“Wait, you had Tully Cabe in your band?”

  “Sure thing, I was like his mentor.”

  “Some mentor, since you let him go. You should have hung onto him,” Dervla says. “I bet that’s where all your troubles started.” As soon as she says it, she knows she’s made a mistake.

  She swims before me, no longer a person, just a target, a focal point for the rage surging inside me, the anger that takes hold of me, turning everything red, cloudy. The hall fades around me. I can see nothing but Dervla. I could count the follicles in her eyebrows and every pore on her skin. As if in slow motion, I bring back my arm, aiming to connect with her jawbone and break her nose.

  “Chill dude!”

  Someone grabs my fist as I swing in to land the punch.

  Blazing with fury, I turn to confront him. Through a red haze, I recognise Freddo, one of the old London crew.

  “You don’t want to go hitting a girl in a public place now, do you Mac?”

  As the rage recedes, I realise he’s right. Shit, what did I almost do?

  Dervla is staring at me, eyes wide with both fear and contempt.

  “Come on.” Freddo puts his arm around me and hustles me down the length of the room. “You should probably get out of here.”

  “Going somewhere?” Gary blocks the door.

  “Take it easy, Mac is leaving.” Freddo’s tone is mild, but he’s six foot four and built like a brick shithouse.

  “Not so fast!” Gary puts up his hand as some of his crew step into place behind him. Fucking bikers. “Not until someone tells me what’s going on here.”

  “I’m okay, Gary, nothing happened.” Dervla is white-faced but her voice is steady and oozing with scorn as she glares at me. “Don’t ruin Cheryl’s party because of him.”

  “Make no mistake,” Gary lunges forward and sticks his clenched fist right under my nose, “the only reason you’re walking out of here in one piece is because it’s Cheryl’s birthday. If I see you near my sister again, you’re a dead man.” He steps aside and lets us leave.

  Freddo flags down a taxi as soon as we get outside the door. It’s only when we’ve both piled into it and it’s speeding down the street that he sighs and shakes his head. “That was a close call. What the fuck got into you, Mac? Were you really going to assault Gary Kelly’s sister in front of him? You need to get that temper of yours under control, before you get beaten to a pulp by a crowd of riled-up bikers.”

  His words sober me up. If he hadn’t stopped me... Shit, I nearly screwed up really bad. It’s only thanks to Freddo’s intervention that nothing happened. I mean I was ready to dump Dervla anyway, so it’s not like I care about that, but it’s humiliating being warned off by her big brother and made a show of in front of everyone. I’ll find a way to get him back for that, same way I’m going to get Tully Cabe back. He pretended to be so fucking helpful, but all the time he was just waiting for a chance to screw me over. First he supplanted Baz and then he stole Joe. “Fucking Tully Cabe. Everything has gone to shit since I let him into my life,” I hiss into Freddo’s ear. “It should be me out there conquering America with Joe, not that dozy wuss.”

  “Hey look, you’re solo now. This is your chance to make it.”

  “Suppose I’ve already had my chance, Freddo? Suppose that was it, what then?”

  “Cheer up, dude! You’re just having a bad time right now, it could all turn around tomorrow.” It’s the old story, the one we repeat to each other like a mantra. Usually it works, but not tonight. A few minutes later, the taxi pulls up and Freddo is helping me out of it, through the front door and up three flights of stairs to his apartment. He opens the door and a familiar smell of weed and vegetarian curries envelopes me.

  He deposits me on the couch, puts some Nick Drake on in the background, and rolls a giant spliff, which he lights and passes to me.

  “What about you?” I finally think to ask as I take a hit, “you got anything on?”

  “Not much, though there is something I’m thinking about. A friend of mine, on the Riverdance tour says there’s an opening for a percussionist. The guy they have at the moment is leaving at the end of the month.”

  “You serious?” The Riverdance bus is legendary and it’s the one place an Irish musician can always find work.

  “Why not?” Freddo shrugs, “it’s a well-paid gig and you get to see the world. They’re in Japan at the moment. Thing is, I don’t want to let my place go.”

