Free The Tour by Jean Grainger Page A

café taking in the spectacular harbour view. Bert was entertaining the group with stories of the funeral party he had stumbled across the night before.
    ‘I walked up to the bar and this real old-timer was sitting there, just a few teeth you know? And he asked me where I was from. I guessed the guy was a little deaf, so I said loudly, “I’m from Texas, in the United States of America.” I tell you this guy looked like he hadn’t moved off that stool in fifty years. Then he said, “Well, I only was in Texas once, but I spent four years in Butte, Montana and my brother lives in Chittenango, Nebraska.” You could have knocked me down with a feather. I was trying to find out more about him, why he went there and why he came back to Ireland, but no way , he wasn’t one for sharing! He wanted to know what I had for breakfast but I didn’t even manage to find out his name! Man, that was some party. I think when I die, this is the right place to have a funeral shindig. You know what they told me? The only difference between an Irish funeral and an Irish wedding is that there’s one less drunk.’ The group laughed at Bert’s story.
    ‘Of course, the Irish have always had a weakness for alcohol. It’s probably due to an innate inability to face reality,’ Dorothy interjected.
    Conor noted the embarrassed looks on the faces of the other group members at this obvious slight against his compatriots.
    Quick as a flash, he piped up: ‘Do you know why God invented whiskey?’
    There was relief on the faces around the table as he was obviously going to save the situation.
    ‘I have a feeling you’re gonna tell us Conor,’ laughed Bert.
    ‘Well,’ Conor replied, ‘they say that the good Lord invented whiskey to stop the Irish taking over the world.’
    There was laughter all around the table and Dorothy’s withering remark was instantly forgotten. The skinny latte that Anna Heller had bought for her husband sat cooling on the table. He had walked away to take a call on his mobile phone twenty minutes earlier in the middle of the fort tour and had not reappeared since. Anna tried not to look like anything was amiss, but she was acutely aware of how anti- social her husband was being. Ellen, who was seated on her right, sensed this and said, ‘So, Anna, what did you and Elliot get up to last night?’
    ‘Oh we…em…we went for a meal with some business associates of Elliot’s. He’s looking at some investments over here so it was…’ her voice trailed off.
    Dylan addressed the group for the first time. They gazed at him, looking a bit surprised that he had decided to involve himself in the conversation. Bert couldn’t be exactly sure, but he thought Dylan was wearing lipstick, which was a mystery to him, as he had remarked to Ellen earlier. Ellen had replied that she wasn’t remotely shocked by Dylan’s appearance. She had seen many students over the years experimenting with a variety of different images; it was all part of growing up.
    ‘I went to a gig,’ Dylan said quietly. No one responded to this conversational offering. Ellen noticed colour beginning to creep up the young boy’s neck, so she asked, ‘What kind of music was it?’
    The group looked even more bemused at the notion of this strange young man discussing music with an elderly lady.
    ‘Irish music, like traditional kinda stuff,’ he replied, grateful that someone in this group seemed capable of having a normal discussion. ‘I heard these guys playing music in a church yesterday, when you were all at that castle place, and so I just got talking to them.’
    The group exchanged looks, as if the idea of Dylan spontaneously starting a conversation with anyone was unlikely to say the least. Ellen smiled encouragingly at the boy, so he continued, ‘They said they were playing a session last night in a bar down town, so they said I could come along. A session is what they call it when a bunch of musicians just all show up to the same bar at the