At First Sight by Hannah Sunderland (latest novels to read TXT) 📕

‘Take yerself a drink as I enlist the musical talents of my uncle-in-law and we all raise a parting glass to Abi.’ Carrick upended his glass, gulped down what was left of the whisky, took another one and walked over to the corner of the room, where a standard piano sat against the wall. Kenna followed him and placed a hand on his shoulder as he opened the lid and ran his fingers over the keys. I hadn’t seen Charlie move from where he’d been, but as Carrick pressed down to make the first note, I felt him beside me, his nervous energy almost making the air vibrate around him. The room fell silent as Carrick’s fingers played a sombre melody and Kenna began to sing.

‘Of all the money that e’er I had,

I spent it in good company,

And of all the harm that e’er I’ve done

Alas it was to none but me.

For all I’ve done for want of wit,

To memory now I can’t recall,

So, fill to me the parting glass

Goodnight and joy be with you all.’

Her voice rang out like a bell in the silence. Delicate and haunting as she sang the words with such emotion that my skin prickled with goose bumps. I felt an instant lump form in my throat and I found myself having to steady my breathing to stave off the tears.

‘Of all the comrades that e’er I had,

They are sorry for my going away,

And of all the sweethearts that e’er I’ve had,

They would wish me one more day to stay.

But since it falls unto my lot,

That I should rise and you should not,

I’ll gently rise and softly call,

Goodnight and joy be with you all.’

The words hit me like hailstones, each perfectly fitting word falling harder than the last. I wiped my eyes with the palm of my hand and looked to Charlie who was watching Kenna with glistening eyes, his teeth clenched. I let my hand fall to my side, my fingers finding his and feeling a tight squeeze in return.

I hadn’t understood it completely before, the magnitude of the grief he felt, but after running through the streets of Westport with the panic of losing Charlie thick in my throat, I think that now was the closest I’d ever been to understanding it.

Kenna raised her glass into the air and everyone, except Carrick, whose fingers were still playing the melody, copied her. ‘To Abigale Murphy,’ she said, before closing her eyes and singing the final sorrowful line.

‘Goodnight and joy be with you all.’

‘To Abi,’ the room spoke as a whole.

‘To Abi,’ I said, my voice wavering slightly as I raised my glass to my lips.

‘Abi,’ Charlie said and drank down his drink in one.

There was a moment of quiet, where the final of Carrick’s notes reverberated through the room, and the air hung thick with a collective grief.

‘Right,’ Kenna said, wiping her eyes and putting on a smile. ‘I’m gonna need some more band members if we’re gonna make this a memorial worth coming to. Nell, I got yer tambourine right here.’ My stomach fell down onto the floor as I pulled in my head like a tortoise and attempted to hide. I knew she’d mentioned it, but I didn’t remember agreeing. ‘I see yer there, Nell,’ she said, holding out the tambourine. ‘And don’t think yer got away from it that easily, Charlie Stone.’ Her eyes snapped to Charlie. ‘Get yer arse up here.’

‘We’d better go,’ Charlie said with a sigh. ‘She won’t give up till we do.’

He gave my hand a little tug and we both walked up to join her. I thought that he’d let go and allow my hand to fall when we emerged from the crowd, but he didn’t; he held on until he reached for a guitar beside the piano.

I took the tambourine from Kenna as our audience gave us an encouraging clap. Carrick stood up, disappearing for a moment before returning with a fiddle in hand. What was with all the hidden talents here? What the hell were this family, The Corrs?

‘I really don’t know what I’m doing. What song are we even playing?’ I whispered to Kenna as I was hit by an overwhelming sense of stage fright.

‘Ah, just bang the thing. Yer can’t go wrong,’ she said, retaking up her bodhrán and taking a deep breath.

‘The old favourite?’ Charlie asked, a glimmer of something that looked like excitement in his eyes.

‘Yer know it. Yer all ready?’ she asked but didn’t wait for an answer. She rolled her wrist, clutching the small drumstick in hand, and beat three times on the skin as Carrick raised the fiddle to his shoulder. They all watched each other. I panicked and started banging the tambourine against my thigh. At first it sounded clunky and out of time, but as I began to recognise the tune as that of ‘Galway Girl’ by Steve Earle, I found myself falling into step with the others. The tempo lent itself to someone who had no idea what they were doing with a tambourine and before too long I was contemplating leaving my job and going on the road with the three of them. I could see myself as a folk musician; Kenna not so much.

She sang and with every word and every strum of Charlie’s guitar, I felt a sliver of my sadness ebb away. I looked up at Charlie and found a smile on his face. He looked so at home with that guitar in his hands, his calloused fingertips once again coming into use to defend against the biting strings.

I tapped the tambourine on my leg until my skin sang with mild pain and the room of mourners turned to smiles. Charlie met my eye and his grin pulled wide. A laugh escaped my lips and I thought back to what Carrick had said when he first tried to convince me to come on this trip and I couldn’t