  I look around the crowded flat. It’s a while since I was in it but it hasn’t changed. If anything, it’s got even more stuff.

  “All my gear is here,” he says, echoing my thoughts.

  “Why don’t you get someone to move in and mind the place while you’re gone?” The lease would stay in Freddo’s name and the landlord would have no idea he was away. A cheap place you take over from a friend on the quiet is like gold dust.

  “Yeah, if I could find someone. Do you want it, Mac?”

  “It’s a good gaff.” Jesus, I’m seriously tempted. Living at home is doing my head in, but the only way I can afford to move out is if I keep working for Joe’s dad, and I’m not going to tie myself down installing double glazing for Sean Killeen. No way, not when I need to get a solo album out. That’s where my future’s at, especially with Kit to help me.

  “I know just the person,” I tell Freddo. “I’ll bring her to see you.”

  Chapter 6

  Kit chats to Danny and ignores me determinedly when I walk into the Rock Bar. Shit, she’s heard about what happened with Dervla. Danny sees me and his face turns puce. I always had him pegged as one of those laid-back arty types who thinks non-violence is a principle to live by, but tonight his eyes bulge like the bandana he’s wearing is too tight for him and he leaps at me, fists flailing. The kid hasn’t a clue how to fight and I step aside, avoiding his blow.

  “Enough of that!” Jason appears beside us with the bouncer, Big Juma. “What’s all this about?”

  “He hit Dervla,” Danny shouts, struggling to break free but Juma has him in a vice-like grip.

  “If you leave now, you won’t be barred,” he growls in Danny’s ear.

  “Did you hit her?” Jason asks.

  “No,” I say. “I don’t hit girls. We broke up and she took it badly.”

  “Aw man,” Jason slaps me on the shoulder. “How does that saying go? Hell has no fury like a woman scorned.”

  “Sure, yeah.” I have no clue what the fuck he’s going on about, but it seems clear Jason is on my side. Of course he’s always telling me how much he liked the album, though I’m pretty sure the only song he knows is ‘Plagued by You’, the hit that should have made us big and almost did.

  “Hey, Kit,” Jason pushes me towards the bar, “a pint for Mac, on the house!”

  “You don’t have to do that, Jason!”

  “I know I don’t, but I want to. Enjoy yourself, Mac, have a good night!”

  “Thanks Jason, appreciate it!” I smile to myself, pleased how that one worked out. It could have turned ugly, but instead Danny is out on his ear and I’m in the clear.

  Kit side-eyes me as she hands me the pint. Her Guinness-pouring skills are improving daily.

  “Good pint,” I say.

  She shakes her head and rolls her eyes.

  “Hey, what’s up?”

  “I’ve nothing to say to you. I can’t believe you hit Dervla.”

  “I didn't hit her.”

  “That’s not what Danny says,” but her death stare wavers, slightly less sure of herself and I seize the opening.

  “Danny wasn’t there.”

  “Oh.” The doubt in her voice is clear now.

  “Look, Dervla and I had a row, okay, but I didn’t hit her. I don’t hit girls.” I need to say it aloud to remind myself because I came so close.

  It makes me powerful, the rage that fuels me and bends people to my will. Without my anger, I’d be just like anyone else. But if Freddo hadn’t stopped me, I would have hit Dervla. And that’s something I don’t want to think about.

  Big Juma comes back into the bar, Mike Meara in tow. He throws me a dirty look, like he knows exactly what happened with Danny and who was really in the wrong.

  I take a swig of my beer and try to calm down. As if Mike Meara gives a shit about me, Danny, Dervla or anyone else. But when he opens his mouth, his words prove me wrong. “You’re not doing yourself any favours,” he says. “Why don’t you try building bridges for a change, instead of burning them down?”

  For an instant an alternative glimmers before my eyes. Me playing guitar in Freddo’s flat, out from under Dad’s roof, and getting my music back on track. There’s a big hole in that mirage though. What would I do for money? The stage at the back of the Rock Bar seems to beckon to me. Perhaps I could do the gig Jason offered? It might get me started again. And then when Four come back, maybe some of Joe Killeen’s vague promises will come to fruition. No, that’s never going to happen. Just the idea of Tully Cabe’s name is enough to trigger the seething anger within me. There’s no way that stupid bastard would ever agree to help me.

