Page 31 of Our Song

Brían and the rugby lads were on our bus again, but Tadhg, Ciarán and Caoimhe and her friends were onmúinteoirPól’s bus, so after we’d all stowed our luggage in the holds, we went over to say we’d see them at the station in Galway.

But when we arrived at the station in Galway there was no sign of Tadhg, or Ciarán or Caoimhe, or anyone who’d been on that bus.

‘They’re just running late,’ said Katie.‘The train isn’t going for twenty minutes.’

Then we saw Áine talking on her mobile, and when she had hung up she said, ‘That was Pól.His bus broke down so they won’t get here in time for our train.’

‘But …’ I said.The implications of this were dawning on me in slow horror.We hadn’t exchanged phone numbers yet.We’dassumed we could do that during the long train journey.And now …

‘It’s okay, they can make the next one,’ Áine said cheerfully.

On the train, I asked around to see if anyone had got Caoimhe’s or Tadhg’s or Ciarán’s contact details earlier, a feeling of rising panic spreading through me.But no one had.

Tadhg was gone.I had no phone number.No email address.And, pre-social media, I had no way of finding him.

I wouldn’t see him again for nearly four years.

Chapter Thirteen

2019

No pressure, no emotional baggage.Cover versions turn out to be the perfect way to ease back into playing music with Tadhg.After about an hour, when we finish playing ‘Random Rules’, he raises his arms over his head and stretches, leaning over to one side.The hem of his olive-green T-shirt rises above the waistband of his jeans and I carefully avert my gaze.

‘Wow, Lol,’ he says.‘You’re even better than I remembered.’

The neck of my guitar almost slips out of my hands.‘Sorry?’

‘Oof, I’ve been hunched over the bass for too long,’ he says, stretching over to the other side.‘You’re an even better guitarist than I remembered.’

‘Oh.Um, thanks.’

He’s definitely a better musician now than he used to be.He should be, I suppose, seeing as he’s been able to do nothing but play music for the last decade or so.Lucky him, I think, but I try to push those thoughts out too, because if I start feeling bitter about all this, well, it’ll eat me alive.

‘Do you think we can justify taking a tea break?’says Tadhg.

‘Definitely.’My arms and fingers are aching, as is my back.Shit, I really am getting old.In the kitchen, I rinse out the mugs and Tadhg takes over tea-making duties.

‘So,’ says Tadhg, ‘how do you feel that went?’

‘Good?’And I suppose I mean it.‘I feel musically warmed up now.’

‘Me too.’There’s silence as he finishes making the tea.After he’s handed me my mug, he says, a little awkwardly, ‘Do you want to try any of our old stuff?Band stuff?If you remember the chords?’

I do remember the chords of most of our band’s songs, but I don’t want to admit it in front of him.‘Doyouremember them?’

‘Well, yeah,’ he says.‘I mean, I did write them.’

I stare at him in disbelief.Is that how he remembers it?Seriously?‘Oh,didyou?’

‘Shit, that came out wrong,’ he says.‘I meant I co-wrote them.With you.’

‘Yeah,’ I say.‘With me.’

‘Sorry, Lol,’ says Tadhg.‘I’m not trying to … Sorry.’

I know I should probably just accept his apology and move on but I can’t let it go.‘You didn’t write a single song for that band on your own.’I sound bitchier that I intended.‘Notone.’

‘Okay, you’ve made your point!’There’s a pause and he says, ‘You know I’m actually capable of writing songs on my own, right?’

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