‘Come on, then,’ Tammy said, relaxing into the seat of a newly-upholstered booth in the corner of The Den. ‘What’s good, my barmen guides?’
‘What do you think, Finny-lad?’ Conor said. There was mischief in his eyes. He was well aware that his brother knew as much about drinking as a nun did about sex. ‘What do you recommend?’
‘W-well,’ Finn stammered. ‘We could always try a nice… fizzy beer?’
‘Isn’t most beer carbonated?’ Tammy asked, finger on her lips.
‘Is it, Finn?’ Conor asked, mirroring Tammy’s confused expression.
‘Well it’sallcarbonated, of course,’ Finn explained. Everyone knew that. ‘Like sour soda. With a… hoppy flavor?’
From a table nearby, a husky voice sounded out. ‘Did I just hear that right? The barman claiming that beer is carbonated?’
Damn it, Angel, keep your nose out.
‘Why, thank you for pointing that out, Angel,’ Finn said. ‘I of course meant carbonated in the colloquial sense. Like, you know, fizzy.’
Angel looked every bit the ‘gruff biker’ stereotype, in a leather jacket, bristling with attitude. His Little, Billie was there with him, sipping coke through a long, paper straw. ‘I love the way the bubbles make my nose feel.’ She screwed up her button nose with delight. ‘I don’t know why Daddy doesn’t let me drink beer through a straw, though. All drinks taste better when you suck them up a tiny tube.’
Tammy’s eyes opened wide. ‘Can I drink my beer through a straw?’
Angel chuckled. ‘It’s a slippery slope. If I let Billie drink beer through a straw I swear she’d never stop. Plus, of course, I only ever let my Little drink alcohol on special occasions.’
‘It’s better for me that way,’ Billie chipped in happily.
Tammy’s not our Little, Finn reminded himself.
‘Come on, we’re in an Irish pub. I have to try a beer!’ Tammy whined.
‘Alright,’ Conor gave in. ‘I’m thinking it has to be a Guinness. That should put you off for the rest of your life.’
Tammy looked worried.
‘Don’t worry,’ Finn said, trying to reassure her. ‘It’s nice. Maybe an acquired taste.’
‘What does it taste like?’
‘You’ve honestly never tried the black stuff?’ Conor asked.
Tammy grimaced.
‘It tastes a bit like iron filings,’ Finn offered.
‘Actually, ironismy favorite metal to snack on,’ Tammy joked.
‘Shay!’ Conor called out to the bar. ‘We need three pints of Guinness, on the double.’ But there was no response. Weird. Shay had been tending bar as they’d come in. Finn had nodded over to him in greeting. But now he was nowhere to be seen.
‘Where is that good-for-nothing barman?’ Finn asked, scanning the rest of the pub. He was getting increasingly worried about Shay. He’d always been a moody so-and-so, but things had been even worse with him lately.
‘Come on, Finn, let’s sort these drinks out ourselves,’ Conor said, grinning.
*
Tammy watched the two Healy twins clown around behind the bar.
It felt good to be in The Den. She’d never been to Ireland, of course, but being in here made her feel as though she was getting a little slice of the twins’ childhood.
Finn and Conor never talked much about their upbringing. She knew they’d come from a small town in Ireland, but they never really spoke about the place, other than saying what a tight-knit community it was. Tammy got the sense that the boys didn’t much like their father, and had been somewhat protective over their mother, but this was only gleaned from tiny comments they’d made over the years. Nothing solid.