Page 56 of Our Song

‘How are you feeling?’ he says.

‘Um, mostly excited,’ I say. ‘And a bit nervous.’

‘Don’t be nervous. You’ll be brilliant,’ he says. We’re standing at the side of the main stage at Moveable Feast, ready to go on and play the headline slot on Sunday night in front of a massive field of very excited festivalgoers. ‘We’ll be brilliant.’

A tech guy appears and says, ‘Right, everyone, you’re on.’

Sam strolls up and winks at me. ‘Good luck! Not that you’ll need it.’

He walks past me and on to the stage followed by Tony, the bass player.

As soon as they step out the crowd goes wild.

And suddenly I think, Fuck, I can’t do this.

I can’t go out and play in front of literally thousands of people .

It’d be a lot to go out and play in front of fifty people.

But this is the population of a small town.

I can feel panic rising. My hands start to shake.

‘Oh shit,’ I say.

But Tadhg takes my hand and gives it a comforting squeeze, and when I look up at his face, the face I’ve woken up next to almost every morning for the past six months, I know he has total faith in me. And it reminds me that, deep down, I have total faith in myself.

‘Come on, Lol,’ he says. ‘Let’s show ’em how it’s done.’

He doesn’t let go of my hand until I’m on the stage, when a guitar tech hands me my Danelectro and I slip its hot-pink vinyl strap over my head.

As I reach my mark, I look out at a sea of cheering, screaming people and beyond them to the trees that mark the main-stage boundaries in this eighteenth-century country estate.

The sun is setting to our right, sending golden light over the crowd.

I spot my parents and Annie standing near the front.

Annie looks like she finds the whole thing hilarious, but she’s clapping as enthusiastically as Mam and Dad.

Katie, Jeanne, Aisling, Kev, Sarah and Rob are nearby, with Ellie on Rob’s shoulders.

Ellie waves wildly at me, and I wave back.

I can see people whispering at each other and pointing at me as they realise who I am.

Some look amused. Some look suspicious. I feel the panic rising again.

Then I look over at Tadhg, who’s taking his position behind the mic stand in the centre of the stage, and he looks back at me and grins and I feel safe.

He always makes me feel safe.

‘Hey, Moveable Feast,’ says Tadhg. ‘It’s good to see you all again.’

Then Sam plays a drum intro and we’re off.

And for the first time in a long, long time, I feel that surge of power.

This is what I want. Playing music. Being on stage. Being here with Tadhg. This is it.

I can pinpoint the moment when the initially sceptical audience mood changes towards me.

It’s four songs into the set, I’m playing the solo in ‘Another City’, and when I finish there’s a massive cheer, a huge supportive wave of sound that hits me with the force of a bear hug.

I look over at Tadhg and catch his eye, and then we both start laughing with pure, giddy joy.

I don’t realise it at the time, but in the pit at the front of the stage a photographer is taking a photo of this moment.

It’s that photo, not the more dramatic one she takes later of me and Tadhg kissing at the side of the stage at the end of the gig as the final fireworks go off, that will end up on front pages and culture and gossip websites the day after the festival, and that will accompany pretty much every story about me and Tadhg that appears in the media from now on.

I don’t mind. It’s a really, really nice photo.

Three-quarters of the way through the set, Tadhg says, ‘And now, we’d like to play you a song that Laura McDermott wrote with me a long time ago. It’s called ‘The Stars’.’

There’s another big roar of approval from the crowd.

He turns to me, and I can feel the love from all the way across the giant stage.

‘Ready, Lol?’

I nod and start playing the chord sequence that I wrote in my bedroom more than sixteen years ago, on a day I thought I’d lost Tadhg forever.

Then I open my mouth.

And I sing.