The Legacy of Lucy Harte

by Emma Heatherington

  Tiernan Quinn, if it even is the one Lucy Harte fell for in her innocent youth, is exactly the type of man I secretly would fancy but would never have the courage to approach. He is the polar opposite of Jeff, who already feels grey and boring in comparison, with his matching jackets and trousers, his plain-white shirts and his stripy ties. Yes, Tiernan is the man a young Maggie O’Hara would have dreamed of hanging out with, but would I go for that type now?

  Who knows?

  The Madd Mollies play hit after hit of Celtic folk-rock-type songs and the whole audience is hopping and singing along. ‘Dirty Old Town’, ‘Whiskey In The Jar’… all the classics that go down a treat with the various nationalities that grace the place.

  Roisin is barely listening, though as she is chatted up by at least three men over the course of the next half hour while I seem to be totally ignored in comparison, perhaps because I haven’t taken my eyes off the stage.

  ‘I may as well be invisible when it comes to men these days!’ I joke, but, to be honest, I’m glad of just standing here, absorbing the music and letting the warm rush of alcohol zap through my veins. I am finally beginning to really relax. I’d forgotten how much I adore live music. I’ve neglected this type of night out as I’ve always been way too tired to make it beyond dinner and a few drinks.

  ‘I’m sure if you wanted to attract someone, you could,’ says Roisin sincerely. ‘It would do you no harm to have that ego of yours stroked. A few compliments from the opposite sex would do you the world of good.’

  She gives me a wink and a knowing smile.

  ‘Nah, I’m fine,’ I tell her adamantly. ‘But you work away, Flirty Gertie…’

  The Madd Mollies end their set with a rocked-up rendition of The Undertones’ classic, ‘Teenage Kicks’ and then make their way off stage to a huge applause and, when I lose sight of them in the crowd, I feel a slump of disappointment.

  So that’s it, then. They are gone.

  ‘That was fab,’ I say to Roisin, but as the applause fades and the crowd divert either outside or to the bar I can’t help wondering is that really it for the big hunt for Tiernan Quinn? Is that as much as I will encounter? Though, what else was I expecting? Autographs? Photos? Best friends for life? I’m not sure why but I feel a bit empty inside now that the gig is over.

  Roisin reads my mind. ’Are you going to try and find him?’ she asks. ‘You can’t just leave now.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I reply. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘Well, at least try to talk to him!’

  Roisin dances as she talks.

  ‘I think he’s gone but let’s get one more drink and I’ll keep my eyes peeled,’ I tell her. ‘Something is telling me to just leave it, but at the same time I don’t feel like I have really fulfilled much for Lucy. We’ll see…’

  I order two gin and tonics. A DJ has taken over the decks and we find a seat at a table with high stools, which is perfect for scouring the crowd. The amount of revellers has now lessened a little since the band have finished, but there are still plenty about and enough for Tiernan and his Madd Mollies to stay out of our sight.

  ‘Oh look, I see them!’ says Roisin and she nods towards the four band members who are trying to get past a hen party with as little fuss as possible. The boys look uncomfortable and we laugh as they try to escape the clutches of several drunken lassies from Glasgow, including a rather racy hen, who is certainly making the most of her last night of freedom.

  ‘Ah I think I’ll leave him to it,’ I tell her, taking a long drink through my straw. ‘I don’t know if I could be bothered trying to get to him. Looks like he has enough on his plate.’

  ‘But you can’t just leave it there!’ Roisin scolds. ‘Think about wee Lucy and her big crush on him! You could at least try and finish the job and find out if you’ve found the right guy. Go on! Go talk to him! There he is at the bar now with the drummer boy. You have to! Go on!’

  I shake my head and watch Tiernan and his mate, who look very glad to be off duty. They have both changed clothing and Tiernan wears a light scarf around his neck with a grey blazer. The hat has gone and the jeans are the same but he has certainly freshened up after a very lively, sweaty performance.

  He looks like a pretty intense guy and there is absolutely no way I am going to just walk up to him and blurt out about some teenage holiday he probably doesn’t remember.

  ‘I imagine he’s the kind of man who gets a lot of attention and he would either think I’m some nutcase looking for an excuse to talk to him or else tell me where to go,’ I explain to Roisin. ‘Plus I don’t fancy telling a complete stranger that I have someone else’s heart. Plus it might not even be him.’

