Page 32 of What Would Dolly Do?

T om knew exactly where to find me because I’d been spotted ducking into the pub. Not by Mum and Dad, they’d carried on to Sonny’s Bar blissfully unaware of our near miss, but Tom’s driver Iain had been on his way to pick Tom up and as he drove past he’d seen me swerve into the doorway.

Tom didn’t seem to need much of an explanation as to why I was hiding in the corner of a deserted bar.

It turned out he’d got all the backstory he needed from my mum and dad.

When he’d got to Sonny’s and found I’d scarpered, he’d read the room pretty quickly.

It was a skill he first deployed on the open mic night and it had come in super handy again.

When questioned, Mum and Dad gave him background info about the night I was humiliated by Heather and Teresa and he worked out for himself how Robbie’s reaction to the new me had sent me over the edge.

‘Can I just say, for the record, that I think you look amazing. You sure knock me out, Rebecca honey.’ Tom gave me a gorgeous wink over the rim of his whisky glass and I managed a small smile in response.

‘And while we’re telling it like it is,’ he added, ‘that Robbie fella seems to be a total dumbass!’ I snorted a laugh at that.

‘I hate to tell you this but he was still laughing to himself when your folks got there. Your mum ripped into him once she found out you’d been about to go on stage as yourself.

I reckon you’ll see the whip marks from that tongue-lashing for quite a while. ’

‘What did my dad say?’ I could imagine Mum tearing a strip off Robbie.

Good for her, he deserved it. But I was worried about how much all this would be upsetting my poor dad.

He’d been so happy when I’d found a way to overcome stage fright by being Dolly Parton and he’d always taken pride in the fact he’d helped me to do it.

It would have been so lovely to show him I’d found a new way to perform, but as myself once again.

Tom shook his head slowly as he looked at me. ‘He said something sorta funny actually. Once he heard you weren’t going to dress up as Dolly Parton before taking to the stage he asked what stage name you were going to use.’

I sat back in my chair. ‘Use another name? Like what?’

‘I don’t know. Although now I think about it …’ Tom paused.

‘What? Now you think about it, what?’

‘Well I’ve heard ya say you’re not actually all that keen on being called Becky.

You like when I use Rebecca, don’t you …

Rebecca?’ He rolled the r and growled the name at me to make me laugh again but I was pondering the notion.

A name change? Could I? Should I? It was true I wasn’t keen on Becky …

Becky Mooney … it always sounded like a bratty character in a children’s book to me.

It didn’t suit the sort of woman I aspired to be.

But I didn’t imagine my dad or mum would be all that impressed if I junked my name, and what the hell would I replace it with? Tom was still looking very thoughtful.

‘Tom, what is it? Just spit it out.’

‘Well, have y’ever thought that Reba is a really cool country-style nickname for Rebecca?’

Reba? I had never thought of that. I liked it.

Reba would suit me way better than Becky.

Straight away I wanted it. I wanted Reba to be my name.

Unlike Beyoncé with Sasha Fierce or Rebecca Lucy Taylor as Self Esteem I didn’t want to use Reba as just a stage name, I wanted it to be the new me on and off stage, it just felt right.

‘Reba …’ I tried it out for size. It rolled off the tongue perfectly. It sounded fresh, brave and full of spirit. That’s who I wanted to be. That was me.

‘Reba Moon!’ It came to me in a flash. There it was. My new name. The new me. A shortened version of Becky Mooney, discarding the bits that were unnecessary and didn’t fit me anymore, streamlining and adapting what I already had into something cooler and more exciting.

Tom slapped his hand on the table. ‘That’s it! You’re right. Reba Moon … it’s so … you!’

That was decided then. I made another decision straight off the back of it.

‘I’m going back to the club. It’s time to put Reba Moon on stage.’

Tom said nothing but smiled and nodded as he drained his whisky glass.

I was relieved he hadn’t put any pressure on me, he hadn’t nagged or cajoled or tried to convince me to get myself back on track to perform.

But he was there, he’d found me and was there for me, just having his company was balm to my soul.

His presence reminded me that I’d moved on from being Becky Mooney with all her hang-ups and now I was ready to tackle life head on.

Tom was helping me do that because he really seemed to see me …

the real me, whether I was a half-dressed Dolly Parton tribute act, a fledgling songwriter or a sassily dressed ‘Reba Moon,’ he saw past it all and accepted whatever version of myself I presented to him without scorn or question.

It was refreshing, liberating and ultimately empowering.

He hadn’t saved me – but he’d given me the strength to see I could save myself.

I stood up, leaned across the table and kissed him gently on the lips.

‘Back in a sec,’ I said. I needed a quick trip to the loo to freshen up.

I needed to walk back into the club looking pulled together and in control.

I checked my flaming locks in the mirror and reapplied my lipstick.

The denim waistcoat and tartan pants combo still looked good.

‘Hey there, Reba,’ I said to my reflection and registered the simultaneous reply.

Mutual greetings done between the real and reflected versions of myself, I felt as ready as I’d ever be to face the music.

Literally. It was now or never. Dolly had told me to ‘Find out who you are and do it on purpose,’ and it finally seemed like I’d found the way to do that.

Reba Moon was who I was and it was time to show the world what she was all about.

Some of the most important people in my life were at the club and if I could face them and perform as the new me, I would be able to do anything.

I walked back to the table where Tom was waiting. ‘You coming?’ I said.

‘You bet, Reba,’ he replied.