‘So who’s playing tonight, then?’

‘It’s the Trinity lot.’

‘Oh yes, I’ve heard them before. They’re the lot with the uilleann pipe fella and the two good singers, aren’t they?’

‘That’s the ones.’

‘Are they both singing tonight?’

‘Ah, to tell you the truth, I’m not sure. I heard the girl a little while ago, not sure about the fella. It is all a bit diddly dee for me, I’m afraid!’

‘You’re working in the wrong pub if you don’t like diddly dee!’

‘Tell me about it. Have you tried living in Dublin on a student budget? There you go gentlemen, two pints lovingly cared for. Can I get you anything else?’

Cormac thought it was time he joined the conversation, in the interest of politeness.

‘You wouldn’t happen to sell Tayto crisps?’

‘Are you joking? That’s all we sell!’

‘It would be a shame not to try them, then!’

He could feel the stomach ache coming on before he opened his first packet.

After Harry made it clear that he no longer wished to dwell on his dying marriage, they spent the rest of the evening quietly listening to, and in Cormac’s case loving, the diddly dee music. The silence was only punctuated at the beginning of each new song, when they would try and outdo each other on pointless trivia related to the latest offering from the band. The more they played, the more grateful he was for the rain in Donegal and his father’s devotion to Guinness. To Harry’s distress, he was no match for Cormac’s misspent youth. The musicians were highly skilled as they played out the soundtrack to his almost forgotten childhood. ‘The Lonesome Boatman’ was played hauntingly on the pipes to a hushed audience. The beautiful poetry of ‘Raglan Road’ and Cormac’s third pint of Guinness made him bite on his lip. The unmistakable introduction to the penultimate song of the night ensured he took the trivia title for the evening with a resounding hat trick of ‘Dirty Old Town’, Ewan McColl and Salford. Poor old Harry never stood a chance. He was still basking in his glory and enjoying his friend’s misery when the girl started to sing.

‘I skimmed across black water without once submerging

Unto the banks of an urban morning

That hungers the first light, much, much more

than the mountains ever do.

And she like a ghost beside me

goes down with the ease of a dolphin

And emerges unlearned unshamed unharmed…’

‘Are you alright, Cormac?’

Harry was staring straight at him.

‘Yeah, I’m absolutely fine, why?’

‘Well, it’s just that you have tears running down your cheeks and the two attractive women to your left are beginning to stare. What with our knees touching and all, I’m a bit worried you’re damaging my reputation and affecting my chances now I’m a single man again!’

‘Sorry, Harry. It’s just that song was one of my mum’s favourites. She sent it to me on an album a few years back. I think it was Christy Moore or it could have been Mary Black, I can’t remember. She used to send me stuff you know, on birthdays and at Christmas - music, books, clothes and other things. It was always something Irish. I think she was afraid I’d lose my Irishness or something. I was just thinking how much I loved that song and I never did tell her how much I loved those presents. I bet she thought I just discarded them, but I didn’t. I wore the jumpers, no matter how ridiculous. I read the books. I listened to the music. Sometimes it felt like they were the only things in my life that were real. The rest was just a game, but someday I could go back and start again with my proper life.’