Page 110 of Our Song

‘Still, this is all very cosy,’ she says.‘You really are okay with being friends with him again, aren’t you?And seeing him when this fortnight is over?Because I want to hold him to that dinner invitation.I need to see his fancy house.’

‘Of course we’re friends.And actually,’ I say, ‘I didn’t tell you before because I got distracted with Dave and, well, everything but …’ And I tell her about the Moveable Feast offer.

I expect her to sympathise with my dilemma, but instead there’s a moment of silence and then she says, ‘Oh, for fuck’s sake, Lol, don’t tell me you’re not going to do it.Are you seriously dithering about this?’

I’m taken aback.‘It’s not that simple!’

‘Lol, he’s not asking you to go on tour with him for a year.’Katie’s tone is pure exasperation.‘It’s just a few months of weekly band practices and then one gig!One amazing gig!You can totally handle that.You’ve made it clear you’ve been fine working with him for the last two weeks.’

When she puts it like that, it does sound reasonable.But still …

‘It’s a gig in front of thousands of people!’I say.‘Possibly millions if you count the live stream!’

‘So what?’says Katie.‘You won’t be able to see most of them.You have to do this, Lol.You can’t keep drifting away from music.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘You let music just drift out of your life after college,’ says Katie.‘You can’t do that again.I’m not letting you.’

I’m getting annoyed now.‘You’re talking like I had loads of options back then.It’s not that easy to find another band.I never found another Tadhg!’

‘Yes, and he never found anotheryou!’says Katie.‘Didn’t he say you’re the only person he could write with?But he kept going anyway.And you didn’t!’

Her words hit me like a blow.

I sit up in the bed.‘He could play solo gigs!’I protest.‘I couldn’t.I can’t sing.’

‘You keep telling yourself that because you don’t sing like the star of a school choir,’ says Katie.‘But loads of your favourite singers don’t sound like that either!You could havetriedsinging.You could have delivered your songs in your own way.’

It’s almost exactly what Tadhg said to me last week.

‘I’m not saying all this to make you feel bad.’Katie’s tone is more gentle now.‘I’m saying it because I remember how good you were on stage.How much you loved it.And I think you owe it to yourself to at least, at the very least, just play one more gig.’

Just one gig.How I can turn down the opportunity to playjust one gig?The opportunity to keep music in my life for a few hours a week?Of course I can handle it.

‘Fuck, you’re right.’I take a deep breath.‘You’re right.Okay.I’m going to tell him I’ll do it.’

It’s only half seven when I hang up and Tadhg said he was setting his alarm for nine, so he won’t be up yet.I’ll just pop down and make a cup of tea and take it back here.Then I can have a shower and face the day properly.I head down the stairs, past that poster with my name on it and down the hall.I open the kitchen door.

And there, sitting at the kitchen table, a mug of tea and a book in front of him, his hair sticking up in tufts, looking more bleary than I’ve seen him since 2003, is Tadhg.He sits up straight and runs his hand through his hair when I come in.There’s something so familiar, soTadhgabout that gesture that it pulls at my heart.

‘Morning.’He’s wearing pyjama bottoms and a navy T-shirt with a clean but tatty hoodie over it.It might even be the hoodie he lent me back in 2002.

‘Hey,’ I say.I am suddenly very conscious of my own bedhead, which I suspect is considerably less flattering than his.And the fact that I’m wearing pyjamas that don’t really fit me.‘Sorry, I didn’t think you’d be up yet.’

‘I woke up half an hour ago and couldn’t get back to sleep.’He yawns.‘Fancy some breakfast?’

‘I’d love some tea first,’ I say.‘No, you stay there and finish your own.I’ll make it.’

I fill the kettle and get out a mug – I already have a favourite mug in his house, one of the ochre seventies-style ones I used on the first day.

‘Sleep okay?’says Tadhg.He’s put down his book –Commonwealthby Ann Patchett, I notice – and turned around to face me.

‘Really well, thanks,’ I say.‘It’s a very comfy bed.’

This is the first time Tadhg and I have been together first thing in the morning and I’m struck by the weird intimacy of it all.Our messy hair.Our nightwear.The fact that I’m wearing my glasses.The fact that he hasn’t shaved for a few days now.This is not the polished Tadhg that I met in the restaurant with Tara – wow, two weeks ago.It’s all weird, but not in a bad way.At least, not as far as I’m concerned.

‘If you want to have your tea in peace, I’ll take this back to bed.’I point at my mug.‘That’s what I was planning on doing.’

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