Page 26 of Our Song

I’m humming to myself when I let myself into the house after our session with Sam. One of Tadhg’s melodies – now slightly tweaked by me – is stuck in my head.

‘Lol?’ Katie’s voice calls me from the back of the house.

‘It’s me!’ I say. I prop the Danelectro case up against the wall and unwind my scarf from around my neck.

‘Were you singing just now?’ says Katie from the kitchen.

‘No!’ I say. ‘Why does everyone keep accusing me of singing? I was just humming!’

‘Sounded like singing to me,’ says Katie. ‘And it didn’t sound bad, to be honest. How did things go today?’

‘Really good! Tadhg’s friend came over to play drums and he was great. He’s coming back tomorrow afternoon.’ I stroll into the kitchen to see Katie standing at the fridge, unpacking groceries. ‘Ooh, did you go to the posh supermarket?’

‘I did. I’m going to have to get another loan from the credit union because I’ve spent all my money on cheese.’

‘Can I have some?’ I say.

‘You can have some on Saturday, when His Highness comes over for dinner. How are things with him?’

‘Good! I think. Want some tea?’ I put the kettle on. When I turn around, Katie has closed the fridge door and is looking at me with concern.

‘You like him again,’ she says.

‘Tadhg?’ I take some mugs out of the press below the counter. ‘Yeah, of course I like him. I mean, we’re friends again. And I don’t really think he wants to steal my song anymore. Come on, Kay, you know I’m not still angry with him.’

‘I don’t mean you like him as friends,’ says Katie. ‘I mean you like him, like him. I can tell by the way you’re bouncing around the place. And singing!’

‘ Like him, like him? What are we, fifteen?’ I put teabags into the mugs. ‘And I wasn’t singing.’

‘You know what I mean! You fancy him! And don’t talk shite about it being a chemical response or whatever. I mean you’re into him! You have feelings for him.’

Ridiculously, I can feel myself starting to go red. ‘I don’t! I mean, not like before.’

‘Are you sure?’ says Katie. ‘Stop messing around with those mugs and look at me.’

I sigh. ‘Look, if I do – and I’m not saying I do – it really isn’t like it was before. I’m not like I was before. And neither is he. We’re sensible adults now.’

‘I know,’ says Katie. ‘I just … Remember I asked you if you were pining for him again?’

‘Yes, and I told you I wasn’t,’ I say.

‘And I believed you. I hoped this whole thing would be really good for you. I hoped it would remind you how brilliant you are at music. But now … now I’m thinking working with him might be a mistake.’

‘It’s not a mistake!’ I protest. ‘I’m really enjoying it.’

‘I know you are,’ says Katie. ‘Which is great. But please tell me it’s because of the music and not just because of him.’

‘It’s not just because of him,’ I say. Which is true.

‘Good,’ says Katie. ‘Because you know you don’t actually need Tadhg to play music, right? There are other options. Options that don’t end up with you heartbroken again.’

‘That isn’t going to happen, Kay,’ I say. ‘Back in college I had … delusions. I mean, they turned out to be delusions. I thought he had feelings for me too. But he didn’t. I accepted that a long, long time ago. So it’s all fine.’

‘Is it?’ says Katie.

‘I told you before,’ I say. ‘It’s just for a fortnight and then I probably won’t see him for ages. Seriously, you don’t need to worry. I’ve got through what happened with me and Dave all right, haven’t I? And that was a lot more serious than my … my unrequited college crush.’

Katie’s worried look softens. ‘Yeah, you have. Sorry, Lol. Maybe you and Dave is why I’m being a bit …’

‘Ridiculous?’

‘Overprotective,’ says Katie. ‘But you’re right. You’re a grown woman, and I trust you to look after yourself.’

‘Thanks, Mam,’ I say. ‘Say that again,’ says Katie, ‘and I won’t let you have any of the posh cheese.’

Later that evening, I’m in my room messing around on my acoustic when a text arrives from Sarah, with a voicenote attached.

Sarah : Sorry, I know it’s not her birthday for weeks but she winkled it out of me!

The voicenote is from Ellie, and it’s three minutes forty-eight seconds long, the majority of which is just Ellie screaming my name and then Tadhg’s.

‘Thankyouthankyouthankyou I am dead I am DEAD this is the greatest thing to ever happen. If you see him again can you ask him what Taylor Swift smells like? Okay, thank you love you bye. Oh, you don’t have to get me a birthday present now. Unless you want to.’

I’m still laughing about it when I ring Sarah. ‘So am I the best honorary auntie now?’

‘You beat all the other aunties forever,’ says Sarah.

