An Early Wake (5 page)

B
illy was settled in his usual spot by the time Maura and Tim returned, and Tim made a beeline for the fireplace corner. Billy welcomed him. “Ah, the very lad! I’ve been thinking back to the days yer asking about, and I have a lot to tell yeh. But my throat’s a bit dry, so it is.” He looked expectantly at Tim, although with a twinkle in his eye—Maura knew Billy was never offended if someone ignored his broad hints.

This time around Tim knew what Billy meant. “Oh, right. Be right back.” Tim went over to the bar, where Rose greeted him as though he had just returned from the war front, even though he’d been gone all of fifteen minutes. Tim relaxed against the bar while Rose started a pint and waited for it to settle.

Maura pulled up a chair next to Billy’s. “You aren’t just yanking his chain, are you?” she asked in a low voice.

Billy regarded her, not in the least insulted. “I might give the tourists a bit of fancy talk, but I’ve more than enough real history to make the lad happy. It’s been a while, but I’m glad to revisit the memories.”

“You’d known Mick a long time, hadn’t you?” Maura asked softly.

“Only all me life.”

Tim returned quickly, carrying the brimming pint with care. “There you go, sir.”

“So yer back to ‘sir,’ are you? It’s Billy to my friends, and I’d be proud to count you among them.”

“Thank you . . . Billy. Do you mind if I take notes again about what you tell me? Or even record it? I’d hate to miss something important.”

“Whichever yeh choose is fine by me. I won’t say that there was anything so important as all that went on here, but we saw many well-known faces now and again. There was this one time . . .” And Billy launched yet another story, with Tim scribbling fast in his pocket-size notebook. Maura would have loved to stay to listen, but it was nearly noon, and the pub was beginning to fill with people stopping by on their way to or from somewhere.

Back at the bar, Rose said, “So he tells me he’ll be stayin’ at the Keohanes’ place, then?”

“Yeah. Tim seems like a nice guy,” Maura said, looking at Rose out of the corner of her eye. “But he won’t be sticking around, you know.”

“Ah, Maura, that sounds like something me mother would say, God rest her soul,” Rose answered, and a brief shadow passed over her face. “I’m not an eejit, but there’s few enough young fellas in here to talk to. Can’t I enjoy the company for a while?”

“Sure you can.”

“It’s kind of you to worry, though. You worry a lot, don’t you?”

“Do I?” Maura asked. She did, of course, but she tried not to share her worries much. Was she that obvious?

“You do. You get this kind of frown, like yer thinkin’ hard. Is there anything wrong?”

“No more than usual, Rose,” Maura said. “Mostly about how to bring in enough customers to pay the bills.”

“It’s as busy as I’ve ever seen the place, this time of year,” Rose said, “not that I’ve been here long, but me da has and he says the same.”

“I’m sure that the people around here have been curious about me, the new American who kind of dropped out of the sky and ended up here. But will they keep coming, now that they’ve met me?”

“Sure and they will. Yer right that they were curious, but I’d say they liked what they saw. And there are those that are happy that you haven’t tried to change things, or not too fast.”

“If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.” Well, that didn’t strictly apply, since Old Mick had let the place decline slowly over years, as far as Maura could tell, and there had been a number of things that needed fixing sooner rather than later. But she didn’t see the point of changing things until she had a better idea of what was working and what wasn’t.

The door swung open, and a guy came in, someone Maura didn’t recognize. Tall, thin, midfifties, his dark hair long and laced with gray. He was dressed in jeans that looked honestly (not fashionably) faded by time and wear, an equally faded shirt, and an old leather jacket over it. He paused in the doorway and looked around the room with a half smile on his face. Then he walked over to the bar.

“What can I get you?” Maura asked.

“I’m lookin’ for Billy Sheahan.” His accent was Irish, but not local, Maura decided. In her six months in Ireland she’d learned to distinguish among a few of the regional accents, and his was neither town nor farm in Cork. Dublin, maybe?

She nodded toward Billy and Tim, next to the fireplace. “Over there.”

“Ta,” he said and strode across the room on long legs.

Billy tore his attention away from Tim to look at the stranger. His eyes lit up. “Well, and if it isn’t Niall Cronin! What brings you to this far corner of the west?”

“I heard there was someone askin’ about the auld days, when me and the fellas used to play here. I thought I’d stop by and see what was what.”

“This here’s the young man himself”—Billy nodded toward Tim, who jumped to his feet—“Timothy Reilly. Tim, my boy, this is—”

Tim spoke in reverent tones before Billy could finish. “Niall Cronin!” He stuck out his hand. “I’ve been listening to yer albums half my life. This is fantastic! Can I talk to you? Do you have the time? Not like an interview, exactly, but—”

“Slow down, Tim,” Niall said. “I’m not going anywhere right now, and I’d be happy to talk. But it’s been a long drive today from Dublin and I’m parched.”

