Page 28 of Our Song

‘I need to buy a suit.’

It was less than two weeks to our first gig and I was sitting in the library trying to read about deconstructionism when Tadhg sat down at the desk next to mine and made this declaration in a stage whisper.

‘A suit?’ I whispered back. ‘Why?’

‘For the gig!’

‘I know you’ve got a grant,’ I said. ‘But I doubt it’s going to cover a decent suit.’

‘I’m going to try the charity shops on George’s Street,’ he said. ‘Would you come with me? We’ve got nearly an hour before they close. I bet I can find a suit in an hour.’

I looked at the Jacques Derrida book on my desk. The thought of leaving it for Tadhg was more than tempting. ‘What do you need me for to buy a suit?’

‘To make sure I don’t look like a total wanker in it,’ he said.

‘Oh well, in that case,’ I said. And I put on my coat.

We had just left the library when we bumped into Ruairí.

‘I was just going to email you two! Does your band have a name yet? I need it for the poster.’

Tadhg and I exchanged glances. The four of us (five when you included Katie, which we often did) had discussed potential band names ad nauseam in the pub over the last few weeks, but the conversations usually descended into joking. We still didn’t have a serious contender.

‘We’re still finalising it,’ I said.

‘Well, you’d better do it fast,’ said Ruairí. ‘I want to print out the posters tomorrow.’

‘We will!’ I promised.

As soon as we were out of earshot Tadhg said, ‘We really do need a band name.’

‘Maybe we’ll find some inspiration in Oxfam,’ I said.

It was a few weeks now since our trip to Gruel, and there had been no opportunities for us to generate the sort of electric tension that had been there at my bus stop that night.

We’d just seen each other in groups, apart from the odd hasty cup of tea between lectures.

But that was okay, I thought. We both had a lot on.

It was coming up to the end of term, and there were essays and assignments and stuff.

Tadhg and I were in no hurry. We would get another moment.

I certainly wasn’t going to try and force anything.

‘There’s definitely something between you,’ said Katie, who had endured a lot of these conversations with me already that term.

(‘I don’t mind,’ she assured me when I apologised for unloading all my angst on her.

‘You had to deal with me and Tina breaking up in the summer. And we were all living together in London, so that was even worse for you. Now it’s my turn.

’) ‘Like, it’s definitely not in your head.

But, you know, there’s one way you could know for sure … ’

‘No way,’ I said firmly. ‘I’m not making the first move. You heard him that night: “To keeping it pure and simple.” If he doesn’t feel the same way, everything’s wrecked. The band. Our friendship. My dignity. Everything. I’m not going to risk it.’

I was very familiar with the George’s Street charity shops.

When we arrived in the first one, Tadhg went straight to the men’s clothes and I had a look at the dresses.

I might as well find something for myself to wear at the gig too.

I immediately grabbed a floral maxi dress with short floaty sleeves, fitted at the bodice and sweeping down in an A-line.

I could probably play the guitar in this, right?

‘Hey, Lol,’ called Tadhg. ‘How about this one?’

I joined him to find him holding up a dark chocolate-brown suit with a slight flare in the trousers.

‘I’m aware someone probably died in this,’ he said. ‘But I think it might fit?’

I glanced over at the two rickety changing booths in the corner.

‘You try it on while I try on this dress,’ I said. ‘If you’re in a suit the rest of us should probably dress up too.’

In the cramped, mirror-less booth I pulled the maxi dress over my head and tried not to think about the fact that, on the other side of the curtain, Tadhg was also taking most of his clothes off.

I was doing up the zip, almost dislocating my arm in the process, when Tadhg said, ‘You ready, Lol? Come out and tell me what you think.’

I quickly yanked the dress into place and pulled back the curtain.

Tadhg said, ‘I’m worried it’s a bit—’ Then he caught sight of me and said, ‘ Wow . Cool dress.’

For a few seconds, I was simply speechless. Even in the grim fluorescent light of a charity shop, he looked astonishing. The suit fitted him as if it had been tailored for him. He always looked good but now he looked … elegant. He looked dashing. And ridiculously cool.

I swallowed. ‘Nice suit.’

Then I caught sight of myself in the mirror on the wall next to the changing cubicles and realised just how low-cut the dress actually was.

Tadhg followed my gaze to the mirror and for a moment neither of us said anything.

We stood side by side and looked at our reflection.

We could have been an incredibly chic bohemian couple in the 1970s, throwing a dinner party in our conversation pit.

In this context, my unruly dark hair looked like something out of a seventies Vogue , even under the terrible lighting.

