Read Online Trinidad Street by Patricia Burns - Free Book Online Page B

and was reassured. After all, Harry was only a bit older than Siobhan herself. She would think of him as a boy, whereas Will was a young man.
    The people were calling for Siobhan.
    ‘Where’s herself? Where’s the little songbird?’
    He could look at her now with safety. Everyone was looking at her. She was swept across to the piano and a chair found for her to stand on. Head and shoulders above the crowd, she stood with not a trace of self-consciousness, a small commanding figure in a modest green dress, her black curls caught up under the pretty straw hat. She was not smiling. Her sweet face was composed, waiting. A hush fell over the rowdy bar, spreading from Siobhan across the packed bodies to the doors and the drinkers outside. And now they were waiting for her. She held them, confident. Then she nodded to the pianist.
    She started with the familiar ones. ‘Danny Boy’, ‘Rose of Tralee’. Will knew them. He listened in silence, ignored Harry’s murmured comments, and joined in the thunderous applause. Then came a couple of songs he had not heard before, tales of unrequited love that curled round his heart and became part of the ache there. She was singing of how it was, she was singing to him. She knew. She understood. Will was standing alone in the packed bar. This time the applause broke over him like a wave, leaving him vaguely disorientated. She was speaking, and yet he did not seem to be understanding what she said. She seemed to be announcing the next song, for there was an indrawn breath of expectation all around him.
    The words meant nothing, as she was singing in Irish, but still the song wove its magic. The lilting voice, clear and sweet as a peat-brown stream, played up and down the spine, brushed the hairs of the neck, insinuated into the secret depths. It told of a country wild and beautiful, of a nation subjugated for generations but still upright and proud in heart and soul.
    The room was caught in total silence, rapt. Tears ran unashamedly down hardened faces.
    The song ended. For one moment, two, the silence held. Then the clapping began and rose to a roar. Feet stamped, mugs banged on tables, voices cried for more.
    Siobhan stood smiling amongst it all, a fragile flower drinking the adulation. She shook her head, stepped down and began to walk slowly from the room, surrounded by her menfolk, impeded by her admirers. Will followed, drawn irresistibly. He had to try to possess some of what he had glimpsed. It was more now than simply wantingthe girl; he wanted the force behind the song, the power, the emotion, the promise.
    He followed the O’Donaghues blindly as they walked through the streets of Poplar. He had no idea where they were going, no thought for the others. It was only when they turned into another pub that he realized they had left the O’Donaghue relatives and the rest of the Trinidad Street group behind at the Harp of Erin.
    ‘Is she going to sing again?’ he asked Brian.
    ‘No – no, we come here for a snatch of peace and quiet. Can’t hear y’self think in the Harp.’
    Will had just enough presence of mind to offer to buy a round of drinks. He put Siobhan’s port and lemon into her hand. She accepted it with a speculative look.
    ‘What d’you think of our little songbird, then?’ Pat asked.
    ‘She’s amazing – I never guessed she could sing like that.’ Will forced himself not to look at her, but he was very aware of her listening to his words.
    ‘No more did we, till we heard her one evening.’
    ‘She ought to be on the halls. She’d be a star turn.’
    He felt rather than heard Siobhan’s intake of breath and knew he had put his finger on something.
    Brian was looking disapproving. ‘What, and have her up on a stage with any Tom, Dick and Harry in London with the price of a seat in his pocket staring at her? Wouldn’t be proper.’
    ‘She’d make a fortune,’ Will said.
    ‘Fortune be damned. ’Tis no way for a respectable girl to make a