‘I’m so happy you’ve sorted things out with Tadhg.

’ She laughs. ‘Remember what you were like when you arrived in New York that summer after your big bust-up? You’d cried so much on the plane I wanted to take you to the ER and get you put on a drip!

I would have too, if we’d thought our travel insurance would cover it. ’

‘Ha, yeah,’ I say, a bit too cheerfully. ‘Don’t worry, there’s no chance of that now!’

But later, in bed, I realise it doesn’t matter how much I tell my friends I’ve moved on, and it doesn’t matter how often I remind myself that Tadhg and I are just friends.

The illogical old hope that we could be more than friends keeps creeping in, no matter how much I remind myself of what happened the last time I had that hope, no matter how hard I try to crush it now.

But I really have to crush it if I want to keep making music with him, just for a while.

I just have to get through this fortnight.

That’s what I tell myself when I set off for the studio the following morning.

It’s what I tell myself when Tadhg answers the door, wearing a dark-olive and navy checked shirt that brings out the green in his eyes.

It’s what I tell myself when he looks all happy to see me, and it’s what I tell myself when, as he’s making the first cups of tea of the day, he says, ‘So … I have a proposition for you.’

I try to look normal. ‘Oh yeah?’

‘Yeah,’ he says. ‘I’m playing this big gig in August. It’s the only proper show I’m doing this year. You know the Moveable Feast festival?’

‘Of course,’ I say. Moveable Feast is one of the few ‘boutique’ festivals in the country that has actually kept its independent, distinct vibe.

It takes place in a different beautiful location every year.

The headline acts are always spectacularly good, especially for such a relatively low-capacity festival, and tickets always sell out within five seconds of going on sale.

The calibre of the performers is so high that highlights are now televised and streamed all over the world.

‘So I’m actually headlining Sunday night this year, and I know it’s six months away but I was wondering …’ Am I imagining it, or does he look a bit nervous? ‘I was wondering if you’d like to play with me.’

I stare at him.

‘On stage, I mean,’ says Tadhg, when it’s clear that I’m not going to say anything any time soon. ‘At the gig.’

‘I know what you mean,’ I say. ‘But … why?’

‘Why?’ says Tadhg. ‘Well, first of all, you’re one of the best guitarists I’ve ever played with.

And second of all, Cara, who usually plays lead in the band, is moving home to New Zealand.

So I’ll be looking for a guitarist to do this show anyway.

It wouldn’t be a huge time commitment either.

We’d just have to practise every week for a few months coming up to the festival. ’

‘But it’s in front of thousands of people,’ I say. ‘And that’s not counting people watching it online.’

‘Yeah,’ says Tadhg. ‘But, you know, you’ve played gigs before. An audience is an audience.’

‘Tadhg,’ I say, ‘I haven’t played in front of anyone for, like, over a decade. And you may not remember this, but we weren’t playing to massive crowds back then.’

‘I know it’s a big ask,’ says Tadhg. ‘And obviously you don’t have to decide now. But will you think about it?’

‘Of course I will,’ I say.

Not only will I think about it, I know I will be thinking of nothing else for the next twenty-four hours, and possibly the next six months.

Possibly the rest of my life, regardless of what I decide.

Playing a gig. And not just any gig, a massive festival.

I think of the thrill I got playing live back in the day.

I imagine feeling that thrill again for the first time in sixteen years.

I imagine having regular practice sessions with Tadhg and Sam.

Being in a band again. Just for a while.

We decide to spend the day working on arranging the new songs we already have rather than starting new ones. It turns out that messing around with Tadhg’s state-of-the-art sound desk is just what I need to stop myself overthinking his offer and what the future might hold.

‘This software is amazing,’ I marvel in the afternoon, as we listen to a gorgeous cello line stream out of the speakers. ‘You’d never know that wasn’t an actual cello.’

‘Speaking of amazing software,’ says Tadhg, ‘I rang Tara yesterday and asked if she can arrange to have my old minidiscs digitised.’

‘The ones you made of our old practices?’ I’m stunned. ‘You still have them?’

‘Yeah, most of them,’ says Tadhg. ‘I don’t have an actual minidisc player, but I do have the discs. They were in my old wardrobe in my parents’ house – my mam found it when they were doing up my old room.’

‘You mean your parents haven’t preserved that room as a shrine to their only son?’ I say.

‘They have not,’ says Tadhg. ‘They’ve turned it into a spare-room-slash-office. Anyway, the box has been in my archive …’

‘You have an archive ?’ I say. ‘Did you bequeath your papers to the nation or something?’

‘No!’ says Tadhg. ‘It’s just a big filing cabinet in my office in town!’

