Semi-Sweet by Roisin Meaney

Author:Roisin Meaney [MEANEY, ROISIN]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9781455500505
Publisher: Grand Central Publishing

Wally slapped John on the back. “Hey, Johnny. Fancy meeting you here. Can I get you another one?”

John shook his head. “I’m okay, thanks. You working tonight?”

Wally nodded. “Probably be quiet, but I’ll do a few hours.”

Monday nights at Vintage were very different from Saturdays. At almost ten o’clock, barely a dozen drinkers were about, soft piped music replacing the band.

The barman set a small bottle of water in front of Wally. “Thanks, Neil.” He touched it against John’s glass. “Sláinte.”

They sometimes ran into each other on Mondays. John had developed the habit of dropping in for a pint on his way home from the rented workshop, just down the road. He liked the quietness of Monday nights, liked the chance to kick back and do nothing for an hour or so. And Wally, whose work brought him all over Clongarvin, sometimes found his way to Vintage on Mondays, too.

We could use a saxophonist, Wally had said when he’d rung John, his cousin Patsy having passed on the number of the carpenter-musician from Scotland. That’s if you’re any good, of course.

No sign of a smile in his voice, so John couldn’t tell if he was joking. I’m not bad, he’d replied. No complaints so far.

Why don’t you come round when we’re rehearsing, Wally had suggested. Try out a few pieces with us, see how it goes.

So he’d gone to Wally’s house and met the three of them, and they’d played together for an hour or so. The pieces were popular ones that John knew well, and he soon adapted his playing to suit their quirky style. He knew he fitted in well so he wasn’t surprised when Wally, the unspoken leader of the outfit, invited him to join them.

We play here and there, wherever we can pick up a gig, he told John. As it stands, we’ve got no regular slot, but there’s a wine bar just about to open down by the river, and I’ve heard that the owner wants some live jazz, so I’m going to have a word with him.

Carlos, the Portuguese double bassist, had heavily accented and quite broken English, and Wally’s sister Vivienne, who played the clarinet, was so shy she barely spoke, so it was Wally whom John felt he knew best after almost four months of playing with them.

Wally finished his water. “Better get going. That taxi won’t drive itself. See you Wednesday.” Wednesday was rehearsal night, usually in Wally’s house.

“Good luck, now.” John raised his pint and drank, and wondered, as he often did, what his daughter was doing right then in Edinburgh. For some reason, since Hannah Robinson’s rejection, he was missing Danielle more.

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