by JS Taylor
“I missed you too,” I admit. Though it’s only been a few hours since I saw him last.
We walk over to his motorbike, and Adam swings a leg over the front. He hands me a helmet.
“You ready to go Summer?”
“Of course. Where are you taking me?” I ask, sliding onto the back of his bike. “Another surprise?”
I’m getting to love his surprise dates.
“I thought it was time you have some fun,” says Adam. “You’ve spent the last week working hard. And when you weren’t working hard, you were dealing with some kind of drama.”
“That’s true,” I agree, sliding on the helmet he hands me.
It’s been a tiring week to say the least.
He turns to make sure my helmet is secure, then kicks off the bike with a loud roar. I cling on tight, as he barrels us out onto the London streets.
I’m getting used to travelling by motorbike now. It’s such a fast way to get around London, everything else will seem slow now.
“Aren’t you even going to tell me what part of London?” I yell above the roar of the bike.
In front of me, he nods.
“We’re going to Kilburn,” he says. “To an Irish pub.”
An Irish pub. Sounds like fun.
The roads become smaller as we weave through suburban streets. And then we pull up outside a huge rangy-looking pub. Even from the outside it looks warren-like – as though different buildings have been grafted together over the centuries. The building looks neat and well kept, and there’s a cheery painted sign, announcing Morgan’s Bar.
Morgan’s Bar!
I slide off the bike grinning at Adam as I pull off my helmet.
“This is your bar?”
“Not mine. A relative.”
“A close relative?” I ask, trying to work out who might run the bar. Adam has already told me his brother and mother live in Ireland.
“You’ll find out,” he smiles.
“It looks fun,” I say, taking in the colourful entrance.
Already I can hear Irish music piping out from the doors.
“I think it’s time to let your hair down,” agrees Adam. “I want to see that carefree smile I love so much.”
“I didn’t know I had a carefree smile,” I reply.
“Oh, you do,” says Adam. “Remember the little dance song you sang me in the audition?”
I frown, remembering.
“Move to the Music? The song you didn’t like?”
“That’s the one. I think I fell in love with you there and then Summer Evans. Your whole body seemed to bounce with the song, and you looked so fun, singing with a happy smile on your face.”
I laugh to hide the rising blush.
“I didn’t know you thought that,” I say. “In fact as I remember, you were kind of cold in that audition.”
“I had to defend myself against your charms,” he says, grinning.
“And what about now?” I ask, leaning close, and kissing his mouth.
He pulls me in, responding with a deep kiss.
“Now,” he murmurs, “I have no defences left. You’ve bewitched me. So I guess I’d just better love you with all my heart, hadn’t I?”
“I guess so,” I reply, my body tingling for him.
“So,” says Adam, “shall we go inside? Have a dance and a few pints?”
“I think we should.”
Adam takes me by the hand, and leads me across the threshold. And as soon as we’re inside, the pub explodes in light and noise.
I love it. It’s like the biggest party, and everyone’s invited.
Automatically, I feel myself beaming.
“This is great!” I yell, above the noise. At the back I can make out a tiny section, where three men are playing instruments as though their lives depended on it. A violin and penny whistle are issuing notes at breakneck speed, and the whole pub is part of the pace.
“Come on,” says Adam, “I want to introduce you to the owner.”
He drags me to the crowded bar, and raps on the counter. From deep at the back, a small man with silver hair turns around.
He has lively, dancing eyes, and a set of thick sideburns, which frame the lined skin of his face. When his gaze settles on Adam, the twinkling eyes light up anew.
“Well I never!” he announces, loud enough to involve the whole bar. “If it isn’t me little nephew. Good to see you lad!”
Nephew? This is Adam’s uncle?
I stare, intrigued. There’s a definite resemblance. The jawline, and dark colouring with blue eyes.
“Hello Uncle Ron,” beams Adam, leaning across the bar to grasp his uncle’s hand. The two men grip each other in a warm handshake, throwing their free arms around one another’s shoulders.
