So I was having a good time, the band and crowd were having a good time, and even Siobhan—relegated to the merch table where Jilly had joined her—was grinning and bobbing her head, though I knew she’d rather be up here on stage. I didn’t blame her. I love going to see a good band, just sitting back and letting the music wash over me, but there’s always a part of me that wants to be up there playing, it doesn’t matter how good the music is. When you’re a musician, you want to play.

We had Siobhan up for a few songs in the first show—singing lead on one and harmony on the others—and again in the earlier part of the evening show. Near the end of our last set for the night, with the Corona clock over the bar reading twelve-thirty, she got up to sing “The New Doffing Mistress” with Lizzie. I stopped her before she could leave the stage at the end of the song.

“What’s your favourite tune?” I asked.

She gave me a puzzled look. “God, I don’t know. There are so many great ones.”

“Sure. But if you were going to play a tune right now, what would you play?”

“Something fun and fast,” she said, “like ‘The Mouth of the Tobique,’ or maybe ‘The Bucks of Oranmore.’ ”

“Hold that thought,” I told her.

I went to the back of the stage, put my fiddle in its case and got her fiddle out of hers. I gave the tuning a quick check, adjusted the E string, then brought it back to the front of the stage and handed it to her. We could have used my fiddle, but I wanted her to be as comfortable as possible. And I know, fiddles and bows all seem pretty much the same, but they’re not. Every player gets used to the minute variations and idiosyncrasies of his or her own instrument.

“I really can’t play,” she said, “though lord knows I want to.”

“You just have to do the fingering. I’ll do the bowing.”

She grinned. “No way.”

“Come on. Aren’t you game?”

“I’m sure to mess it up, but I’ll give it a shot.”

“You won’t mess it up,” I said as she got her fiddle up under her chin.

I got in close behind her, brought my arm around in front and stroked her fiddle’s strings a couple of times with my bow. The crowd roared with approval when they figured out what we were doing.

“I’ll need you to count us in,” I said.

“Andy usually does that.”

So I turned to him.

“We’re doing ‘The Mouth of the Tobique,’ ” I said. “Would you count us in? And don’t hold back—she wants it fast.”

Andy shook his head, but he smiled. “This I’ve got to see. One-two-three-four!”