  I have totally taken cold feet and I’m starting to feel sorry for myself, but Roisin is having none of it.

  ‘You are no fun,’ she mocks and lets out a sigh that comes from her painted toes. ‘I’m not asking you to chat him up, Maggie!’ she says. ‘But I thought you came here for a reason. No point chickening out now!’

  ‘I can’t…’

  We look around us and I watch as Tiernan adjusts his jacket and turns his back to a few female admirers. There is absolutely no way I am going to behave like a groupie and be treated in that way. No way.

  ‘I’m going to the bar,’ says Roisin and she slips off her stool. ‘Same again?’

  ‘Jeez, Speedy Gonzales. Did you just down that?’

  I look at her empty glass, which matches her glassy eyes.

  ‘Yup. Watch and learn, cousin. Watch and learn.’

  I shake my head as Roisin makes her way to the bar and stands right next to Tiernan and his band mate. You can tell she is a trained actress as it doesn’t flinch her one bit to make a move. She twirls the end of her hair and casually looks around the bar and then eventually to them and, of course, they notice her, noticing them.

  Tiernan says something to her and she throws her head back in a girly laugh. Boy, but she can flirt! The other guy, the drummer, looks smitten by her too and the next thing she is ordering them a drink and chatting away like she has known them forever.

  The three of them look up at me and wave and I swear that my face has turned a beetroot shade of purple. So much for Dutch courage. I am shaking like a baby deer.

  Roisin hands the lads two hefty pints of Guinness and grabs our gin and tonics and then makes her way back up to where I am sitting like a wallflower in comparison to Her Royal Bubbliness.

  ‘That wasn’t so hard,’ she says, setting our drinks on the table. I grab mine and drink it like I’ve been in the Sahara for days.

  ‘What on earth was that all about? Did you buy them a drink?’

  ‘I did indeed and I will sorely regret it in the morning when I check my bank balance, but if it gets the ball rolling in this little mission of yours, then it will be money well spent, my dear.’

  ‘You’re an absolute scream,’ I tell her.

  ‘You’re an absolute chicken,’ she replies. ‘They’re only men. Well, thirty-something quite-hot men when you see them up close, but they’re only human beings like we are. They don’t bite. At least I don’t think they do, anyhow. Mind you, I wouldn’t mind if they did bite…’

  Tiernan and the drummer keep glancing our way and I am caught out every time I do the same in their direction. The other two band members have joined them now, having been released from the clutches of the hen party and they order their own drinks from the bar.

  ‘What did you say to them?’ I ask Roisin and I swivel in my chair so that I am no longer in their eye-line.

  ‘It’s not what I said to them, it’s what they said to me,’ she says with a confident smile. ‘He spoke to me first.’

  I have no idea why but I am slightly jealous.

  ‘Well, are you going to tell me what he said or is it a secret?’

  ‘It’s a secret,’ she whispers and looks back down at him and then at me again. ‘I’m kidding, you big eejit! I asked him something stupid like the time and he looked at me like
I was speaking Mandarin and then he said to me that the bloody label was sticking out of the back of my dress and I laughed my head off and said I would get you to fix it. Then I bought them a drink to say thank you. Now, can you tuck that label in so I am not walking around like an advertisement for New Look?’

  I laugh and fix her dress at the back and when I am done I look up to see Tiernan and company standing right beside our table. Oh fuck.

  ‘Hi,’ he says and pulls a stool out from under the table. ‘I couldn’t help notice you both looking our way so we thought we’d make it easier for you.’

  I’m in shock. I can’t speak.

  ‘We were actually looking at the clock down there,’ says Roisin, looking up at him from beneath her long lashes. ‘You know the way I asked you the time?’

  Tiernan looks a bit disappointed and turns around to see the invisible clock.

  ‘I told you they weren’t looking at us,’ says the guy who was on lead guitar. ‘We should be so lucky.’

  ‘Well then, at least let us buy you a drink back,’ says Tiernan, realising there is no clock and his dark-brown eyes go back to Roisin. ‘That was a hefty enough round you were hit with. Same again?’

