Page 40 of Our Song

Neither of us says anything for a moment, and then Tadhg claps his hands together and says, ‘Right! Will we get a picture?’

‘You’ll have to take it,’ I say. ‘You’ve got longer arms.’

‘Fine.’ He sits down next to me on the couch. He get his phone ready, holds it out and looks down at me.

‘You ready?’ he says. And then, ‘Oh bollocks, I think I took one by mistake.’

‘Oh dear,’ I say. ‘Show me.’

I brace myself for a sobering experience as Tadhg hands over the phone.

I’m sure we’ll look like a study in contrasts: the devastatingly handsome rock star side by side with the sleep-deprived thirty-seven-year-old copywriter with a wonky fringe and considerably less Botox and filler than the gorgeous female celebs he’s usually photographed beside. By which I mean none at all.

But actually, to my surprise, we don’t look so wrong together.

I’m looking up at Tadhg and he’s looking down at me and we’re each kind of smiling as if we’re sharing a moment of complicity.

I look positively fresh-faced. Even my hair looks okay.

It is, I realise to my surprise, a really, really nice photo.

‘I think we should use this one,’ says Tadhg. ‘I mean, as long as you’re okay with it.’

‘Sure,’ I say. ‘It’s grand.’ I’m aware this good photo might have been a fluke and the next one might live up to my worst expectations.

‘We don’t have to post anything, you know,’ he says. ‘Or we can wait and post it later.’

‘Let’s post it now,’ I say. And he does.

I’m not sure why, but I feel slightly better once the post has gone up.

At least we’ve done something. We plug our guitars in, keeping the volume sensibly low so as not to disturb the neighbours, and set to work.

We run through all the songs we’ve written over the last week, and I’m struck again by how good they are.

Better than the songs we wrote for the band back in the day.

And then we start on our song. For the umpteenth time we run through that verse, chorus, verse and chorus.

Over the next few hours we try lots of different things.

But nothing is quite right. Our song is still incomplete.

‘For fuck’s sake!’ I feel on the edge of tears of frustration. I throw myself back in my chair, clutching my guitar. ‘What’s wrong with us? Why can’t we just figure something out?’

Then Tadhg says, ‘Maybe we shouldn’t.’

I sit up. ‘Maybe we shouldn’t what?’

‘Maybe we shouldn’t figure something out.’

‘What do you mean?’ Does he actually want to stop all this right now? Is this the end of it? My heart sinks at the thought.

‘The song,’ says Tadhg. ‘Maybe we don’t have to finish it after all.’

‘But … but that’s the point of this whole fortnight.’

‘Well, maybe it’s not,’ he says. ‘Maybe it was just the, I don’t know, trigger. Maybe the point was writing all these other songs. Because we’ve written some great songs over the last week, Lol. I mean, properly great songs.’

‘They are pretty good,’ I admit. ‘Even if none of them have proper lyrics.’

‘They will,’ he says. ‘Working with you … I can’t remember the last time I wrote so many songs in such a short space of time. Let alone good songs. They might even be better than the song.’

‘I mean, maybe …’

‘Seriously,’ he says. ‘For the rest of the week, let’s forget about our song.

Let’s, you know, just fool around with stuff and try things out and just play .

Enjoy ourselves. Let’s just be creative with no expectations.

Just for the sake of it. If something happens with our song, then great.

But clearly putting pressure on ourselves isn’t the answer. ’

‘Maybe you’re right,’ I say.

‘I’m pretty sure I’m right,’ he says. ‘It’ll be fun. And with everything that’s happened over the last few days, I think we could do with a bit of fun. And no pressure to perfect a sixteen-year-old song.’

He’s definitely got a point there. Playing music for fun sounds pretty good right now.

‘Okay,’ I say. ‘Let’s fool around.’

And we do.

Liberated from the pressure to finish the song by Friday, I feel like some weight has been lifted from my shoulders.

The rest of the day is great. We’re so engrossed in what we’re doing – and, it must be said, we’re now playing so loudly – that I don’t hear the front door open, and I get a shock when Katie sticks her head in the door.

‘Is this a private concert or can anyone join in?’ she says. ‘Afternoon, Timothy.’

‘Afternoon to you,’ he says. ‘Were we being obnoxiously loud?’

‘A bit loud,’ admits Katie. ‘I think some of the neighbours might have figured out you’re here.’

I hurry over to the window and peek out, grateful that Katie and Jeanne installed slatted shutters.

Sure enough, I can see the woman who lives across the road standing in her small front garden, chatting with another neighbour and two teenagers who live at the end of the road.

All of them are looking over at our house.

‘Shit,’ says Tadhg. ‘Sorry. I think we’ve been getting gradually louder all day. I forgot we weren’t in a sound-proof studio.’ He turns to me. ‘Would you be okay with coming back to my place tomorrow?’

It’s clear we can’t really keep playing here without attracting a crowd. ‘Sure. That’ll be fine.’

‘I can send Paul to collect you,’ he says. ‘My regular driver.’

It’s tempting. But I can’t stop walking around my own neighbourhood. The longer I leave it, the more freaked I’m going to be.

‘No,’ I say. ‘It’ll be grand.’

After Tadhg goes home, I cautiously turn my phone back on and, because I’m afraid not knowing is actually worse than knowing, I google my name.

Tadhg speaks out: leave Laura alone!

The truth about Tadhg Hennessy’s Cinderella

Why Tadhg Hennessy’s collaborator deserves our respect

Why do we care so much about Tadhg Hennessy’s ‘Cinderella’?

There are more, of course. I don’t read any of them. I’m not that stupid. People I know have clearly seen Tadhg’s post because there’s a flurry of new texts and messages. There’s even one from Caroline, which I can’t resist looking at.

OMG Laura I just saw the pic of you and Tadhg – SO cute! You haven’t aged a day! I know you must be up to your eyes right now, but let me know if you’d like to borrow some Moon pieces – and of course if you’d like to buy them, I can give you a friends discount. Let me know what you think!

I forward it to Tadhg, who instantly responds with ‘That’s it.

She’s won me over. I’m going to hire her as my new stylist’, and I reply ‘Do you actually have a stylist?’ and he replies ‘NO!’.

But even though this makes me laugh, it’s a reminder that all the unwanted attention isn’t going to go away any time soon.

And when the bubble bursts at the end of the week and he heads off to America, I’ll be back in my old life, dealing with it on my own.