Cal is done waiting. He figures this should be plenty to help the guys put the situation into a fresh perspective, once they have his two cents’ worth to get them started.
“Johnny,” he says. He doesn’t raise his voice, but he makes sure it takes up enough space that the guys fall silent. “I got a question for you.”
For one blink, Johnny stares. Then: “Oh, holy God,” he says, mock-terrified, putting a hand to his heart. “This sounds awful serious altogether. Did I forget to pay my telly license, Guard? Are the treads gone on that aul’ banger of ours? Give us one more chance, I’m begging you, I’ll be a good boy…”
Cal waits for him to run himself down. The other men are watching. Some of them, Sonny and Dessie and Bobby, are grinning along at Johnny’s little song-and-dance routine. P.J. merely looks bewildered. Senan and Francie aren’t smiling.
“No, hang on,” Johnny says, lifting a finger like Cal tried to break in on him, which he didn’t. “Don’t tell me. I’ve got it. I’ve been very bold, Guard. I crossed the road without—”
Then his eyes slip away, over Cal’s shoulder, and Trey’s voice says, “Dad.”
Cal turns fast. Trey is standing at the entrance to the alcove. She’s just standing like always with her feet planted and her hands shoved in her pockets, wearing an old blue T-shirt and her worn-out jeans, but out of nowhere Cal is slammed by the sight of her. Browned by the summer and muscled by their work, her features stronger and more marked than he remembers them being just a couple of days ago, she doesn’t look like a kid; she looks like someone who could handle herself. Cal’s heart squeezes so tight he can’t breathe.
“Well, wouldja look who it is,” Johnny says, after a fraction of a second. “What’s the story, sweetheart? Is there something wrong at home?”
“Nah,” Trey says. “Got something to tell you.”
Johnny’s eyebrows go up. “Well, holy God,” he says, “isn’t this all very mysterious. D’you want me to come outside, is it?”
“Nah. Here’s good.”
Johnny is eyeing Trey with an indulgent half-smile, but Cal can see him thinking fast. He’s not at sea, exactly, but something here has taken him by surprise. Something is going on.
“Are you after doing something a wee bit bold,” he says, “and you’re worried I’ll be angry with you?” He wags his finger playfully at Trey. “Ah, now. Daddy won’t be angry. Sure, didn’t I do plenty of bold things myself, when I was your age?”
Trey shrugs. P.J., trapped amid what looks like family complications, is shuffling his feet around and trying to come up with a conversation to have with Mart. Mart is ignoring him and unabashedly soaking up the drama.
“All right,” Johnny says, reaching a decision. “Come sit here and tell me all about it.” He pats the banquette beside him. Trey moves over to him, but she stays standing. Her bottom lip looks swollen.
“When your man Rushborough called round, that evening,” she says. “And he was telling you where his granny said there was gold. I listened in.”
“Ah, God. And you were worried I’d be angry with you for that?” Johnny laughs affectionately up into her face, giving her arm a pat. Trey doesn’t move away. “God love you, no one coulda resisted the temptation. Sure, any of these great big grown-up lads, if they’da been there”—he wags a finger teasingly around the table—“they’da had an ear up against the door. Wouldn’t they?”
“Dunno,” Trey says. Banter has never been Trey’s strong suit.
“They would, o’ course. Is that all you wanted? To get that off your chest?”
“Nah,” Trey says. She hasn’t looked at Cal once; her eyes are on Johnny. “I went out to where your man Rushborough said. Did a bitta digging around. Just to see, like.”
“Ah, now,” Johnny says reprovingly, waving a finger at her. “You know better than that, missus. I won’t give out to you this time, ’cause you came clean to me, but from now on, if you wanta—”
“Yeah,” Trey says. “Found this.” She fishes in her jeans pocket and pulls out a small, squashed click-seal bag.
“What’s this, now? Didja dig up something pretty?” Johnny takes it from her with a half-puzzled, half-amused glance, and bends his head to peer at it. Under the men’s watching eyes, he turns it over and tilts it to the light.
Cal’s muscles almost launch him before he knows it. He wants to flip the table in Johnny’s face, get Trey by the shoulder, spin her around and march her straight out of all this. He holds himself still.
Johnny lifts his head to stare at Trey. “Where’d you get this?” he asks.
“Told you,” Trey says. “Where your man was saying. There at the foot of the mountain.”
Johnny looks around at the men’s faces. Then he tosses the bag into the center of the table, among the glasses and the beer mats.
“That’s gold,” he says.
Out in the main bar, the TV commentator’s voice gallops along with the horses. Someone swears, and someone else cheers.
Con, leaning in to gaze at the bag, starts to laugh first, then Dessie, then Sonny.
“What?” Trey demands, baffled and prickling up.
