Page 27 of Our Song

‘Are you all right?’

Katie’s brow is furrowed with concern as she looks at me across the kitchen table the next morning. I lean back in my chair and sigh.

‘I’m fine,’ I say.

‘Are you sure?’ she says. ‘Because when we got in last night you were sitting on the floor of the hall with your head on your knees. That doesn’t say fine to me.’

‘I am fine,’ I say. ‘I mean, I will be.’

‘I know you will be,’ says Katie. ‘But what about right now?’ She bites her lip. ‘I don’t like leaving you alone …’

‘You don’t have to worry about me!’ I protest. ‘I’m not … I’m not going to do anything stupid.’

‘I wasn’t thinking that!’ says Katie. ‘I just … I don’t like the thought of you being upset on your own today.’

‘I won’t be on my own,’ I say. ‘I’ll be at Tadhg’s.’

‘But are you sure that’s a good idea?’ says Katie. ‘Going over there, I mean.’

‘Of course it is!’ I say. ‘What am I going to say? “Sorry, Tadhg, I can’t come and work with you today, my ex-fiancé has impregnated another woman?”’

‘Well,’ says Katie, getting up from her chair, ‘when you put it like that …’

‘Look, you know I don’t want to be with Dave anymore,’ I say. ‘You know I’ve accepted … all of it. But …’ My voice starts to wobble a bit. ‘But when he told me last night, it was just … I just …’

I can’t say any more. But I don’t have to. Because now Katie is beside me, and now her arms are around me, squeezing me tight. ‘I know,’ she says softly. ‘I know, Lol. I know.’

When I woke up this morning, way too early, there was a moment of blissful peace before the memory of Dave’s phone call last night hit me.

I didn’t want any aspect of his news to take me by surprise at some random moment in the future, so I lay in bed and forced myself to think about it all in great detail, as if really torturing myself now would somehow inoculate me against it causing pain later.

Dave, the man I used to love, the man who used to love me, is going to have a baby.

Dave will be a father. He’ll have a new family.

He’s getting exactly what he wanted while I’m still mooning over a boy I fancied twenty years ago.

He’ll be thanking his lucky stars he dumped me when he did.

I think about all this again now after Katie goes to work.

I remember him pointing out that couple with the tiny baby and saying ‘That’ll be us in a year or two’.

It’ll be him and Liz now.

Then I pull myself to my feet and go to the bathroom. If I do cry in the shower, well, no one hears it.

It’s a mild, sunny day that actually feels like spring, and as I walk to Tadhg’s house I try to be happy that winter is over, instead of wondering when exactly Dave’s baby will arrive.

How long did he wait to impregnate his amazingly fertile new fiancée?

But he and his baby are none of my business, I tell myself. He’s nothing to do with me now.

Sam meets me at the door, and when we go through to the studio, Tadhg is sitting in front of the giant computer screen at the sound desk, doing something mysterious with various tracks. He turns around when we enter.

‘Morning!’ he says. His face changes. ‘Everything okay?’

‘With what?’ I say. ‘With me? Of course! Why do you ask?’

‘Sorry,’ he says. ‘You just look … I thought something was wrong.’

‘I’m fine!’ I say. ‘I just slept badly last night.’

‘Ah,’ he says. ‘That must be it.’

But he doesn’t look totally convinced.

I do my best all morning not to appear too subdued. It helps that Tadhg asks if we’re up for trying out a song he’s been working on recently, so I don’t have to present something of my own.

After lunch, Sam says, ‘Right, pals, I’ll love you and leave you. I’ve got to pick Etain up from school.’

He promises to come back next week and Tadhg walks him to the front door. As soon as they leave the kitchen I slump down in my seat. God, I’m tired. I’m tired of everything. I close my eyes and rub my temples, as if that can push out all the stupid painful thoughts.

‘Are you sure you’re okay?’ says Tadhg.

My eyes snap open. ‘I’m grand!’ I say, too brightly.

