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“Cordelia is a photographer,” Alison said. “From New York.”
“New York! That’s grand. I’d love to go to New York one day. Been my dream to play at one o’ those cool little venues they’ve got.”
The wine was making Cordelia more relaxed, and she felt friendlier now that the specter of Niall had been removed. “There’s one I love on Bleecker Street called the Bitter End,” she said.
“Do they have seisiúns there?” Colin asked with a wink.
“Uh, sessions of what?” Cordelia said.
“A seisiún is like when a whole bunch of musicians show up at a pub and play traditional Irish music,” Alison explained.
“How cool,” Cordelia said. “I don’t know. But it’s New York, so I’m sure they have them somewhere.”
“We’re having a seisiún here next week,” Colin said. “You should come. Alison will be here. Róisín too. Have you met Róisín yet?”
Colin was a whirl of energy, and Cordelia found she couldn’t stop smiling—his cheerful mood was infectious.
“Um, no,” she said. “I dropped her mail off today but when I knocked, nobody was home.”
Colin whistled. “You’re in for a right treat. Róisín’s a legend. Get her to take you out in her cart. She’ll tell you everything you need to know about this island. And Inishmaan. And Inisheer. And the púca. And the banshees. And—”
“Hey!” Niall called from the end of the bar, tapping on his watch.
“Right, right,” Colin said. “Sorry, I’m up again. We’ll see you next week for the seisiún, eh, Cordelia? Fergus is bringing his bodhran. It’ll be good craic.”
“Oh, I …” Cordelia glanced at Niall. His face looked carved out of stone, his eyes like chips of ice when they met hers.
“Ah, don’t worry about him, he’s all bark and no bite,” Colin said. “He’s going through an adjustment period, shall we say.”
“I told her,” Alison said. Cordelia felt a twinge of embarrassment, but Colin just shrugged.
“I told him everyone would know,” he said. “Can’t keep a secret on Inishmore.” He clapped Cordelia on the shoulder. “Anyway, I’ll expect to see you. A week from Friday. Seven PM sharp.” He wagged a finger at Alison. “Make sure she doesn’t chicken out.”
“Go on, you,” Alison said, kissing him on the cheek. Colin winked and then jogged off between the tables.
“What can I get for you?” Cordelia jumped as Niall appeared behind them.
“I’ll have the burger, thanks,” Alison said.
Niall nodded. “And you?”
He’d thrown a dishrag over his shoulder, his blue eyes catching the light. They were startling, Cordelia thought, and in such contrast to his jet-black hair. There was a shadow of stubble across his angular jaw, which had a permanently clenched look. She wondered if that was a residual effect from the horrible end to his recent relationship or just how his face was. She guessed she could see why the tourist girls had fallen over themselves to flirt with him. But Cordelia could never imagine being attracted to someone who was that broody—someone who could be so unapologetic after destroying something so precious.
“I’ll have the mussels, please,” she said politely.
Then she picked up her wine and turned away from him to watch Colin play beneath the softly glowing lights.
5
Niall was wiping down the tables and putting up the chairs when his father came out of the kitchen with two bowls of chowder.
“Sit,” he directed his son. Niall stopped wiping and sat down. His father set the bowls on the table and went to pour them two pints of lager. “Eat,” he said, taking the empty seat beside Niall.
I’m not a fecking dog, Niall thought. But he ate the chowder anyway—he was too tired to fight. It wanted salt and some fresh herbs, but Niall wasn’t about to say that. He took a long drink of his beer and waited for his father to speak his piece and be done with it. He wanted to be back at the house with Colin and Pocket. After weeks of lying about, his first day back working had left him knackered.
Owen took his time, eating the chowder in slow spoonfuls, then sipping his beer thoughtfully. Finally, Niall couldn’t stand the silence any longer.
“Christ, Da, spit it out already.”