  “Hey,” I shout over to Kit, “you still looking for a place because I’ve heard of something.”

  “Really?” She hurries over to hear more, ignoring the punters waving madly to get her attention.

  “A friend of mine is heading off to Japan and needs someone to mind his gaff and pay the rent while he’s gone. It’s a good deal.”

  “When could I see it?”

  “The sooner the better. He’s leaving next week.”

  “I’m working tomorrow night.”

  “Okay, I can bring you there in the afternoon.”

  “Oh!” She hesitates surprised. She doesn’t want to go with me. “Can’t you give me your friend’s number and I’ll arrange it myself?”

  “I mean there’s a payphone in the hall, and I can give you the number of that, if you really want to do it the hard way,” I say with a shrug, “or you can take the easy option. I told him I knew someone who might be interested and he said I could bring you over.”

  “I’m not sure,” she heaves a sigh.

  “Whatever!” I keep my voice indifferent. “I was only trying to help. You told me you needed a place badly.”

  “No, you’re right, I have to move out of Liz Quinn’s before she drives me mad. You said your friend is leaving next week?”

  “Yes, he actually offered the flat to me and I told him about you. But if you don’t act quickly, he’ll find someone else.”

  “Okay,” she says, “tomorrow it is.”

  Got her.

  She’s on the hook.

  All I have to do is reel her in.

  Carefully.

  “Thanks, Mac. I appreciate it.” Kit disappears to serve her impatient customers and I grin after her, satisfied.

  Mike Meara turns to me with a frown. “I thought you were trying to get your music back on track?”

  “I am and I’m hoping Kit might be able to help me,” I’m not in the mood for another lecture, “seeing as how she’s a free agent these days.”

  “If I was you, I wouldn’t count on the Kit and Tully story being all done and dusted just yet,” Mike says. “Stuff happens when bands are on the road. They get caught up in the intensity of the moment. A tour is like a bubble, but when it’s over and you’re back home, you have time to think and reconsider and figure out what’s important, you get what I mean?” He gives me one of those knowing winks which bug the shit out of me.

  “What the hell do you know about it anyway?” I get to my feet and chug back the pint. “It’s none of your fucking business.” I can feel Kit’s eyes on my back as I slam out of the bar.

  Mike Meara freaks me out sometimes. It’s like he knows everything that’s going on with everyone, but mostly he doesn’t say much, so you kinda forget he can be like that. But then, when he does say something, it pierces right through you, squeezing your soul in its grip.

  I’m panting as I stagger out of the bar, as though I’ve been mauled.

  Fuck them all, they can’t tell me what to do.

  Chapter 7

  The next day Kit and I meet in town, so I can take her to Freddo’s. She’s already waiting for me at the Phil Lynott statue, wrapped up against the cold, a scarf muffling her neck. When she’s working behind the bar you forget how young she is, but standing alone in the grey overcast day, she could still be a schoolgirl.

  “The first concert I ever saw was Thin Lizzie in Slane,” I say with a glance at the statue. Phil Lynott is a hero of mine, no question about it, and like me, he had creative struggles.

  “No way, what age were you? Ten?”

  “I was a precocious child, “ I reply with a grin. “No, seriously, I was eleven and my cousin brought me. Ma had a fit when she found out, but it was worth it. I’ll never forget that concert. Hard to believe it now, but U2 played back-up!”

  “That’s how lots of bands get their start,” Kit says, “as support to a bigger, better-known act.” It’s true but something about the way she says it galls me, an unconscious reminder that Four hit the big time straight off the bat. They never did back up to anyone. Not that it means anything, it doesn’t make them better or worse than anyone else. Just lucky, I guess.

  “How do you like working in the Rock Bar?” I ask as we head up Harcourt Street. It’s not a date and I know better than to treat it like one but at least I’ve persuaded Kit to go somewhere with me.

