She giggled, girlishly. Donal had that effect on her.
‘Before we go, I’ve something for you.’
‘Oh yes?’ She hadn’t noticed his hands were behind his back and she waited to see what he was hiding.
He produced a tambourine and Maureen gasped because it wasn’t at all like the one, she’d been rattling at Maria’s these last few weeks. Oh no, this was a top of the line tambourine. Sure, it was the sort Stevie Nicks herself would be proud to get her hands on. It was white and gold and the nicest thing she’d ever been given, engagement and wedding band aside. ‘I love it,’ she breathed, eager to take it from him to give it a few shakes. The sound was warm and cutting.
Donal beamed. ‘It’s got nickel plated and brass jingles and the shape’s designed for natural arm and hand motions.’
‘I love it,’ she reiterated.
‘I thought you could use it tonight so you can be part of the whole set instead of just the two duets.’
‘Do the lads not mind?’
‘No, they think it’s a grand idea, but they will mind if we don’t get on the road. Are you ready?’
‘Let me get my hat and I’m good to go.’
Maureen was fidgety with excitement as she rode in the van with Donal, who was driving, and the rest of the lads from The Gamblers whom she’d only met briefly once before. They were most accommodating and she could hear from the jokes being cracked in the back that they were all in good form. She could also tell they weren’t used to having a lady along for the ride. Ah, well, at her age it’d take more than a ribald joke to make her blush. The tambourine was on her lap, jingling each time they went over a bump. Her hat, borrowed from Laura, was firmly in place and her new boots were squeezing her toes but she’d survive. There hadn’t been a lot to choose from in the way of white cowboy boots, even in the city, and so she was stuck with a toe-pinching pair. She had the prime spot in the front passenger seat of the van next to Donal and whenever they were illuminated by a street light she’d admire the yellow sheen of her dress and resist the urge to pinch herself. She, Maureen O’Mara, was off to a party where she was going to be singing with the band. Sure, life could take some funny twists and turns. It was what made it so worthwhile, the not knowing what was around the corner and, just when you thought you’d hit a dead end, lo and behold a new road opened up.
The party was being held in a local rugby club which Donal located after only one wrong turn. He reversed the van up to the entrance so as they wouldn’t have to lug their gear far. The car park only had a smattering of other vehicles in it; not surprising, given they were arriving an hour before the party was due to get underway in order to set up.
‘You go on inside, Maureen,’ Donal said. ‘There’s no need for you to be hanging about in the cold while we get organised.’
Maureen did as he’d suggested, pushing open the doors as though entering a saloon and venturing into the club rooms where the party was to be held. Bright red, blue, green and yellow clumps of balloons were dangling from the ceiling beams and a banner with ‘Happy 70th Birthday Nora’ was strewn across the top of the bar. Her nose was instantly hit with the stale smell of beer, cigarettes and sweat but overriding them was the far more alluring aroma of heating pastries. There was a fella behind the bar polishing glasses and he looked up upon hearing the doors open.
‘You’re a bit early, love,’ he called over, doing a double-take as he registered her hat, boots and tambourine. Nobody had told him it was a country and western theme night. He’d have worn his bolo neck tie and sheriff’s badge had he known. They hadn’t had an outing since he’d gone to his Uncle Diarmuid’s fiftieth birthday hoe down in Limerick. The craic had been mighty and the badge had worked wonders with the ladies. He grinned to himself recalling the fumble out the back he’d had with a lass in Daisy Duke denim shorts. Alright there wasn’t much chance of her pasty white legs being insured for a million dollars but still, all in all it had been a memorable night. He glanced at the balloons remembering tonight was a seventieth birthday party and was suddenly glad he’d left his badge at home.
Maureen cleared her throat, gaining his attention once more, before saying the words she’d never thought to say in her lifetime, ‘I’m with the band.’ She tossed her head for effect and nearly lost her hat.
‘The Gamblers?’
‘That’s them. I’m on percussion,’ she shook her tambourine. ‘And doing a couple of duets. The birthday girl’s a fan of Sheena and Dolly.’
‘I’ve heard they’re good. I like a bit of Kenny Rogers now and again.’
‘They are good,’ Maureen said loyally, stepping aside to let Niall, the guitarist, who was toting a large amp past. He carried it over on bandy legs to the corner of the room where an area had been cleared of tables and chairs for the band and dancing. Davey followed with the keyboard and John who was on drums brought up the rear.
‘A drink, lads? And lasses,’ the bartender hastily added, catching Maureen’s eye before doing the honours.
A pencil-like woman in a black fitted dress was next to arrive, along with her entourage of two children and a husband carrying an enormous cake. She directed him to the kitchen out the back, told the children to get themselves a lemonade, and made a beeline towards where Maureen and The Gamblers were supping their pints. They were enveloped in
