‘Hello there, I’m Patsy, the birthday girl’s daughter.’
They returned the greeting and then she turned her attention to Donal. ‘And you must be Kenny, I mean Donal. We talked on the phone.’
‘We did.’ Donal shook her hand.
‘You’re all set-up, I see.’
‘We are, so you just give us the word and we’ll start playing.’
‘I thought we’d let everybody have a few drinks and catch up, something to eat that sorta thing, and then you could come on around nine. How does that sound?’
‘Sounds grand.’ He gave her a smile and she tottered off, waving over to a nattily dressed couple who’d appeared in the interim.
It wasn’t long before a trickle of guests began arriving, milling about the room with exclamations of, ‘I haven’t seen you since Gina and Donald’s wedding, it was a lovely roast dinner we were after having at the reception’ or ‘do you remember the holy show of herself Nancy made at Catriona’s twenty-first doing the cancan, don’t let her touch any top shelf drinks or she’ll be flicking her skirt up at all and sundry,’ and the like.
Maureen sat at the table along with the rest of the band, sipping her drink, watching the proceedings. Everybody was enjoying the craic and by the time she was on her second drink the tables were full and a small crowd was gathered near the bar, making the most of the tab. Conversation had been turned up a notch as drinks were consumed. The pencil-like woman with her hair scraped back in a bun was having no luck trying to get the party-goers to quieten down so as she could make an announcement. She enlisted Donal’s help after several attempts and he switched on his microphone, handing it to her. Everybody froze as it screeched into life, fingers down a blackboard style, and then her voice boomed out. Donal had to whisper in her ear that it wasn’t a good idea to hold your mouth right to the microphone and shout. Eventually, to everyone’s relief, she found a happy medium and announced the birthday girl was two minutes away.
She’d only just conveyed her message when the doors burst open to reveal a sprightly woman with lots of glittery jewellery who was on the arm of a man whose silver-topped head was barely visible above the dinner jacket swamping him. An almighty cheer went up followed by shouts of ‘Happy Birthday!’ and some halfwit, eejit calling out, ‘You don’t look a day over seventy, Nora!’
The drinks flowed once more and yer man behind the bar deserved a medal for keeping up with the orders being shouted at him. Two youngsters, probably Nora’s grandchildren, Maureen surmised, began doing the rounds of the room with platters of savouries and little triangle ham and egg sandwiches. It would take more than a sausage roll and a bite-sized sandwich to sort this lot out, Maureen mused, helping herself to a sausage roll. Only the one mind because she wasn’t a hypocrite. Joan Fairbrother sprang to mind; she’d have cleared a tray up on her own given the chance.
As the evening wore on so too did Maureen’s nerves. She’d have been grand if they’d gotten straight into it but the waiting around was giving her plenty of time to wonder what she was doing. Donal could see her leg jiggling and picked up on her nerves. He reached over and patted her knee giving her a reassuring smile. ‘It’s only another ten minutes and we’re up. The trick is to pretend they’re all naked, the lot of them.’ He winked.
Maureen looked around the room and as her eyes raked over a portly chap, she was assailed by an image she hastily erased. ‘If it’s alright with you, I think I’ll leave their underpants on,’ she said to Donal, causing him to let out a loud guffaw.
‘You do what works for you, Maureen.’
At last it was time for them to get up and the lads arranged themselves with practised ease. Maureen took her place over to the right of Donal, her new tambourine firmly in her grasp. She willed her trembling hands to stay still and as the band launched into Reuben James, Maureen forgot she was nervous as she tapped the tambourine against her side and swayed to the familiar rhythms. People began migrating toward the area reserved for dancing in front of where they were playing and as she saw enjoyment on their faces her confidence grew. By the time the third song in the set came to a close she was relaxed and having fun, as were the audience. Each song had been met with loud applause. Donal paused between songs to introduce her.
‘We’ve a special guest joining The Gambler’s tonight, Maureen O’Mara.’
Maureen basked in the applause.
‘And isn’t she pretty as picture?’
Some old letch with glasses so thick they could have been cut off the bottom of milk bottles whistled. Maureen shot him a look telling him to behave himself.
‘A little bird told me that this is one of Nora, the birthday girl’s favourite songs. Happy birthday, Nora, this is for you.’ There was a loud whistle and a cheer went up quietening down as the intro was played by Davey on the keyboard. Donal crooned the opening lines and then Maureen leaped in, looking deep into his eyes as she sang, losing herself in Donal and the music. She sang with every ounce of her being, she sang from her heart, and as the number drew to a close the slow dancing couples broke apart to clap thunderously. It was a moment Maureen pressed like a flower between the pages of her mind to pull out in the years to come. She moved back to her post and was about to begin shaking her tambourine to Daytime Friends when she spied a face in the crowd. A familiar face whose
