“And you think I can fix everything?”
“He’s facing eviction from the tavern, we have to try at least. He’s three weeks to make it work.”
SIXTEEN
CELEBRATIONS
That evening after dinner, Cordelia and Flynn arrived at the tavern. Keeping a low profile they knocked at the back door. Breck took a deep breath, brushed himself down and opened the door.
“Come in,” he said.
“I see you’ve been tidying,” said Cordelia, her eyes wandering around the kitchen.
“Thought I’d make a start,” said Breck. He avoided eye contact with Flynn and an awkward silence filled the air.
“That looks painful,” said Flynn, eventually.
“Ah, it’s nothing. You should see the other guy,” said Breck.
Flynn smiled sympathetically. “We’re here to help, if you want us to.”
Breck nodded.
Sensing the awkward atmosphere, Cordelia handed Flynn a duster and chirped, “Let’s get started then.”
Together they dusted, polished and spruced the place up. Cordelia swept the floor, Flynn washed the windows and Breck restocked the bar. Within a few hours everything was ready.
“Get a good night’s sleep,” said Flynn. “You’ll need it if you’re to stand behind that bar tomorrow.”
Having spoken very little all evening, Breck finally mustered a few words, “Thank you, both of you.”
The following morning at precisely eleven o’clock, Breck opened the tavern. A steady stream of customers came to the tavern throughout that week and word gradually circulated the town of the fisherman who’d returned from the dead. By the weekend the weather was warmer and visitors flocked to Kilfearagh from Limerick, Ennis and Kilrush to fill their lungs with clean, sea air. The influx of tourists brought an undesirable trade to the town; fallen women lurked in the alley ways and side streets. Women who’d lost their husbands during the hunger, single mothers trying to earn a wage to feed their children, women who could find no alternative employment. Prostitution seemed their only option. It was that or the workhouse but the workhouse paid their wages with food, not money and they could not pay rent with food. Breck and Flynn worked day and night behind the bar, serving customers and telling tall tales. Had they told the truth about themselves or the things they’d seen, nobody would have believed them. On Sunday evening the following week, Breck counted the takings.
“How did we do?” asked Flynn.
“We did okay, but it’s not enough,” replied Breck. “It’s not even half of what I need to pay the rent, never mind buy food and replace the stock.”
“We’ve still got two weeks,” said Flynn. His eye caught sight of a covered piano in the corner. “That’s it!” he said. “This place needs music.”
“D’you play?” asked Breck.
Flynn shook his head. “Can you?”
“No.”
“Then we’ll find someone who can,” said Flynn, his voice filled with determination.
They placed an advertisement in the window for a piano player but nobody responded to the ad, not until the following Friday when Jerry stumbled into the tavern.
“Did you find anyone to tinkle your keys yet?” asked Jerry.
Breck and Flynn looked bemused.
“The piano,” said Jerry.
“Oh, no, not yet,” replied Breck.
“Do you play?” asked Flynn.
“I can play the fiddle,” said Jerry, pulling one out of his bag.
“Be our guest,” said Flynn perching on a bar stool.
To their surprise, Jerry played the liveliest, ambient music they had ever heard and wide beams appeared on their faces as the punters started tapping their feet and hands in time with the music.
“You kept that talent hidden,” said Flynn when Jerry had finished playing.
“Am I hired?” asked Jerry.
“I’ll give you a week’s trial,” said Breck. “Come back tonight at six.”
That evening the tavern was packed with punters reveling in music and drink. The place had never been so alive. Every night after that the crowds poured in through the tavern door, there was music and dancing, slurred talking and laughter. When Cordelia’s lessons were over each day she practised her diving for the competition and would sometimes ride into town to meet Flynn at the end of his shift, but not before stealing a kiss from Breck at the back door. Life was looking brighter all round and a constant stream of money poured into the till. On Thursday 28th April, the day before the notice period was up, Breck counted the takings.
“We’ve done it!” he exclaimed. “There’s more than enough here.” Overjoyed, Breck leapt to his feet and hugged his father. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”
Flynn slapped Breck on the back and smiled. “You did good boy.”
“You know, I was thinking,” said Breck, “it seems daft you coming and going each day. Did you want to move in?”
Flynn’s eyes lit up. “I’d be honoured,” he said.
“Ahem, I hate to break up a party but will you be requiring my services again?” asked Jerry.
“As long as we’re not evicted tomorrow, consider yourself hired,” said Breck.
They celebrated well into the small hours, drinking and talking until they could keep their eyes open no longer.
A loud pounding woke Breck from his sleep. He half opened one eye and the loud pounding came again.
“Open up!” called a deep voice on the tavern steps. “We’re here to carry out the eviction process and secure these premises.”
Breck peeled his face off the bar and stumbled from his stool.
“What’s all the noise?” asked Flynn, holding his head.
“They’re here to evict us,” said Breck.
Flynn jumped up and stood beside Breck who clutched a brown, crumpled envelope.
The loud knocking came again. “Open up or we’ll break the door!”
“Alright, we’re coming!” said Flynn, unbolting the door.
“I hereby…”
Breck handed over the brown envelope.
“What’s this?” asked the large man on the doorstep.
“Everything that’s owed plus two month’s rent up front.”
Breck’s heart raced beneath his chest and he breathed through pursed lips to calm himself.
“I see. I’ll have to check with the landlord of course, see if he still wants you out.”
“He wants money doesn’t he? There’s his money,” said Flynn, pointing to the envelope. “If he throws us out he’ll have nothing but an empty building.”
“I’ll have an
