Page 31 of Our Song

‘Are you sure you’re up for this dinner?’

Katie is standing at the kitchen counter stirring a large Le Creuset pot of ragu when I wander into the kitchen on Saturday afternoon.

‘Jesus, how long do you have to cook that stuff?’ I say. ‘He’s not coming till half seven.’

‘Many, many hours. Come on, answer the question. Are you sure about this? We can postpone if you like. I’m sure Tadhg has a million showbiz parties he could go to instead, so he won’t have to stay home alone.’

‘Of course I’m sure!’ I say. ‘Why wouldn’t I be?’

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ says Katie, turning round to face me. ‘Because of the whole Dave bombshell thing? Maybe you need a bit of peace and quiet this weekend to process it.’

‘I’ve processed it as best I can,’ I say honestly. ‘Right now, I need distraction.’

And this dinner is certainly doing the job of distracting me from Dave’s news. I am very, very nervous about it. This will be the first time Tadhg and I have seen each other outside our work together. What if it’s all weird when we don’t have the music to fall back on?

‘Could you distract yourself by going to the off-licence with Jeanne to buy some booze?’ says Katie.

‘I know she’s fussing over you,’ says Jeanne when we’re walking to the offie. ‘She is being so dramatic. Because she cares about you. But I know you can deal with this Dave business.’

‘Thanks, Jeanne,’ I say.

‘About Tadhg, though, I’m not so sure,’ she says. ‘Is Katie right? Do you have feelings for him again?’

‘No!’ I say. ‘I mean, not really. Anyway, it doesn’t matter if I do or don’t – in ten days he’ll be in Tennessee.’ Not that I’ve been counting the days.

Somehow Jeanne can sigh in French. ‘Why don’t you just tell him how you feel, Laura?’

I look at her as if she’s lost her mind. ‘I won’t dignify that with an answer.’

I push open the door of the off-licence.

‘ Bordel , I can’t believe he’s going to be in my house!’ says Jeanne. ‘I never told you this before because, well, you know, but I really love his first album.’

‘Don’t get too excited,’ I warn her. ‘I mean, I love him and everything but he’s a pretty ordinary person.’

‘You what?’ says Jeanne.

‘As a friend, obviously!’ I say.

Jeanne looks at me suspiciously. ‘As you say.’

When we get home with more beer, wine and fancy crisps than four people could possibly consume, Katie is hoovering the entire ground floor despite the fact Jeanne and I cleaned everything thoroughly last night. I realise she’s feeling a bit nervy too.

‘Okay,’ I say. ‘I think we all need to calm down a bit. Seriously, Kay, if you keep hoovering that rug you’re going to wear it out.’

Katie sighs and turns off the hoover. ‘I don’t know what’s come over me. It’s just Tadhg, for God’s sake! And I’m the one who wanted to invite him!’

‘Well, exactly,’ I say. ‘Look, I will admit it’s weird. After everything. But let’s just … pretend it’s not?’

‘Fake it till we make it?’ says Katie, putting down the hoover.

‘Something like that,’ I say.

Despite all my advice-giving, I continue to feel antsy as the day goes on.

The ragu is still simmering on the stove when we all slip away to get ready, slightly earlier than we usually would when expecting a casual dinner guest. I spend way too long trying on outfits and end up wearing the dress I wore the day I met Tadhg for lunch in the posh restaurant, but I go for slightly bolder make-up, by which I mean I do a cat-eye liner.

When I go down to the kitchen, Katie and Jeanne have already opened a bottle of wine.

‘Don’t worry,’ says Jeanne. ‘We won’t get very drunk and disgrace you.’

‘I know,’ I say, joining them at the kitchen island. ‘Pour me a glass.’

Jeanne, wearing incredible leather leggings, a vest top and an oversized cashmere cardigan, does so.

‘Cheers,’ says Katie, raising her glass. She’s wearing an eighties vintage dress with a floral pattern and an elasticated waist. On me it might look like Rose from the Golden Girls , but Katie can pull it off.

‘Christ,’ she says. ‘Jeanne looks like she’s just stepped off a catwalk and the two of us look like we burgled an Oxfam shop.’

‘We look chic!’ I say. ‘Don’t we?’

Then the doorbell rings.

We all stare at each other.

‘I’ll get it,’ I say. My mouth is suddenly dry. Why am I feeling like this? I was slagging off his headwear to his face yesterday.

But this is different. This is him coming to my home.

I open the door and there, leaning against the red-brick wall of the porch, holding a paper bag from a very posh food-and-drink shop and looking like a tall drink of water, is Tadhg.

‘Hello, ma’am,’ he says. ‘Can I talk to you about the gospel of Our Lord Jesus Christ?’

‘Did anyone ever tell you that you look like your man who sings ‘Winter Without You’?’ I say.

‘Once or twice,’ says Tadhg. ‘Hey, Lol.’