‘Sorry,’ I say. ‘I’ll shut up now.’

Tadhg gives me a mock stern look that makes me feel quite peculiar and says, ‘ Anyway . Tara just texted me and said she’s found a place that can do it and she’s couriered the discs over there. So she’ll send you the files when they’re done. It should just take a day or two.’

‘Wow.’ Our old practices. Our younger selves. Together. Am I actually ready, or able, to listen to that? To my stupid, hopeful younger self, especially my stupid, hopeful younger self interacting with Tadhg? I really don’t know.

But ready or not, I know that I’m going to listen to it anyway.

By the time I get home I feel a bit overwhelmed by, well, pretty much everything. I need to think about the whole playing-in-front-of-thousands-of-people thing. I need to think about what doing it could mean for the future.

It’s not just about the excuse it would give me to spend more time with Tadhg. It’s about whether this might actually be what I want to be doing – for myself. All the time.

For years now, I’ve never thought about playing music as anything other than something I did for a while in college.

My career was – is – in advertising, and I’ve never questioned that it was the right fit.

The sensible, grown-up fit. And – as a sensible grown-up – I’ve got that job lined up for when this fortnight with Tadhg is over, when I’ll put down my guitar and focus on rebuilding my life.

But what if I want that life to look a little different now?

Or very different? I think of Katie urging me to keep playing music.

I think of Sam’s suggestion that I could sell my songs to other people.

What if it’s possible to make a life playing music and writing songs after all? With or without Tadhg?

Jeanne and Katie are out tonight, and I’m glad, because I need some quiet time to myself to do all this thinking.

But as I’m sitting down to dinner, ready to ponder all these serious issues over a bubbling mac and cheese, my mobile rings.

Maybe it’s Tadhg ringing to say Hugo has persuaded him to ditch me for that Swedish producer and he’s very sorry but my services are no longer required …

But when I go out to the hall and pick up my phone from where I’d dropped it on the table, the caller ID doesn’t say Tadhg. It says someone I wasn’t expecting.

And I’m so surprised I accidentally answer the call.

‘Oh shit!’ I fumble with the screen, trying to hang up again.

‘Laura? Laura? Are you okay? Um, it’s Dave.’

‘I know,’ I say. I lean back against the wall and close my eyes. I feel very weary all of a sudden. It’s so weird, hearing his once-familiar voice after so long. But I can’t hang up now. ‘Your name came up.’

‘Oh, right. I thought you might have …’

Deleted him from my contacts? Maybe I should have.

‘Why are you calling, Dave?’ I say. ‘Did you finally find my passport? It’s okay, I reported it lost months ago. I’ve got a new one.’

‘No, it’s not that,’ he says.

‘What is it then? I have to go in a minute,’ I lie.

‘I’m guessing you know about me and Liz,’ he says.

‘Yeah, I do,’ I say warily. What is going on? Why on earth is he ringing me about this?

‘Well.’ He clears his throat. ‘I thought I should tell you we’re engaged.’

I’m shocked but, I’m pleasantly surprised to discover, I’m not particularly upset.

I don’t feel jealous or bitter. A bit hurt at how quickly I’ve been replaced as his fiancée, yes.

I mean, I have my pride. But I realise I wouldn’t trade places with her for anything on earth.

Wow, I really wouldn’t. I feel proud of myself! I genuinely have moved on.

‘Oh,’ I say. ‘Congratulations. Okay, I’d better go.’

‘No, wait!’ he says. ‘There’s something else.’

And when he says that, I know . I don’t know how, but I do. I know exactly what he’s going to say. And this time I really, really don’t want to hear it.

‘Liz is pregnant,’ says Dave. ‘We’re having a baby.’

A wave of nausea hits me. I grab onto the coat stand to stop myself sliding down the wall to the ground.

‘I thought I should ring you and tell you directly,’ he says.

I don’t say anything.

‘Laura? Are you still there?’

For a moment I physically can’t say anything.

‘Are you okay? Laura?’

‘Why?’ I say eventually.

‘Um, sorry?’ says Dave. ‘Why what?’

‘Why did you think you should tell me directly?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Did you ring me because telling me over the phone would make you feel better? Because you think it’s the brave thing, the right thing to do?’

‘Well … it is, isn’t it?’

‘No, Dave!’ I yell. ‘No, it’s not the right fucking thing to do! Next time you drop a little bombshell like this on someone, send them a text or write a fucking email so they don’t have to pretend to be okay while they’re talking to you!’

Then I hang up. And then I do slide down the wall and sit on the ground, and I stay there for a long time.