Page 48 of Our Song

I take a sip of wine. I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t be saying all this if I weren’t slightly high and slightly drunk but I can’t stop now.

‘It feels like the only women without kids I ever see in the media are the ones who never wanted to have them anyway, or the ones who did want to and couldn’t and never got over it.

Why don’t I see women who wanted to, but it didn’t happen, and they were sad but eventually they were fine? I know I’m not the only one!’

‘Well, maybe you can be that woman,’ says Tadhg, ‘for other people.’

I laugh. ‘Is this your new way of trying to persuade me to perform in public? Telling me I can be a role model for guitar-playing women with no kids who can’t sing?’

‘No!’ Tadhg protests. ‘Though I still think you can sing. And you should sing.’

‘No,’ I say. ‘No way.’

‘Do you want to go back in and play the guitar and not sing?’

I do.

We play some of our new songs. We play some old songs.

We play some of Tadhg’s songs. And then we start playing cover songs.

We drink lots of water to counterbalance the wine.

We drink more wine. We laugh a lot. I even sing, albeit very, very quietly, and not into a microphone so Tadhg can’t actually hear it.

Eventually Tadhg says, ‘I didn’t think I’d ever be hungry again after that giant lunch, but I am. Do you want a snack?’

We make toasted sandwiches and eat them at his kitchen table. We drink tea. We talk nonsense. It’s like one of those magical college days when we hung out together for hours on end. And like those days, I both don’t want to go home and don’t want to overstay my welcome.

But then he says, ‘Are you too tired to watch a film in the screening room?’

And I realise I’m not.

The screening room is gorgeous – like a miniature version of one of those posh indie cinemas, with leather armchairs and side tables. Tadhg opens a big cupboard at the back of the room and reveals shelves of DVDs.

‘What film do you fancy?’ he says.

‘Oh, I can’t decide,’ I say, scanning the shelves. ‘Pick one at random and I’ll say yes or no.’

Tadhg closes his eyes, reaches out and pulls out a case. ‘ Jaws ?’

Two hours, lots of snacks, a tiny bit of wine and lots of fizzy water later, Roy Scheider and Richard Dreyfuss are splashing in to shore and Tadhg and I are stretching in our too-comfortable seats.

‘You know, Mrs Brody in Jaws dresses like you,’ says Tadhg.

My laugh turns into a yawn. ‘It’s the other way around.’ I glance at my watch and get a shock. ‘Bloody hell, it’s nearly one!’

‘It can’t be.’ Tadhg leans over and looks at my watch. ‘Shit, it is.’

Suddenly I’m exhausted. ‘I’d better call a taxi.’ I pull my phone out and try the usual app, but no drivers are available.

‘Sorry,’ I say, stifling another yawn. ‘It’s usually faster than this.’

‘I’ll try my car service,’ says Tadhg, but there’s nothing there either.

The long day, the wine and the weed are all catching up on me now. Tadhg looks as exhausted as I feel.

‘Look,’ he says, ‘why don’t you just stay over?’

‘Ah no,’ I say. ‘I’m only down the road.’

‘You can use the room Rosie uses when she comes over from Paris. The bed’s made up, there’s toiletries in the en suite, there’ll even be clean pyjamas.’

I try the app again. Still no drivers. I’m so, so tired. The thought of going to bed right now is irresistible.

‘Okay,’ I say. ‘Thanks a million. If you’re sure.’

‘I’m sure,’ he says.

As I follow him up the stairs I realise I’ve never seen most of Tadhg’s house before.

I’ve never even gone up to the first floor.

There are framed posters on the wall for Tadhg’s gigs, from his Glastonbury headliner to his early solo shows.

We’re almost at the top of the stairs when I freeze at the sight of one that’s all too familiar.

‘Wow,’ I say.

Tadhg turns around and looks down at me, and then at the poster.

‘You kept it,’ I say.

There it is, in black and white. That first poster. Sourpuss. Shatner. The Band Laura’s In . My name on his wall.

‘Well, yeah,’ he says.

‘I think I’ve got a copy of that poster too,’ I say. ‘But not framed. Rolled up in a tube somewhere in my parents’ house.’

We stand on the stairs for a moment looking at the poster and then Tadhg says, ‘Right! Your room.’

The room is large and beautiful, with high ceilings and huge windows. A corner of the room has been sliced off to create a small en suite bathroom. Tadhg stands by the door as I walk in.

‘Whoa,’ I say. ‘This is gorgeous.’

‘The pyjamas should be in the drawers over there. And there’ll be a new toothbrush in the bathroom. I’ll set my alarm for nine and we can be in the studio by ten.’

I try and fail to stifle another yawn. ‘Thanks for this. And for today. It all … It really helped.’

‘I told you, it’s the very least I could do.’

‘Well, thanks for doing it,’ I say. ‘It was a really good day, despite everything.’

‘I had a great day too,’ he said. ‘So, you know, thanks for that.’

‘Don’t mention it,’ I say.

For a moment I think he’s going to hug me. For a moment I think I’m going to hug him. But it’s been a long, weird, wonderful day. I’m not going to risk making it awkward at the last minute.

‘Well, goodnight,’ I say.

‘’Night, Lol,’ says Tadhg. He turns to go, his hand on the doorknob. Then he pauses and says, ‘Did I already tell you your ex-fiancé is a dickhead who didn’t know how lucky he was?’

‘Um, yeah, you did,’ I say.

‘Good,’ he says. ‘Just checking.’

And he closes the door.