  “It’s fine. The hours are long but I know quite a few people in there. I like it more than I thought I would.”

  “You seem pretty popular.”

  “I’ve no idea what you mean.”

  “Oh c’mon, that kid, Danny, is always in there.”

  “That’s because he wants to talk about Felice.”

  “Are they a thing?” I shouldn’t feel jealous but I do.

  “Depends which of them you ask,” Kit replies with a smile and my spirits soar. That’s Felice all over, impossible to pin down. “What about you and Dervla? Are you a thing?”

  “You know me,” I shake my head, “easy come, easy go. What’s the story with you and the biker dude?”

  “You mean Gary?” Kit shuffles to avert my gaze and I know I’ve struck a nerve.

  “He’s engaged.” Her tone is distant.

  “To that hot chick, Cheryl.”

  “She’s your type, isn’t she?” Kit shakes her head. “Funny, I wouldn’t have thought she was Gary’s.”

  Hah, Cheryl is everybody’s type, but I know what Kit means, though I’m surprised she’s noticed. “Yeah, those two have outgrown each other. I don’t know why they stick together.”

  “Outgrown each other,” Kit muses, “that’s a good way to describe it.”

  “It happens all the time,” I say with a shrug. And then wish I hadn’t killed the conversation. It’s hard enough to get Kit warmed up.

  A moment later, we come to a well-known art shop and Kit pauses to look at the easels and paintings in the window. “Felice couldn’t walk past this place,” she smiles. “ I don’t know how many times she dragged me in after her. She could get lost in there, just staring at all the different colours, paper, pastels and paints.”

  “Rather you than me,” I say.

  “I didn’t mind. Actually I liked it, I even thought about doing art myself,” Kit says then.

  “Why didn’t you?” I ask. “You strike me as the creative type.” It’s a shot in the dark, but she flushes and looks pleased. Bingo, I’ve scored on something there. “So, go on, what’s the story?”

  “I don’t know,” she shrugs. “I mean Felice was always the artist of the group, but then we had this teacher last year. She was just out of college, and she opened up this whole new way of looking at art. But it was too late by then, portfolios needed to be ready and, anyway, my parents expected me to do law.”

  “Yeah, that didn’t work out though, did it?” I say.

  “We made a deal,” she tells me. “If I got law in Trinity they’d let me move in with Felice and Spike. That’s what I wanted most, to be in Dublin with my friends.”

  “Yeah, that sounds good. Who wouldn’t want that?”

  “Except it all went wrong. And now the only one who’s left here is me.”

  “Same shit, another shovel!”

  “Yeah.” She sighs and shuts back into herself.

  “You don’t have to stay here, you know,” I tell her. “You could always leave. If you went to London, I bet Felice would welcome you with open arms.”

  “Yeah, you’re right,” she gives me a surprised smile. “That’s what she wanted me to do. She said we could find work and get a place together.”

  “So why didn’t you?”

  “I need to be here when Tully comes back. I want him to break up with me face to face. He can’t just wriggle out of it with a stupid note from America.” She’s angry and flushed, her voice raised.

  I’ve never seen this side of her before. She always seems so quiet, malleable, easy to twist around your little finger but perhaps she’s more trouble that I suspected. Not that I mind if she is, I’m always up for a challenge.

  “Maybe you and Tully have grown out of each other,” I tell her. “It might be time for a change.”

  “Yes, you could be right, but it’s not that easy.” A shadow passes over her face and she’s suddenly vulnerable. She stares down at her hands and touches a tiny scar on her finger. “We have unfinished business.”

  “C’mon,” I take her arm. “Freddo’s place is just around the corner.”

  We press one of a barrage of bells on an old Georgian door. Freddo buzzes us in and I pull Kit after me into the communal entrance hall. It’s crammed with bikes, but the original floor tiles and staircase are still intact, though worse for the wear. Kit turns pale as she looks around.

  “What’s the matter?” I ask.

  “Nothing, it’s just it reminds me of home.”

 

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