This time Tim was even quicker on the uptake. “Can I get you a pint?” he asked. “Billy, you need another one yet?”

“Nah, I’m fine fer now. You go on, then, take care of Niall.”

Tim all but bounded over to the bar. “I need a pint,” he told Maura.

“So we heard,” she replied as Rose set about pulling a pint. Maura leaned forward on the bar. “So who is that guy who has you so excited?”

“You don’t know Niall Cronin? He was the lead singer and bass player for the Weeping Chestnuts.”

“The what?” Maura couldn’t dredge up any memory of a band with a name involving chestnuts, but apparently a lot of Irish bands had never made it across the Atlantic.

Tim’s eyes widened. “You really haven’t heard of them? They were absolutely pivotal in the early nineties—pushed the Irish music scene in a whole new direction. I mean, this man is legend, like rock royalty around here. And he’s willing to talk to me!”

“That’s great, Tim. You’re off to a good start. You know, he asked for Billy when he came in. I wonder how he heard that someone was interested.”

“I don’t know and I don’t care, so long as he’s here now,” Tim said happily. “Is his pint ready?”

“That it is,” Rose said and slid it across the bar.

When Tim turned to deliver the precious pint, trying hard not to spill it, Maura turned to Rose. “Have you ever heard of this Niall guy?” she whispered.

Rose shrugged. “He looks older than me da,” she whispered back.

A few more people came in, and there was no more time to talk. But every time Maura looked over at the three men in the corner, they were deep in conversation. Or at least the two older ones were, while Tim looked like he wanted nothing more than to sit at their feet in worship while writing madly in his notebook, which wouldn’t last the day based on how quickly he was turning the pages. Again Maura wondered how it happened that Niall, whom Tim had called rock royalty, had appeared at this particular moment, asking for Billy. As far as she knew, Billy didn’t even have a phone, let alone a computer or Internet access to put the word out.

The three men spent the afternoon in the corner, ignoring the startled looks from those few customers who wandered in and recognized the star. Tim ran out for sandwiches and chips early in the afternoon, but he resumed his former position in record time. A few more pints were ordered and delivered. Rose went home at five, pouting a bit because Tim had paid her no attention at all during the entire afternoon. Mick came in shortly after Rose left, and Maura enjoyed witnessing his double take when he scanned the room and then fixed his gaze on the trio.

He came quickly around the bar. “Do you know who that is?” he said in a low voice.

“Only because Tim told me. You’re impressed?”

“I am that! What in the name of all that’s holy is Niall Cronin doing here?”

“He came in around noon looking for Billy.”

“What for?” Mick asked.

“How would I know? They’ve been talking all this time, and I think Tim there is in hog heaven.”

Mick looked briefly bewildered by her metaphor but then went on, “Would he mind if I went over and introduced myself?”

“You’re asking my permission? Go for it.”

Mick tucked in his shirt and strode over to where the men were sitting. Maura couldn’t hear their conversation, but watching the pantomime was entertaining in itself. Billy was in his element, presiding over the gathering. Niall sat beside him, relaxed and expansive. Tim had claimed a low chair a bit farther from the pair and looked annoyed at Mick’s intrusion. Mick—normally reserved—was as effusive as Maura had ever seen him and seemed a bit awed at the company in which he found himself. After a minute or two, Mick pulled up a chair and joined the group. Maura might have resented him leaving her alone with all the pub duties, but she was having too much fun observing the impression Niall had on the customers—a couple of whom showed the same reaction as Mick.

The door swung open to reveal another stranger, who hesitated as he scanned the room. His face lit up when he spotted Niall. He approached tentatively, but when Niall looked up, he stood and greeted the newcomer warmly. The crowd had thinned enough that Maura could hear their conversation now.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” Niall said. “I would’ve given you a lift.”

The man waved a dismissive hand. “No worries. I took the bus—had some business to take care of. But I brought me fiddle.” He held up the fiddle case as evidence.

“Good man,” Niall said. “These two here are Tim Reilly, who’s asking about the likes of us for some research he’s doing, and Billy Sheahan, who started things rollin’. And I don’t recall this other lad,” he added, looking at Mick.

“Mick Nolan.” Mick introduced himself.

“Pleasure,” the new arrival said. “What’s a man got to do to get a pint around here?”

Maura had been watching them and decided it was time to introduce herself. She came out from behind the bar and walked over to their table. “You ask me—I’m the owner, Maura Donovan.” Maura held out her hand.