‘Hey yourself,’ I say. ‘Um, come on in.’

I stand back and he walks into the hall.

‘Can I leave my coat here?’ he says.

‘Sure,’ I say. ‘How did you get here? Did you walk?’

‘I wish.’ Tadhg hangs his coat on the rack. ‘No, I’ve got a regular driver called Paul. He’s sound. He dropped me off.’ He clears his throat and I realise, with a start, that he’s nervous too. ‘Where’s Katie?’

‘Through here,’ I say.

Katie and Jeanne are still standing at the island when we enter the kitchen.

For a second no one says anything. Then Katie smiles, a little hesitantly, and says, ‘Father Timothy.’

And suddenly, they’re in each other’s arms, hugging each other tightly.

‘Shit, Katie,’ says Tadhg into her shoulder. ‘It’s been way too long.’

‘Oh well,’ says Katie, ‘it’s not like anything big has happened in either of our lives since then,’ and Tadhg laughs and they pull apart and smile at each other and suddenly I am very, very glad that I’ve been the means of bringing them together again.

Especially as I was, inadvertently, the means of separating them in the first place.

‘This,’ says Katie, reaching her hand out to Jeanne’s and drawing her to her side, ‘is my brilliant wife Jeanne.’

‘Hi, Tadhg,’ says Jeanne. She leans in for the proper French bisous , which took me aback at first when I met her, and fair play to Tadhg, he reacts perfectly and fait des bises right back.

‘Great to meet you,’ he says. ‘And thanks a million for having me over. Both of you.’

‘You’re very welcome,’ says Jeanne.

Katie grins at him. ‘You know we don’t have a personal chef, right? Will that be okay for you?’

‘I don’t have a chef!’ protests Tadhg. ‘Back me up here, Lol!’

‘Ah,’ says Katie. ‘But did you just tell Laura that because she’s such a woman of the people?’

‘Shut up, Katie!’ I say, as Tadhg and Jeanne laugh.

And I know that the rest of the evening will be all right.

We sit around the table eating posh crisps and drinking wine as the ragu does its final simmer.

Tadhg asks Katie and Jeanne questions about work and life and family and seems genuinely interested in the answers.

He and Jeanne end up in a deep conversation about architecture – his sister Rosie does PR in Paris for a big French architect and it turns out Jeanne knows some of her colleagues.

After a while, Katie ceremonially carries over the Le Creuset to the table and dishes up a feast so delicious that we all agree it was worth the hours of cooking.

‘Who needs a chef?’ says Katie.

‘Not me,’ says Tadhg. ‘As I’ve said.’

‘As you’ve said ,’ says Katie.

‘Well,’ says Tadhg, ‘you’ll all have to come over sometime and see for yourself.’

‘Is that an actual invitation?’ says Katie.

‘Course it is,’ says Tadhg.

‘I’ll hold you to that, Timothy,’ says Katie.

I’m mopping up the last dregs of sauce with some delicious crusty bread from the bakery in Marino when Jeanne says, ‘Laura, I almost forgot to tell you! You know my friend Steve? Yesterday I went for lunch with him and his brother Will who works in an ad agency.’ She mentions the name; it’s one of the most prestigious and cutting-edge agencies in town.

‘Will told me they’re looking for new senior copywriters, and your name’s on the top of their list of potential hires.

I know you’ve got that gig at Leafe lined up, but will I give him your phone number anyway? They might make you a better offer.’

‘Oh! Um, wow, sure, that’d be great,’ I say. ‘Thanks a million.’

And a few weeks ago, this would have been great. More than great. This would be a dream job, even better than Leafe. So why is my heart sinking at the prospect?

I’ve been thinking of this time with Tadhg as a fortnight that I can get through and then move on and pay Katie and Jeanne a nice pile of money for their windows.

But until now I haven’t really been thinking of the reality of life after this fortnight.

And the reality is writing ads. Which I love doing! It’s just …

It’s just that I’ve discovered that the old Laura, the rock-star Laura, might still exist after all. And writing ads might not be quite enough for her.

‘Great,’ says Jeanne. ‘That agency’s meant to be a good place to work, no? Will said they’re taking the team to Moveable Feast this year, and those tickets are like gold dust.’

‘Oh,’ says Tadhg. ‘You know, it hasn’t been announced yet so keep it to yourself for now, but I’m playing there this year. I can get you tickets if you want.’

‘Oh my God, really?’ says Jeanne.

‘Of course!’ says Tadhg, glancing at me, and I realise I never told Katie and Jeanne about his offer. They were out when I came home that evening, and then Dave’s call pushed it out of my mind.

Katie stands up and claps her hands. ‘All right! You two’ – she points at me and Tadhg – ‘go into the sitting room while Jeanne and I prepare the next course.’

‘Is she always such a bossy host?’ says Tadhg, as we take our glasses and a fresh bottle of wine into the front room. Katie makes a shoo-ing motion at us.