Allegiance: A Dublin Novella (12 page)

“Tis his birthday,” Gerald said.

William raised an eyebrow. “Mine is fourteenth May,” he said, “In case you wanted to plan ahead.” That got him a few laughs, and he set his broom aside and made his way down to the knot of people gathered around Andy’s place at the bar.

“It’s your birthday, then, is it?” He pulled a glass from the rack and filled it to the mark with Andy’s favorite brew, dropping a coin from his pocket into the jar. “Have one on Caledonia,” he said, and Andy’s face blustered into a smile.

David and Adam had moved down to Andy’s stool and slung their arms around his shoulders, one on either side. Andy’s beer sloshed onto the bar from their jostling; he wiped his mouth and lifted his glass in proclamation.

“It’s my birthday, boys,” he exclaimed. “Here’s to the best group of mates money can buy.” That got him a ruffled head and Adam’s elbow in his ribs, and glasses and bottles went up around the room. William poured himself a shot of whisky and dropped another coin in the jar just before the call of
slainte!,
and tossed it back to the sound of blessings in both English and Irish.

In the back corner, the fiddler was rosining his bow. “What will you have, Byrne?” he called. “Not all of us can afford to fill your thirst.”

The hour had already grown late, and a Saturday at that, and the mention of song prompted a swift scraping of chairs and tables being pushed aside. 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 risky,

Whenever you want to nick the thread,

Just try our Glesca whisky.

William could not recall how much he’d had to drink that night, but he knew it wasn’t nearly enough to cause the giddy feeling swelling in his chest. The energy coming off Adam was more potent than tumbler or bottle, and William soaked it up and poured it back out in the shape of the second verse.

The poison stuff the doctors sell

You scarcely can get any,

But Glesca whisky bears the bell

It’s flavoured with so many;

And poison selling’s so fenced around

To buy it is but risky;

But ye may cut throats, or hang, or drown,

When primed wi’ Glesca whisky.

Someone called William’s name, and he turned to see David holding up another bottle – without missing a beat he tossed his empty one over and caught the replacement, and he was plucking out the stopper with his teeth when Adam’s arm fell across his shoulders and drew him close for the finish.

So try our Glesca whisky

Aye try our Glesca whisky!

It gives us pleasure wi’ our death

So hey for Glesca whisky!

William listened to the cheering as he drank a long pull from the bottle until his lungs threatened to burst from lack of air; when he opened his eyes, Adam was watching him, face red and chest heaving, gray eyes lit with drink and delight. William knew he looked the same when he handed Adam the bottle and watched him bend back his head to swallow every drop.

“Hold up your end, Elliot, before you tip us over.”

“I am holding my end, Young, it’s you who’s gone lopsided.”

“If you drop this crate Mary will skin you alive. She makes her spending money on these bottles, you know.”

“Well she should have thought of that before she went to bed and left a drunkard like you to tend them for her.”

William stopped short, causing Adam to stumble; the empty bottles wobbled in their crate.

“Are you implying that I am intoxicated?”

Adam’s cap had fallen down over one eye; it slipped a little more when he grinned.

“I’m implying nothing, Mr. Young, sir.” They hefted the box again and moved forward a few steps. “I am stating quite plainly that you are knackered off your Scottish arse.”

It was a fair description of them both, truth be told. They stumbled down the narrow basement corridor with the crate of empty bottles between them, bumping first into one wall, then the other, then into each other, puffing and swearing in pungent little grunts.

“Wasn’t me who was makin’ a fool of m’self with every lass in the pub, shooglin’ about with my braces hangin’ off.”

“No, ‘twas you who was leaping on the table like one of the Wee Folk, and your face as red as the port.” Adam chuckled at William’s indignant splutter. “You do have Wee Folk in Scotland, don’t you, Glasgow? You must have, as you do such a fine impression of one.”

William opened his mouth to reply and tripped over his left foot. The box came down between them and hit the floor with a crash and the sound of breaking glass. They froze where they stood, eyes round like two lads caught in the candy jar – but no sound came from upstairs, no call of
what the devil is that racket?
from Gerald or Mary, and suddenly they were both sagging against the wall and shaking with stifled laughter. Adam set his cap aright and put a finger to his lips, whispering in that ridiculous way that only the inebriated think is actually quiet.

“Shhh, you’ll wake the house with your drunken screeching.”

“Would be your fault entirely – you caused me to lose my balance.”

“Me?” They were struggling to lift the crate, winded and off-kilter. Adam grinned. “I would never think of disrupting your balance, my friend.”

“You’ve been doing so since the day I met you,” William said.

Adam stopped moving. William’s eyes widened, but he could not unsay what he had said. Instead he turned back to the crate and pushed, trying to move them further down the hall. Adam did not budge and William stumbled, tilting sideways, his side of the crate slipping down until he braced against the wall to stop it from crashing. Adam lurched forward at the change in angle and William could smell the wine on his breath, the dried sweat on his neck and moist warmth creeping up from the collar of his shirt. Vertigo washed over him, lights spinning across his vision – the corridor closed around them; he felt trapped, suffocated, the lights shrinking and blotted out by gray eyes glittering far too close to his face.

“Adam
—”

“Don’t,” Adam said, and his mouth was on William’s before the crate could hit the floor.

William’s eyes closed and his mouth opened. He was very, very drunk; the world tilted and swayed and ran together until he couldn’t feel which way was up. Adam’s tongue was bitter with alcohol and cigarettes, as hot as he knew it would be, as he’d imagined when he lay on his back at night and stared at the ceiling of his bedroom with one hand on his chest and the other buried beneath the sheets. His stomach dropped at the memory and his eyes snapped open – he put his hands on Adam’s shoulders to draw away while he still could, but Adam’s eyes had closed and he sighed against William’s mouth, and William cracked like the glass crunching beneath their feet and pushed them both across the corridor until Adam’s back hit the wall with a heavy smack.

They inhaled each other, desperate and uncoordinated in their frantic greed. William felt his shirttail ripped from his trousers by fumbling fingers; he pulled with both hands and heard Adam’s shirt buttons hit the floor in a scatter of tiny sounds. Adam’s braces slipped from his shoulders at the same moment William’s knee pushed his thighs apart. His teeth closed on William’s earlobe, his breath harsh and scraping behind the sound of roaring blood. William could no longer tell which limbs were his and which were Adam’s, only sharp elbows and awkward angles and clumsy, mashing kisses. It was not enough – they needed more, faster, harder, now, and then Adam’s fingers slid inside William’s trousers and they fell in a tangle of limbs on the basement floor.