Excerpt: Devil Inside

Over at Del’s usual table, the little group had each taken a turn at singing and now were back to pestering Del. Finn got up to move closer so he could eaves drop on the conversation. Her gaze seemed to catch his as soon as he moved. Up until that point he thought she was not aware he was there. She looked quickly back at the group.
“C’mon now lass. You’ve come to a pub to have the Irish experience. Well its part of the experience to sing a little ditty in the company of friends,” Gerald coaxed.
“He’ll not leave you alone ‘til you do,” Rose, his wife, offered. “He can be very persistent. It’s how he got me to marry him,” she said playfully.
Del’s gaze flicked to Finn’s and back again. She took a moment then squared her shoulders. “Okay, okay. One song.”
A general cheer went up from the little group. “Does it have a story? If we’re only getting one it should have a story.” Gerald said at the same time that Doug asked if it was a Canadian song.
“No, it’s not Canadian, but it does have a story and an Irish connection. My grandfather was born here in Ireland, my grandmother’s family is Irish too, but more removed. My mother is the oldest of nine girls. The “sisters” we used to call them. I was jealous of my aunts, I wanted to be one of them, not one of the little nieces. They always seemed to get along so well and had inside jokes and just were special to each other. As a little girl of 5 or 6 I could sense that specialness and wanted to be a part of it. One of the things they used to do together, especially when washing the dishes after family dinners, was sing. They would usually start off with some popular music, but before long they would be singing songs that they had learned at their mother’s knee. The little matchbook girl, >>>>,:::::. Eventually they would all end up crying - they were such and emotional bunch. Anyway , if they had somehow managed not to break into tears yet they would pester my grandfather to sing to them. He only sang one song and he always chose just one of the girls to sing with him. He gave each of them a turn. I used to practice the song on my own just in case one day he chose me.”
She stopped for a moment and Finn could see the tears of memory cloud her eyes. He took a step, drawn closer. Then she blinked and continued.
“He never did call my name. I was still too little. After he died. I would still practice that song and imagine how it would sound along with my grandfather’s rich baritone. So in memory of my Grampa,” she raised her glass in salute and everybody at the table followed suit.
After a healthy swallow she closed her eyes. Finn felt the change in her right away. He took another involuntary step forward but stopped suddenly when she began to sing and her daia hit him like a ton of bricks.
“Oh Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling
From glen to glen, and down the mountain side
The summer's gone, and all the flowers are dying
'Tis you, 'tis you must go and I must bide....”
She continued singing and Finn was lost. Only in the presence of another Caomhnóir singing with the purpose of raising daia among his audience had Finn ever felt this reaction. He cleared his head for a moment and watched those around him. They were enthralled. And it wasn’t just the little group of locals sitting with Del. The general noise in the whole pub had lowered and everyone seemed to be watching. It wasn’t that her voice was that wonderful, she did sing a little off key. It was something more intangible then that. It was something Finn recognised in his own singing. It was the ability to connect with a community on a purely emotional level. The exact thing he had accused her of avoiding by writing. He briefly thought he should read her book whenever she decided to publish. Then he stopped trying to think. He put his hand in his pocket and held the stone nestled there and just allowed himself to listen and soak up the wealth of daia she released from both herself and those around her.
When she got to the last verse of the song her voice started to crack and falter. Without losing a beat, Paddy’s rich baritone filled in the last line of the third verse. Del’s eyes opened, and with gratitude shining in them, they sang the final line together.
“I'll simply sleep in peace until you come to me.”
There was a moment of silence, broken by Paddy. “You did your Grampa proud,” he said simply. He tipped his glass in her direction and took a long swallow. Gerald handed her a handkerchief which she gratefully used to wipe her cheeks.