The New Policeman by Kate Thompson Page B

start?”
    “That’s what we want to know,” said Maggie.
    “We used to have it, all of us,” said Marcus. “It slipped our minds. We’d love to get it back.”
    “It’s a great tune,” said Devaney.
    “One of the best,” said Jennie.
    J.J. thought hard. The tune was associated with Joe Cooley, the great South Galway accordion player. It was on the album that had been recorded during a pub session shortly before he died. Helen had it on in the house constantly. J.J. knew it backward.
    Aengus offered him the fiddle. J.J. took it, thought about the CD, tried a tune.
    “That’s ‘The Blackthorn Stick,’” said Devaney.
    J.J. tried another.
    “‘The Skylark,’” said Maggie.
    J.J. wrung his memory again, but nothing else would come to him. “I have some nice Paddy Fahy tunes,” he said. “I could teach you one of those.”
    Jennie giggled. Aengus shook his head. “We have all Paddy’s tunes,” he said.
    “He got them from us, actually,” said Cormac.
    “He wouldn’t like to hear you say that,” said J.J.
    “Why wouldn’t he?” said Aengus. “He’d be the firstto admit it if he thought anyone would believe him.”
    J.J. wasn’t sure, but he wasn’t about to argue the point. “I got a nice jig the other day,” he said.
    “Let’s hear it,” said Aengus.
    J.J. started to play his great-grandfather’s jig. After the first couple of bars the others joined in. J.J. was about to stop, since it was obvious that they knew the tune, but it was lovely playing with them. Once through the tune and he was beginning to hear the accents and slurs that gave their playing its distinctive lift. By the third time through he was beginning to adopt it into his own bowing. He caught Maggie’s eye and changed to the second of the tunes that Helen had taught him the night before. The others knew that one, too. When it came to an end, Aengus took back the fiddle.
    “You’re a lovely player,” he said. “But you would wear out the hairs on my bow before you came up with a tune that we didn’t know.”
    “They all come from this side,” said Marcus.
    That was what the old people had believed. Could it be that they were right? But not all the tunes, surely. Paddy Fahy wasn’t the only composer of new tunes. There were loads of others.
    “I wrote a tune myself once,” said J.J.

    “You didn’t,” said Maggie. “You just think you did.”
    “You heard us playing it,” said Devaney, “and you thought you were hearing it inside of your own head.”
    “It happens to lots of people,” said Jennie.
    “Play it,” said Aengus.
    J.J. lifted the fiddle and played the first few notes. The others were on to it in a flash. J.J. stopped and handed back the fiddle.
    “I don’t believe it,” he said. “It isn’t even a good tune.”
    “Not all of them are,” said Maggie.
    “If it was,” said Marcus, “someone else would have taken the trouble to steal it from us long before you did.”
    “Ah, now,” said Aengus. “We don’t consider it stealing.”
    There was a small silence, broken by a faint bleat that J.J. thought came from the bodhrán. Devaney clouted it a few times, which appeared to shut it up. J.J. looked around for the goat. There was no sign of it. His attention returned to the matter of “Dowd’s Number Nine.”
    “No other tunes you’ve forgotten, I suppose?” he said.
    They all shook their heads.

    “I tell you what,” said Maggie. “Why don’t you take the time anyway? You can owe us ‘Dowd’s Number Nine.’”
    “Brilliant,” said Aengus, and all the others agreed enthusiastically.
    “Great,” said J.J. “I’ll learn it from Mum and come back with it.”
    “And if you don’t,” said Cormac, “can’t one of us come over and get it from you?”
    “No,” said Maggie. “We tried that before, don’t you remember?”
    “So we did,” said Cormac.
    “That’s the trouble with going over to the other side,” said Devaney. “As soon as you get there, you forget