  Roisin nods and I do too and off he goes, putting his hand in his back pocket as he walks away and pulling out a brown-leather wallet. He glances back up when he gets to the bar, but I can’t tell if it’s me he is looking at, or Roisin or just at the group of us in general.

  ‘I think he likes you,’ I whisper to her and Drummer Boy takes his seat.

  ‘I’m Jack,’ he says, extending a hand to me and then Roisin. We both shake his hand and say our own names courteously.

  ‘Boy, but we’re all very formal around here,’ says Mr Lead Guitar, who leans on the table. ‘I’m Connor and that’s Mick, but he doesn’t really talk. He just lets his music do the talking, isn’t that right, our Mick?’

  Mick nods and stays behind Connor, looking like we might bite him if he comes closer.

  ‘And your friend at the bar?’ says Roisin. ‘Does he have a name?’

  ‘He has all sorts of names,’ says Connor, licking the creamy Guinness froth from his lips as he speaks. ‘He answers to most things, but his mother calls him Tiernan.’

  ‘Tiernan,’ says Roisin. ‘Okay…’

  Oh holy shit. Oh holy shit. So it is him! Well, it’s the right first name anyhow… Roisin looks at me and I know she is bursting to clap like a baby seal with excitement. Could it really be him?

  The boys exchange glances in bewilderment just as Tiernan arrives back with our drinks. He sets them down, oblivious to our swooning over his name.

  ‘Is it something I said?’ he asks and re-joins us at the table, only this time he is sat right next to me. He leans his arms on the table and I can’t help but look. I have a thing about arms. His jacket is rolled up and he wears a nice brown-leather watch and he has strong hands and tanned strong arms and he smells so good….

  ‘We were just making polite introductions,’ says Jack. ‘That’s Maggie and that’s Roisin.’

  I still haven’t really spoken much. I am trying to get my head around the strong possibility of this being the Tiernan Quinn after all. He sits next to me and the smell of his musky cologne and a faint hint of sweat is making me dizzy. His arm brushes against mine and I shiver. I think I might fall off my stool. He certainly has a charisma that the leading man of any band should have and I remind myself that he is not, in fact, Bono or Chris Martin but is just a guy from somewhere in the sticks of Ireland who plays Dublin pubs and clubs and has probably chalked up quite a few notches on his bedpost because some people do believe he is Bono or Chris Martin. I will not be one of those people.

  ‘Where are you from, Maggie?’ he asks me, looking right into my eyes. Ah, Jesus. He has Bradley Cooper-shaped eyes. He is an absolute dream-boat. Lucy Harte you had good taste! I am smitten.

  ‘Bel-Belfast,’ I reply, crossing my legs under the table. I am so out of touch with this type of conversation with hot men in night clubs and I need to take a few deep breaths. Roisin keeps nudging me. I am going to kill her.

  ‘Cool,’ he says. ‘A Northern girl. Nice accent.’

  He smiles and takes a drink. He is sexy. Fuck.

  ‘Thanks,’ I reply and my mind goes blank. I don’t know what to say. ‘You’re a really good singer.’

  Christ the night.

  ‘Thanks,’ he says back. ‘You’re a really good dancer.’

  I blush. Oh no. He saw me bopping along like a fan girl.

  ‘I know the words of a lot of songs,’ I tell him, and my heart rate starts to slow down a bit. I take a drink.

  ‘You are a really good dancer and a really good singer. You sang along a lot too, I noticed.’

  Shit. Crap.

  ‘I used to make up my own songs.’

  What the actual fuck am I saying?

  He nods and smiles. ‘Me too. In fact I still do, a lot.’

  I swallow. I gulp. ‘Cool.’

  I sound like a fourteen-year-old groupie. I need to get a grip.

  ‘So, what’s Belfast like, Maggie?’ asks Jack, who seems to be feeling a bit left out. Connor is quizzing Roisin and Mick is just being Mick, saying nothing.

  ‘It’s a great city,’ I say with a tiny snippet of new confidence. ‘Have you ever been?’

  He shakes his head in apology.

  ‘I have been there lots,’ says Tiernan. ‘I love it. I used to gig there every Wednesday and Thursday with my old band, but I don’t get there so often now that I’ve joined in with this motley crew.’

