The Gallaghers of Ardmore Trilogy

piano. Music had been as much a part of her life as the pub. For always. But the music had always been for the fun, for the pleasure of it, never for money. One of her earliest memories was of that piano, of sitting on her mother’s lap there on that same stool while the music and the laughter ran all around.
    She had a good strong voice. She wasn’t a bubblehead—she knew her voice was fine enough. But to pin her hopes on it, and on Trevor Magee’s making something of it, that was a different matter entirely.
    Wiser, she decided, to consider taking that first step without any real expectations. That way there couldn’t be any real disappointments.
    She headed back in time to hear Brenna’s furious disgust.
    “A potato’s got more sense than you, Shawn. The man’s giving you the opportunity of a lifetime, and you’re worrying it to pieces.”
    “It’s my lifetime, isn’t it?”
    “I think this gives me some say in your lifetime.” She held up the chain that held her rings.
    “It’s my music, and even you can’t hammer it out of me.”
    “You’ve agreed to show him another tune,” Aidan put in, playing peacemaker. “Let’s see where it goes once you have. As for the other, we have to look at all the angles of it.” He looked up, gestured to Darcy. “And we haven’t heard what Darcy thinks about it.”
    “If it’ll put her in a spotlight and cash in her pocket,” Shawn said, “we already know what she thinks.”
    Darcy merely smiled sourly. “As I’m not a peabrained idiot like some at this table, I’ve no objection to either of those things. But . . .” She trailed off until Shawn narrowed his eyes. “I’m also thinking that a man the likes of Magee isn’t after thinking in one-shot sorts of deals, or in small numbers. I’m not sure any of us are prepared for what he really has in his mind.”
    “He wants Shawn’s music, and he wants the three of you to sing it.” Brenna threw up her hands. “It makes good, strong sense to me.”
    “There are three of us.” Aidan spoke quietly, looking from face to face. “Each of us has different needs. Jude, the baby, the pub, this house. They’re my center. I won’t change that. Shawn has the new home and new life he’s building with Brenna, the pub as well, and his music. But the music is made in his own time and his own way. Do I have the right of that?”
    “You do, yes.”
    “And Darcy, I’m thinking that what was under the idea we’ve heard today, what was between the lines, which I caught as you did, might be just the sort of thing you need.”
    “I haven’t decided. Music has always been a personal thing to us, something shared with family and friends. I understand what Brenna’s saying, as the simple part of the notion—just the singing that night to cement the link between the pub and the theater does make good, strong sense. And it’s not as if the three of us screech like cats at the moon and would embarrass the family name by doing it. But he’s a canny individual is Trevor Magee. So we’ll have to be cannier, and see that whatever we do or don’t is precisely what we intend.”
    Aidan nodded, then turned to his wife. “You’ve said nothing, Jude Frances. Don’t you have thoughts on the subject?”
    “Several.” Now that the shouting was over, she judged everyone ready to hear them. She folded her hands on her belly. “First, the practicalities. I don’t know anything about publicity or entertainment, but it seems to me the scenario Trevor outlined is simple and smart and would be effective. That benefits all of us.”
    “That’s true,” Aidan agreed. “But if we take our music into the theater, what does that leave us in the pub?”
    “The informality. A bigger impact because you have performed onstage, because you’ve recorded. And then anyone coming in for a pint might catch you in the mood to do a song while you’re at the bar or coming out of the kitchen. The tourists, in particular, will love it.”
    “Well, now, that’s bloody brilliant,” Darcy murmured.
    “Not really. It’s just that I’ve sat in the pub, and I’ve watched and I know how lovely it is. So has Trevor. He’s very much aware of how one will affect the other. Next . . .” She took a deep breath. “Individually. Aidan, it won’t change your center. Nothing could. It isn’t a matter of either/or. Whatever you decide will be right, because you have that center and it matters most to you.”
    He picked up her hand,