Allegiance: A Dublin Novella by Heather Domin

Andy bent his head back until his pint was empty and brought the glass down onto the bar top with a heavy thud.
    “I care not what the tune is, as I can’t much tell one song from another anyway
—
” It was true enough; William had never met anyone as truly tone-deaf as Andy Byrne
—
“I have only a request for the singer.” He threw a hand backwards to thwap into Adam’s shoulder with something resembling a pat. “Give us a song, Elliot, ‘s been too long.”
    The suggestion was met with the usual approval, and Adam responded with the usual objection. William glanced around the room – Sarah Reilly was not in attendance tonight, and he felt an inexplicable flash of satisfaction. He quickly turned his attention to wiping down the bar top.
    Adam made his way to a table by the wall, and with the grand display of the truly intoxicated he leapt up onto it (“Oi, mind the furniture!” shouted Gerald) and spread his hands wide until the noise subsided.
    “Very well,” he said. “Very well. I will do as you ask, my dear friend Andrew – but only if my own demand is met. Tis the right of the artist, is it not? My stipulation is this: I will only sing if I am given a suitable duet partner.”
    He looked across the room, fifty heads turned, and William took a step back as he realized that every one of them was looking at him.
    Mary spoke from behind him. “Looks like your cue, love.”
    “What?” William spluttered, flummoxed. “I
—
Me? No, I don’t
—
”
    “Go on then, Glasgow!” someone yelled, and more voices chimed in. A moment later the entire room was chanting his nickname.
    William could feel his face burning; the flush intensified when he met Adam’s eyes over the sea of heads. He stood frozen in place, and then he felt Mary’s hand on the small of his back as she spoke into his ear.
    “Go on, William. He’s waiting for you.”
    His fingers scrabbled to untie his apron as he came around the bar. Someone plucked it from his hand the moment it slipped off, and the crowd helped him along with a few encouraging slaps on the back. Adam passed his empty glass to a spectator and crossed his arms over his chest in triumph as William approached the table. They looked at each other, and the whisky in William’s blood mixed with a rush of something else as a smile spread across his face.
    “Help an old man up,” he said, and stuck out his hand.
    Adam leaned over and hauled William up onto the table, barely managing not to bowl them both over in the process. He turned to the crowd and called, “Our William is a shy soul, lads – who will offer him some courage?” Someone passed up two brown glass bottles; Adam pressed one into William’s hand and clanked it against his own.
    William sniffed the bottle’s contents – fresh red wine. He realized then that Adam was watching him, and so was everyone else. He raised his drink to Andy in birthday salute, tipped his head back, and upended the bottle into his mouth. He could barely hear the room’s reaction over the sound of his gulps, his heart pounding as he drank and drank and drank until the bottle was dry. He let go with a gasp and wiped his mouth on his sleeve.
    “Not bad, Glasgow,” Adam said. And then, louder, “Right! Now what shall we sing for you, Andy?”
    “Whatever y’choose. Let Glasgow decide!”
    William looked down at the fiddler. “I know none of your songs, I fear.”
    The lad smiled and tucked his fiddle beneath his chin. “I know one of yours,” he said, and winked as he struck his bow. The first few notes sprang out into the pub, and no one was more astounded than himself when William threw back his head and laughed until the sound bounced off the ceiling. Through his giggles Adam managed to draw in a breath and start the first verse.
     
    Oh come all ye folks who weary are
    Of life, its cares and trouble,
    Who anything will do and dare
    So you may burst the bubble;
    I have a plan within my head
    That’s new and nothing