My navy-blue dress with its hot-pink and orange print perfectly complemented his rich chocolate suit.

The cut of the dress, the way it swept down to the floor, somehow made me look tall and even elegant.

It also, undeniably, made my boobs look incredible.

‘Well, this will be the first album cover,’ said Tadhg.

‘I don’t know if I can play the guitar in this dress.’ I was about to add ‘it’s a bit tight’, but I didn’t want to draw attention to what I realised was the extremely flattering nature of the tight fit.

‘You should buy it anyway,’ said Tadhg.

Our eyes met in the mirror.

And then a phone started ringing in his changing cubicle, and whatever spell might have been conjured up was broken.

He disappeared behind the curtain and I heard him say, ‘Hello? Hey! No, I’m charity-shop trawling with Laura.

Yeah! I did find one. Ha! Pretty much. I’m going to pay for it now …

Oh, okay. Um, yeah, I think so. But I have a band practice that afternoon and we do have the gig next week …

Yeah, I’ll let you know. Thanks for asking me. Cool. Okay, see you tomorrow.’

He emerged from the curtain. ‘That was Jess.’

My stomach twisted a bit. His voice on the phone had sounded so … affectionate. So happy to hear from her. And she clearly already knew about his quest for suits.

‘Anything up?’ I said.

‘Um, yeah. Her family are having a big party for her brother’s eighteenth and she’s asked me to go with her. She says she doesn’t want to be stuck talking to teenagers or old relatives all night.’

‘Oh, right!’ I prayed my feelings didn’t show on my face. ‘Cool. So are you going?’

‘Well, it’s this Saturday.’ He rubbed his chin, making a rasping noise. ‘So if I go I won’t be able to make the post-practice pub debrief.’

‘Oh, that doesn’t matter!’ I said as breezily as I could. ‘As long as you can make the practice.’

‘Well, yeah, it’s just that it’s the last practice before the gig,’ he said. ‘Maybe I shouldn’t run off straight away.’

The temptation to say ‘Yeah, you’re right, you shouldn’t’ was so, so strong.

Jess was clearly asking him out. And for fuck’s sake, he must know that.

If you just want some company at a family party you ask one of your mates.

You don’t invite the hot man you’ve only known for two months to be your plus-one.

But what was I going to say? ‘No, you can’t go to the party with that gorgeous girl who you clearly really like, you have to go to the pub with me?

’ What would that sound like? I thought of the fondness in his voice when he talked to her.

Pathetic, that’s what it would sound like.

So I said, ‘Don’t be silly, of course you should go!’

‘Are you sure you don’t mind?’

‘Why would I mind?’ I said, wrinkling my nose as if that was the most ridiculous suggestion I’d ever heard. ‘Come on, we’d better change and buy these before the shop closes.’

‘It’s not definitely a date,’ said Katie the next day.

‘It’s not not a date,’ I said miserably. We were sitting in the Buttery eating unsatisfactory sandwiches. ‘It’s not just a little thing in her family house. It’s in some fancy hotel in town.’

‘Laura!’ I looked up to see Ruairí approaching our table, a rolled-up tube of paper in one hand. With a sinking feeling I realised I’d completely forgotten to contact the others about deciding on a band name.

‘Oh shite, Ru, I’m so sorry, something came up—’ I began but Ruairí interrupted me.

‘Look, when I didn’t hear from you I had to finish the posters anyway.’ He unrolled the tube and held up a poster.

‘Oh my God!’ I stared at him in horror as Katie let out a gleeful hoot of laughter.

At the top of the poster, over a diagram taken from an old sociology book about juvenile delinquency, were the names Sourpuss, then Shatner and then finally The Band Laura’s In.

‘You left me no choice!’ said Ruairí. ‘I don’t know what the hell Tim’s calling himself these days. And I couldn’t remember your other bandmates’ names.’ He handed me the tube of posters. ‘Can you put these up in the northside music shops?’

I nodded. When he’d gone Katie said, ‘Well, at least you’re asserting yourself in the band!’

I hit her with the roll of posters.

Luckily my bandmates were more amused than annoyed by my accidentally hogging the limelight.

‘A lesson learned,’ said Tadhg. ‘We’ll have to have a proper name by our next gig. And besides,’ he added, ‘you’re clearly the star of the show, Lol.’

I smiled back at him, but the jokey compliment didn’t land quite the same as it would have a few days earlier.

On Saturday afternoon, roughly half an hour before we usually wrapped up our weekly practice, Tadhg untangled himself from his guitar strap.

‘Sorry, all,’ he said. ‘But I’d better head now. I’ve got to get home, dump my guitar and change before I head back to town.’