The man took it and shook. “It’s a pleasure, Maura Donovan. Do I take it Old Mick has gone to meet his maker?”

Maura nodded. “Six months back. He left the place to me. A pint?”

“That would be brilliant. Oh, where are me manners? I’m Aidan Crowley. Niall and me, we started out together and played here a few times. But we haven’t seen much of each other for . . . how long is it now, Niall?”

“Donkey’s years,” Niall said. “Sit down with us, will you, Aidan? We’re telling Tim here stories of the old days.”

Maura glanced at Tim, who looked somehow less excited than he had only minutes before. Maybe he didn’t want to share Niall’s attention. Or maybe this Aidan guy didn’t measure up to Niall’s standard. But he seemed to be a friend of Niall’s—and he wanted a drink. Maura filled a pint and brought it over, though the men all but ignored her, lost once again in sharing reminiscences.

It was close to six when the group broke up. Mick stood up first and shook hands with Niall and nodded at Aidan. Niall said something to Tim, who looked like he’d been struck by lightning, and then the two left together, trailed by Aidan. Billy stayed where he was, looking as pleased with himself as a contented tabby cat.

When Mick returned to the bar, Maura asked wryly, “Did you have fun?”

“Sorry, I know I left you holding the bag. But how often do I get the chance . . . That was brilliant!”

“Are the guys all off to find dinner?”

“They are.”

“Is Aidan someone I should recognize?”

“He was never as big as Niall, but Niall’s always been generous to his friends, and they go way back.”

“That’s nice. Did they pay for their drinks?”

“I told them they were on the house,” Mick said. “I’ll cover it.”

“I’ll split it with you,” Maura said, deciding quickly. “It might be good publicity for us, if word gets out.” It added up to nearly a dozen pints between them all, and Maura hoped it would be worth it.

Mick guessed where her thoughts were going. “Don’t worry, they’ll be back. And I think they’ll bring some others along. Maura, I think we have something to talk about here.”

Maura smiled. “And I think I might know what it is. Later, then, after the rush.” Which, if word got out that Niall Cronin was in town, might actually exist for once.

Mick smiled back. “Count on it.”

H
er prediction, or her hope, was right: even for a Friday evening it was respectably busy, and it was close to eleven when the last patron headed out the door into the night. Jimmy hadn’t come in until after six, but Maura let him off the hook for final cleanup, because she wanted time to talk with Mick.

When the chores were done, Mick poured himself a pint of Guinness. “Will you join me in a drink?” he asked Maura.

“Sure, but I’ll have a coffee. I’ve got to drive home, and I can’t risk losing my edge when I’m driving the lanes after dark. I think my car is wider than they are.”

She made herself a cup and leaned on the bar. “So, you going to fill me in on what you guys talked about?”

“Young Tim seems to have set off something with his questions.”

“That’s what I thought, but I don’t begin to understand what or how. Let’s start with how this Niall person in Dublin knew that Billy Sheahan in Leap was interested in talking to him at this particular point in time.”

Mick smiled into his glass. “It was always like that.”

Maura felt like stamping her foot in frustration. “Mick, that doesn’t explain anything. If you wish for it, it will happen? Some kind of psychic network? I’m not buying that. Someone sends out a call and the troops gather? It’s not like Billy signed on to his Facebook page and told all his followers, so how does this work?”

He looked at her then. “Maura, why do you have to know? What’s it matter? Twenty years ago Sullivan’s drew people in from all corners of the country, but nobody could say how. You’ll jump down my throat, I have no doubt, but I’d say there
is
something magic about it all.” Seeing the expression on Maura’s face, Mick hurried to add, “Leavin’ out the pesky details, it’s probably something like Billy spoke to someone yesterday, and that person told someone else, who knew someone, and eventually it made it to Niall, who after all was somewhere in the country, rather than on tour in Thailand. Ireland is a small island, you know.”

“Yeah, but then what? Niall immediately dropped everything to drive here and see Billy? Why?” Maura said dubiously.

“For the music, of course. It was always about the music.”

“Will there be more people just showing up tomorrow?”

“Count on it—if Niall’s here, and his old friend Aidan, there’ll be more.”

Maura wasn’t sure what she thought about that. “Great. Like I said, send out an order to the universe, and your wish will be delivered the next day. Why didn’t I think of that?”

“It could do. You should be happy—tomorrow night we’ll be filled here. I’m guessing Tim will be a happy man by the end of the day.” Mick took a sip of his pint. “Was there something more yeh wanted to talk about?”