“I was wondering when you’d get down here,” says Ron, deftly picking out a Guinness glass and sliding it under the beer tap. “We all knew you were back in London for Sing-Win. We thought you’d have come by ages ago.”
His eyes drift to me. “And I think I’ve just worked out why you’re not there,” he adds, beaming at me. “Hello pretty lady. Adam, would you care to introduce me?”
“This is Summer,” says Adam proudly. “She’s a singer. An amazing singer.”
“I know she is,” says Ron, taking me in. “I’ve seen her on TV.”
“Hey!” grins Adam, “enough of that. No flirting with my girl.”
Ron’s eyebrows raise, and he looks at me.
“Looks like you’ve done the impossible young lady,” he murmurs. “Seems you’ve managed to tame Adam Morgan.”
There’s a slight pause, as I try and stem the deep blush rising up my neck. Adam’s uncle mercifully changes the subject, gesturing to his bar.
“What’ll it be to drink?” Ron asks, beaming at me. “We have Guinness, or Guinness. Or if you’re in a celebratory mood, I’ll give you a Guinness with a Jameson whiskey chaser.”
I laugh.
“I’ll have a Guinness then,” I say.
“Grand.” Adams uncle slides another glass under the tap, and begins topping up Adam’s pint.
“Are the lads in tonight?” asks Adam.
Ron nods towards the back of the room. “Over there. They’ll be made up to see you. We’re always glad to see you on the telly. You’ve done us proud lad.”
Adam bows his head slightly, and it’s the first time I’ve seen him look bashful.
“Ach, none of that now,” admonishes Ron, sliding two pints of Guinness in front of him. “Of course we’re proud of you. We all are. You’ve put all that hard living behind you now. Got it out of your system.”
I remember suddenly, that Adam had something of a celebrity lifestyle a few years back.
I guess his uncle didn’t approve.
Adam’s uncle pats his arm in a fierce hard motion.
“You’ve grown up a fine young man. Your father, God rest his soul, would have been proud.”
I glance at Adam, wondering how he’s taking this. But the reference to his dead father doesn’t seem to have troubled him.
“Thanks Uncle Ron,” Adam says, picking up the first pint and handing it to me.
“Come on,” he says to me. “Let’s go meet my surrogate family.”
“Your surrogate family?” I ask, as he guides me across the bar.
Adam nods. “My Uncle Ron is my Dad’s brother. He’s the closest thing I have to a father, and I love him just as dearly. But these boys you’re about to meet,” Adam gestures to a little huddle of people sat around a small table, “I worked as a building labourer with them for two years when I first came to London. They’re like my second family.”
As we approach the table I make out four people. Two men, and two women, all of whom I would judge to be in their late twenties.
The two men have the heavy-set physiques of people who work hard for a living. They’re dressed in their site clothes – heavy cement soiled boots, dusty T-shirts and ripped jeans.
The two women both have d
ark hair. But whilst one is dressed in a feminine ruffled dress, heels, and barely there make-up with long curling hair, the other wears deep red lipstick, a print shirt with jeans, and a straight bob.
One of the men looks up as Adam approaches, and his face bursts open in delight.
“Fucking hell!” he cheers in a musical Irish accent, “I was wondering when you’d get down here. We’ve been watching you on TV all week.”
The men both stand up, and embrace Adam affectionately. They have similar rounded faces, with close-shaved heads, and green eyes.
Brothers, I decide.
“Summer,” says Adam, “This is Paul and Dave O’Leary. They looked after me when I first came to London.”
“Adam was a little lad,” says Paul, taking me in with a broad smile. “But he soon learned the ropes. Fastest boy up a ladder we’ve ever seen, wasn’t he Dave?”
“Only ’cause roofing’s the easiest job,” laughs Dave, moving to shake my hand. “Hello Summer. Good to meet you love.”
Adam laughs too. Then he turns to include the two girls at the table, who are smiling at me with interest.