‘Sorry,’ he says. ‘You just seem a bit … down today. I shouldn’t pry.’

Wow, I used to be better at hiding my feelings.

I sigh. ‘No, you’re not prying. I just … I got some news last night. About someone I used to know. Nothing terrible. It just threw me a bit, that’s all. I’ll be fine.’

‘Ah,’ says Tadhg. ‘Do you want to talk about it?’

‘No,’ I say. ‘But thanks for asking.’

‘No problem.’ He’s silent for a moment and then says, ‘Do you fancy taking a break and going for a walk? Just down to the seafront or something.’

The thought of some fresh air and spring sunshine does sound very appealing.

‘I wouldn’t mind,’ I say, ‘but can you, like, just go for a walk? Will you not be besieged by adoring fans?’

‘We’ll go out the back and I’ll wear my contacts and a hat,’ he says. ‘And besides, we can take a route where we won’t meet anyone.’

‘We are talking about Clontarf seafront, right?’ I say. ‘The one where people go for runs and walk their dogs all day?’

Tadhg grins. ‘You’ll see. Trust me.’

I feel like a spy as Tadhg opens a door at the back of the studio that I’d barely noticed before and we emerge into the mews behind the Crescent.

When he closes the door behind us, I see that it’s built so skilfully into the outer wall of the studio that anyone passing would barely notice there was a door there at all.

‘Come on,’ he says, and we head down the mews, past a row of cottages.

‘So this is your secret escape route?’ I say. I gesture at the cottages. ‘What do the locals think?’

‘They’re cool about it, mostly,’ says Tadhg. ‘People tend not to hang around here, which helps. Probably because the family in that house have a very loud dog whose bark is definitely worse than his bite. I don’t think he even has a bite.’

But I noticed Tadhg still has to check for lurkers. Before we left the studio he looked at the stream from a security camera mounted on the external mews wall of the studio to ensure no one was hanging around outside.

We reach the end of the mews and turn right towards the Howth Road. I glance up at him, the brim of his flat cap pulled low over his eyes.

‘I like your hat,’ I say.

He looks down at me, amused and sceptical. ‘Really?’

‘Really!’ I protest. ‘I’ve always thought more men should dress like farmers. Farmers and Victorian street urchins.’

He laughs. ‘Well, that’s good to hear because those are exactly the two looks I’m going for.’

‘I thought they might be,’ I say.

It’s the first time we’ve walked anywhere together since college.

It’s easy to forget when we’re sitting around the studio that he’s six foot two, almost a foot taller than me.

But now, as he shortens his long stride to match mine, the way he used to when we walked somewhere together back in the day, I’m very aware of it.

As we cross the road at the Presbyterian church, a woman crossing from the opposite side does a literal double-take.

‘I think you’ve been spotted,’ I say. ‘Are you sure this is a good idea?’

‘Pretty sure,’ he says. But he pulls the hat down a little bit further.

‘Can you actually see where you’re going from under there?’

‘Just about,’ he says. We’re on the narrow bit of pavement under the railway bridge now, and a man around our age is coming towards us. As he gets nearer I can see his eyes narrow as he peers at Tadhg.

‘Hey,’ he says. ‘Are you Tadhg? Your man who does the winter song?’

And to my immense surprise, Tadhg says, in a truly terrible Yorkshire accent, ‘No, but I get that all the time!’

‘Oh, right,’ says the stranger. ‘Sorry, man.’ And he walks on.

When we’re out of earshot I grab Tadhg’s arm and say, ‘Oh my God, what was that ?’

Tadhg looks sheepish. ‘I know the accent could do with some work.’

‘It definitely could!’ I realise I’m still holding his arm and let go. ‘Especially if you’re always giving people that line.’

‘I’m not!’ he says. ‘I mean, the public pay my wages. I always try to be friendly and polite and everything. I don’t mind having a chat.

But sometimes, if I’m distracted or busy or there’s something I should be focusing on, then I just kind of fob them off as best I can.