“Yes, but I’m still thinking it through. I’ve been going through the numbers—you know, money in, money out—for this place, and it’s not pretty. We’re getting by, but there’s nothing left for improvements or upgrades or changes. Or raises.” Not that anybody had asked for one, Maura admitted to herself. “But after hearing today about how Sullivan’s used to be
the
place for live music from current bands, not just in this neighborhood but in the whole county, I’m wondering if maybe we can bring the music back if enough people remember. Does that make sense?”

“Possibly,” Mick said thoughtfully.

From the tone of his response Maura couldn’t tell what Mick was really thinking. “Thing is, I don’t know squat about the music scene around here—I don’t know performers, let alone what the competition is like, or what Sullivan’s could offer that they don’t. I mean, don’t we need a hook or something?”

“A gimmick to draw them in? I see.” Mick thought for a few moments, in no hurry to answer. “There’s the places that do traditional
seisiúns
, and not just for tourists. There are plenty of players who enjoy getting together when they have the time. The groups aren’t fixed—whoever shows up with an instrument can join in. And there’s some clubs in Skib, but from what I’ve heard, they go more for quantity than quality of music, if you know what I mean.”

“Loud?”

“Bang on. The kids like ’em, but you could paint this old place pink and add neon all ’round and you still wouldn’t bring that lot in here.”

Maura had to grin at the image of Sullivan’s tarted up with neon. “Ick. Like dressing up a pig, eh?”

Mick smiled. “You could say that. What made this place special was that for a lot of the players who came here, this was just a back room to hang out in with the boys—and the occasional girl—and maybe play some tunes if the spirit moved them. They weren’t performances for an audience, like, although sometimes it was hard to tell the difference. You never knew who might show up, but they all played together and the music was brilliant. There were even some recordings made, although I’ve no idea where those might have gotten to. If they survived at all.”

Maura digested what he had said. “Did the performers get paid?” she asked bluntly.

“They’d have been insulted if yeh offered them money. They played for the love of it.”

And maybe the free drinks?
No, that was cynical: Maura figured she should at least try to believe that the music had been more important. “So the bar stayed open? There was some income from selling drinks?”

“Of course. What is it yer gettin’ at, Maura?”

“Mick, here’s the thing: we need to bring more people in if Sullivan’s is going to survive. If we had a rep in the past for good music, do you think we can do it again?”

“With you knowin’ nothin’ about the music?”

“
You
do. Don’t you?”

“Are you askin’ me for my help in this?”

Much as Maura hated giving up any part of her control over the pub, this was something she couldn’t do by herself. “Yes, I am.”

Mick almost smiled. “Indeed. And what is it yer expecting me to do?”

“I don’t know. Make that magic happen. Bring back the bands, and hope that the people will follow. And then they’ll buy drinks. And talk up the whole thing and bring in more people.”

“And then that’ll fix all yer problems, eh?”

“Don’t laugh at me, Mick. It’s a start. Otherwise Sullivan’s may just die a slow death. Is that what you want?”

Mick gave her a searching look. “You want to keep this place going.”

Maura thought long before replying. “I guess I do. I may not have been here for long, but I can see how people feel about this place and why they kept coming even while it went downhill. Part of that was out of loyalty to Old Mick, and obviously I’m not him. But he left the place to me, and I don’t want to see it go down without a fight.” It was the first time she’d put it into words, and as Maura said it, she realized she meant it.

Mick slouched against the bar, looking vaguely interested. “Fair enough. So what’s yer plan?”

“I don’t have one. That’s the problem. But if Niall Cronin is as important as you say he is, and
he
came, then maybe we’ve got an opportunity here. Maybe we could ask him to do a benefit concert or whatever you want to call it for Old Mick, and that could kick things off. Could that work?”

“Maybe.” Mick fell silent, thinking. Finally he said, “Let me suggest this: see what tomorrow brings.”

For some reason, that annoyed Maura. Wasn’t he taking this seriously? “You’re throwing stupid sayings at me?”

“Not at all. I’m saying, give it a day. If what I think may happen does happen, and Niall and Aidan were just the first wave, then we’ll have a better handle on things by tomorrow night. Or maybe Sunday morning. If nothing’s changed, you can think again, and you’ve lost nothing but a day.”

Maura considered. Mick
had
listened to what she’d suggested, and he hadn’t rejected it entirely. If he was right, tomorrow might be a very interesting day. If he was wrong and nothing happened, no loss, as he pointed out. Besides, it was late, it had been a long day, and there was nothing more to be done at the moment. “All right. We’ll wait and see what happens tomorrow.”

Mick drained his glass, then rinsed it and set it to dry. “Right. That’s me off fer the night, then. I’ll be in tomorrow afternoon, although if they’re spillin’ out the door by midday, give me a ring.”

“Just in case something magical happens?” Maura said with a smile.

“Just so. Good night.”