Page 123 of Our Song

We stay in my bed for hours, sometimes just talking, sometimes laughing.And always, at last, being honest.

‘We’ve wasted so much time,’ I say, nestling into his embrace and closing my eyes.‘We could have been doing this for the last sixteen years.’

‘We can’t look at it that way,’ says Tadhg.‘We were so young.We might have messed everything up in another way.Maybe it’s right that we’re finally together when we’re old enough to make it work.’

‘So we should be grateful to Fiachra, then?For accidentally keeping us apart?’

‘Bloody Fiachra,’ says Tadhg.‘I still turn the radio off whenever he comes on.’

‘Ha!You’re not a fan of the nation’s favourite psychologist?’

‘Someone gave me his book for Christmas a few years ago,’ says Tadhg.‘They said he changed their life.I didn’t tell them he’d changed mine too.’

‘He meant well,’ I say.‘He was a good guy.And seeing as I’d convinced him you didn’t fancy me, he gave me pretty sensible advice.’

‘True,’ says Tadhg.‘I’ll leave the radio on next time.’

‘The last time I heard him onLiveline,’ I say, ‘he was talking about the importance of radical honesty.’

Neither of us says anything for a second, and then we both start laughing.When my mirth subsides I say, ‘Speaking of radical honesty, if we hadn’t had that discussion this morning, were you planning to tell me how you felt?’

‘And risk losing you all over again?’says Tadhg, kissing the top of my head.‘No, not yet anyway.It would have felt wrong telling you so soon.And also unethical.I mean, I’d just asked you to work with me.I could hardly say “Oh, by the way, I’m falling in love with you’ a week after you started.”’

‘Fair,’ I say.

‘And speaking of the work thing …’ he says.‘If doing these songwriting sessions feels weird, if you feel it fucks up the power dynamic between us, then we’ll stop right now.Don’t feel obliged to keep working with me.You’re meant to make music.You know it and I know it.But you should do it however and with whoever you want.On your terms.’

‘I know,’ I say.‘And I will.I want to write songs for lots of people.But I want to make music with you too.’I kiss him.‘Always.’

And then we stop talking for a while.

Later, when I’m lying on my side, Tadhg spooning me, his arm around my waist, his forearm pressed against my breasts, I realise there’s one thing we haven’t discussed.One thing I need to make sure he understands.One thing I need to know for sure.I take his hand in mine and gently kiss his knuckles.Then I say, ‘Tadhg?’

‘Hmmm?’

‘I have to tell you something,’ I say.

‘Okay,’ says Tadhg.

I turn around to face him.

‘You must know,’ I say, ‘that there is never going to be a miracle baby.I’m not going to put myself through any sort of fertility treatment, or an adoption process.That’s just not the right thing for me.This is it.If you want me, that’s all you get.Just me.’

‘Lol.’Tadhg looks genuinely baffled.‘Why on earth would I want anything else when I have you?’

I once vowed I’d never cry in front of him.But I don’t care about that anymore.

And these are happy tears, so they wouldn’t count anyway.

Eventually hunger drives us out of bed.We reluctantly get dressed and go down to the kitchen, where I make toast and Tadhg puts the kettle on.

‘You know,’ he says, taking the mugs out of the press above the counter, ‘if we can force ourselves to stay out of bed long enough to actually play some music today, we could always give our song another try.’

‘Ah,’ I say.‘Well, it’s funny you should mention that …’

Chapter Thirty-Four

The Stars

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