And this walk is meant to be for you. So I fobbed. ’

‘Oh,’ I say. I’m touched by his concern. ‘Well, thanks for doing a terrible accent then.’

‘Don’t mention it,’ he says. ‘Come on, let’s cross here.’

We cross the road and walk onto the wide grass band that divides the main coast road from the pedestrian path that runs alongside the sea wall of Dublin Bay.

I presume we’re going to follow the main path, the one that runs parallel to the coast road.

But Tadhg turns in the opposite direction, where the path curves around the bay and ends, after just a few hundred metres, in a tangle of brambles broken by a stone wall and some railings.

‘This walk is going to be much shorter than I thought,’ I say. ‘This is a dead end.’

‘You’ll see!’

When we reach the stone wall, I realise that there’s a gap in it. There’s a boulder in front of the gap, so it isn’t as evident from a distance, but you can walk around the boulder and pass through the gap. And there, behind the wall …

‘How did I not know this was here?’ I gasp.

In front of me winds a sandy, stony path.

On the right of the path rises an embankment of thick brambles.

On the left is a large patch of grass and some low trees, and behind them is the sea, sparkling in the early spring sunlight.

The greenery blocks the noise of the busy nearby roads.

It’s like we’re suddenly in the middle of the countryside.

‘We used to drink cans down here when I was a teenager,’ says Tadhg.

I look around this secret slice of seaside in the middle of the city and feel a little of my tension melt away.

The path is so narrow we have to walk in single file, with Tadhg leading the way.

‘So,’ he says, ‘now our first week’s almost over, how do you feel it went?’

I’m glad he can’t see my face as I try to figure out what to say. My old instincts kick in. Don’t be more into being with him than he is into being with you. Don’t, for the love of God don’t , give even a hint of how much hanging out with him again is starting to mean to you.

But I can be honest about the music. Because playing music with him again has been, well, magical.

I say, ‘Um, good. I think. We’ve got a lot of work done. What about you? How do you feel it went?’

‘Also good.’

Now I wish I could see his face.

‘Very good, actually,’ he adds. ‘I’m really glad you agreed to do this.’

‘Yeah,’ I say to his navy wool-coated back. ‘So am I.’

We climb up a narrow path with brambles and bushes on both sides, then the path widens, the embankment on the right is replaced by a playing field, and we’re in a clearing.

There are railings between us and the sea, and we lean on them and look out at the water.

I take a deep breath of salty air, let it out and gaze across the bay to the distant horizon.

‘Ever tempted to just take to the waves and sail off into the wide blue yonder?’

‘Once or twice,’ says Tadhg.

‘You don’t have a super yacht in the Med or anything, do you?’

Tadhg laughs. ‘No, I don’t! They’re my idea of hell.’

‘I wouldn’t mind having a small boat,’ I say. ‘Like the ones they have at Clontarf boat club. Just to, you know, pootle about Dublin Bay.’

‘That actually sounds pretty good,’ says Tadhg. ‘A little rowing boat with an outboard motor.’

‘You could get a sailor hat,’ I say. ‘It’d be even better than your farmer’s cap.’

‘Aye aye, captain,’ says Tadhg.

For a while we look out at the little boats bobbing in the distance in companionable silence.

‘Next week,’ says Tadhg, ‘we should give our song another go. Now we’ve got used to working together again.’ He turns and looks at me. ‘What do you think?’

Well, we couldn’t keep putting it off forever. And besides, I feel differently about it now than I did at the start of the week.

‘Yeah, sure,’ I say. ‘That’d be good.’

When we get back to Tadhg’s house, we play through the song we did this morning and I tweak one of his songs from yesterday. All of which keeps us busy for what’s left of the day.

It’s not until after he’s told me how much he’s looking forward to tomorrow’s dinner and I’ve said goodbye and left the house and started walking home that I realise I haven’t thought about Dave and his news once all afternoon.