“This is Nieve and Emily,” he says. “They’ve kept Paul and Dave in line for the last few years haven’t you girls?”
Adam moves to hug Nieve and Emily, kissing them fondly on both cheeks. I move forward a little more shyly, shaking their hands. They both beam at me warmly.
“We’ve seen you,” says the red-lipsticked girl Nieve. “On the telly. You’re in the girl band, right?”
Like Paul and Dave, she has an Irish accent, but it’s not so strong as Adam’s.
I nod shyly. I’m not sure how to deal with being recognised from TV.
“Your voice is amazing,” sighs Emily. “There’s something really special about it. You should do a solo on the show,” she adds. “So we can hear just you.”
Nieve is nodding.
“Thanks,” I say, not sure how to take such glowing praise. “I really appreciate it. We’re just glad to still be on the show.”
“After that vote rigging?” snorts Nieve. “That was disgusting. We all knew it was bullshit, you getting voted off. I loved that video.”
She turns to Adam.
“So, Adam,” she demands, “I hope she’s put an end to your wandering ways?”
She glowers at him disapprovingly.
“She has Nieve,” says Adam. “You can stop worrying about me now.”
“We did worry,” says Emily, in a softer voice. “We thought you’d be a bachelor forever.”
“I thought so too,” says Adam. “But love can change a man.”
He shoots me an adoring gaze, and I sense a ripple of surprised delight go around the group.
“Well,” says Paul, glancing at the women. “Our young man’s in love finally. This calls for a celebration. Let’s get the band to play us a ceili dance.”
Adam smiles, glancing at his uncle behind the bar.
“The old man won’t like it,” he warns Paul. “It took him years to come around to people dancing in here. He’d rather they tapped their boots and stayed sitting.”
Paul grins. “It’s about time he realised there’s younger folk than him in here. And your young lady looks like she’d enjoy a dance.”
Without waiting for my agreement, Paul disappears in the direction of the band.
“Sorry about him,” says Adam, watching Paul vanish. “He’s always been bossy. The pair of them are.”
“That’s why we took such good care of you,” says Dave. “And we didn’t discriminate, on account of you being from Belfast.”
“Kind of you,” agrees Adam, taking a sip of his beer. “Paul and Dave are from the Republic of Ireland,” he explains to me, “that’s why they have such soft accents.”
Dave grins. And then there’s a sudden announcement from the stage.
“We’ve had a request for a ceili,” calls the lead musician. “Who’d like a group dance?”
Cheers go up from the pub. I can make out vague cries of protest from Adam’s uncle. Although as I glance over at him, he’s only half serious.
“You’re here to drink, not to whirligig!” Ron shouts, in a laughing tone.
“Get the old man up for a dance!” bellows Paul, his voice echoing through the bar. “Cure his miserable ways!”
This is met with delighted agreement from most of the pub. Ron is shaking his head, but a few of the bar staff are forcing him out from the bar. Gauging from his half-hearted struggles, he doesn’t really mind.
“Just one dance then,” he concedes, as the rest of the bar forms a broad circle of partners. “Then you’d all better buy me a beer.”
A smiling woman with her hair in a tight bun is brought forward to partner Ron. She looks in her fifties, but her physique reminds me of my mother – spry and slight.
“See that woman,” whispers Adam, nudging me, “we’ve been trying to get Ron to make his move for the last year. Who’d have thought the old ones would be so shy?”
I shrug, enjoying the spectacle of it all. It’s impossible not to get swept along in the mood.
“So how about it?” says Adam, taking my hand. “Time for a dance?”
“I’ve never danced a ceili. I don’t know the steps,” I say, nervously taking in the apparent order of the couples.
“Nothing to know,” says Adam. “They shout them out. It’s easy. Come on. You’ll pick it up.”
He drags me into the circle, and before I know it, I’m part of the big lively group. Nieve and Emily are arranged either side of me, with Paul and Dave opposite.
I glance at Adam, still uncertain.
“Summer’s not danced a ceili,” he explains to everyone over the general noise. “So make sure you pick her up on the steps.”
