. Ollie had been to hell and back, but he’d always had the luxury of knowing where he’d come from. His roots were absolute. He couldn’t imagine how his life would be without a tangible connection to his heritage.
He closed his eyes, and the folk music of his youth echoed in his head, the traditional dances and mystic chants. The smell of his grandmother’s cooking and his grandfather’s pipe. Who would he be without it?
* * *
Ollie foundShay outside the venue. He was alone and leaning against a tree, staring out over the River Corrib. It was such an image, Ollie trailed to a stop, unsure of how to approach him. Or even if he wanted to. Shay had the air of a man who didn’t want to be disturbed, and perhaps Ollie was the last person he wanted to see.
A cigarette called Ollie’s name. He lit up his first smoke of a very long day and ventured closer to Shay. The click of the lighter seemed to carry on the wind, and Shay turned as Ollie was blowing smoke into the sky.
His expression was unreadable. Ollie considered walking on by, but Shay jerked his head at the last moment, signalling for Ollie to join him.
Wordlessly, he plucked the cigarette from Ollie’s hand and took a deep drag. “Come to check out the gig? See what we’re all about?”
“Actually, no. I saw you play in Dublin last night.”
“That right?” Shay took down another lungful of smoke before handing the cigarette back. “And what did you think? Too weird for you?”
“Not at all. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a band play so many instruments at once.”
Shay laughed, a low, short sound that was like a gravelly wind chime. “That’s my fault. I collect them and insist on dragging them everywhere we go. The roadies hate me.”
“I’m sure they don’t. It must make a change from the ordinary.”
“You don’t like the ordinary?”
It was a strange question, and once more Ollie found himself without an answer. He puffed on his smoke and offered it to Shay again, grinning when he grimaced and shook his head. “Retired smoker, eh?”