  ‘Oh, are you new to the band?’ asks Roisin, who can obviously listen in on two conversations at once. She nudges me again. She is so dead if she does that again. It’s really annoying and he isn’t bloody well blind!

  ‘Not any more,’ he tells us. ‘I joined a few years back but I used to play a lot more traditional Irish and folk stuff, so all this rocking is still a bit out of my comfort zone. Could you tell?’

  Roisin and I both shake our heads.

  ‘God no, you are a very convincing rocker,’ she says and when I look at her she is doing her fluttery-eyelashes thing that she has been doing to men all night. This time I nudge her.

  What am I doing?

  He smiles at her warmly and then comes back to me.

  ‘What type of songs did you write, Maggie? I’d love to hear some of your music.’

  His arm is touching mine again. Lightly, subtly, but touching all the same and he is doing that really nice smiley, starey thing again.

  Oh my God, please don’t, I want to say to him. Please don’t look at me like that or be so nice to me. Please don’t brush your arm against mine again. I’m a married woman. No, well, I was a married woman. Actually I am single! Am I really single? Okay, you can do it again, please do it again. I am single. I think I am…

  ‘I don’t think I would punish you by making you listen to my songs,’ I say to him and shyly stir my drink with the straw. ‘I was about twelve years old and I lived on a farm. Hardly Grammy-award-winning material.’

  I lived on a farm? Somebody gag me.

  ‘I lived on a farm too,’ he says to me. ‘So did Connor. In fact we’re all country boys at heart, isn’t that right, lads?’

  I’m glad he has included his friends in the conversation. I could be totally imagining it but it was getting quite hot in here for a moment.

  ‘Yes, all from the sticks. Do you play any instruments, Maggie?’ asks Connor. Like Roisin, he seems to be able to keep up with all the conversations at one time.

  ‘I used to,’ I say. ‘I’ve recently been challenged to learn how to play guitar, so I’ll have to dust off the cobwebs and get stuck in to that soon. I’m looking forward to it.’

  I think of Lucy. I wonder if she is listening to all of this? I think she would be well impressed. This has to be him! I want to ask him! I can’t ask him. Sorry, Lucy.

  ‘What song are you going to learn?’ asks Tiernan.


  ‘I have no idea yet,’ I reply, trying to be dismissive. I don’t even know why I mentioned that. I don’t want to talk about Lucy and her list. I want him to brush against my arm again. My head is spinning. I don’t want to think of Lucy. I want to get lost in Tiernan Quinn. He is bloody gorgeous.

  Oh Lucy, I’m sorry if I’m doing this wrong, I think to myself. How am I doing? I’m so nervous, Lucy, but my God, you had good taste!

  Roisin catches my eye and nods in approval. She likes him too. Whether this is Lucy’s Tiernan or not, I like him. A lot.

  My phone, which is sitting on the table in front of me, lights up as a message comes through. Thinking it must be a late-night check-in from Simon, who is no doubt itching to know how I am getting on, I take a quick peep at it but it’s not him at all.

  It’s my brother, John Joe, again. What the hell does he want?

  ‘Your boyfriend?’ asks Tiernan, interrupting his song to be, well, nosey? I kind of like it…

  ‘I don’t have a boyfriend,’ I tell him. I am about to say that I have a husband, but then I remember that I don’t have one of those either any more.

  He smiles at my answer and my stomach does a leap. I haven’t felt that in a long time, the stomach-flippy feeling and it takes me by surprise. God, I am so attracted to this stranger. Is this even possible?

  It’s lust, it’s lust, it’s lust, it’s so brilliant.

  ‘Does your girlfriend play music too?’ I ask him.

  ‘I don’t have a girlfriend,’ he tells me and he smiles again and my stomach whooshes again.

  I can feel Roisin’s breathing beside me becoming more and more rapid as if she is going to spontaneously combust. She is listening to every word.

  ‘Maybe if Maggie needs some guitar lessons, she could give you a shout,’ she says and does a really obvious wink.

  ‘Yeah, or call on me,’ says Connor and the rest of the boys laugh, but it sounds like Tiernan and I are inside a bubble and everything else is a blur in my ears. ‘We hired him for his God’s-gift good looks, not his guitar licks, so if it’s lessons you’re after…’