That, apparently, is all the tutorage I’m getting, because suddenly the music strikes up, and everyone links hands.
We follow the music around in a circle, and then the musician shouts out over the music, “swing your partners!” and I find myself grabbed and swung by Adam.
He propels me out forcefully, and I start laughing as I swing, caught up in the general merriment.
“See?” he says, “Easy!”
Adam releases me back to my place, except now I’m opposite Paul. And the dance starts again, this time, with Paul swinging me around.
Adam’s right, I realise, it’s easy to follow. And I let myself be swung right along the line.
Everyone is beaming, stamping to the beat. And Adam’s Uncle Ron, despite his protests, has more energy than anyone.
We move through several different steps, with Nieve and Adam helping me, where I’m not sure what I’m doing. And after a few rounds I’ve picked it up. And I’m whirling round at the same high speed as everyone else, gasping with laughter.
“This is so much fun!” I announce to Adam, as we circle one another.
“Good,” he replies. “That’s exactly why I brought you here. To see that carefree smile back.”
When the dance ends I’m exhausted and exhilarated. I feel an enormous affection for Adam’s friends, who took great care to ensure I enjoyed the dance.
We retreat to our table and take healthy sips of Guinness, whilst Ron returns to the bar.
“How are you finding the Irish crack?” asks Dave, draining the last of his pint. “Lively enough for you?”
“It’s brilliant,” I say. “I love it. This is much more fun than just getting drunk.”
“Oh we do that too,” says Paul. “Just wait until one in the morning when the whiskey comes out.”
“She won’t be staying that long,” cautions Adam. “Summer has a big day tomorrow.”
“If you’re leaving early,” says Paul. “Then you’d better sing for us now Adam Morgan. Or have you got too famous for us?”
“I’m never too famous for you people,” says Adam. His eyes flick to me. He seems almost nervous. “But I think I’ll save the singing for another night.”
He stands before anyone
can protest.
“My round,” he announces. “Who’s for another pint?”
“He used to sing here?” I ask, as Adam disappears to the bar. I’m thinking how similar this sounds to my own musical training. Using the karaoke in my local pub.
Dave nods, up-ending the last of his pint.
“Adam used to sing Irish folk songs,” he says. “He’d have us all in floods of tears.”
I remember the song he sang for Ben, in the hospital. But that was an upbeat song.
“They were sad songs?” I confirm.
Paul nods.
“We all knew,” he said, “that Adam was destined for big things. He’d make grown men cry, with just the power of his voice.”
Paul considers his empty pint glass philosophically.
“Adam always had an ability, to take that deep sadness from his own life, and make you feel it, in his singing,” he adds.
“I guess Adam has a lot of sadness in his life?” I probe, feeling my way. It’s occurred to me I might be able to find out more about Adam’s past from his friends.
“Well, the stuff that happened with his brother, you know,” says Paul. “That’s a thing that doesn’t just leave you.”
There’s a loud cough, and I look up to see Adam, clutching several pints of Guinness.
Paul takes his pint, and seems to see something in Adam’s eye which makes him stop talking.
“Here’s to Summer and Adam,” he announces, instead. “May you have many happy years together.”
Chapter 35
The rest of the night passes in a whirl of drink and dance. And I’m having such a good time, I’m reluctant to leave, as the clock edges ever later.
Eventually though, Adam insists we head home – much to the protests of his friends – and after fond goodbyes, we leave.
From the way Adam guides me purposely out of the pub I’ve got a feeling he has more on his mind than a good night’s sleep.
We arrive back at Adam’s apartment at midnight, and he seems suddenly thoughtful. Despite having a great time with his friends in the pub, I sense that seeing them brings up old memories.
“Do you always see your friends and uncle when you come to London?” I ask.
Adam nods.
“They keep me real, you know?” he says. “It’s good to have friends who knew you before you were famous. A lot of celebrities surround themselves with a bunch of arse-kissers.”