Page 87 of Our Song

‘Good.’When I think of Hugo, a sort of red mist descends over my eyes.Maybe I should get Annie on a plane to take care of him right now.

‘So,’ says Tadhg, ‘do you want to come over to the studio tomorrow?We can wait a few days, if you’d rather.’

I do want to go to the studio.I’ve come to accept that I don’t actually want to stay in my room forever.I’m about to say yes, but then I imagine making the short walk to Marino Crescent, past people who might recognise me from the pictures online.Past the fans in the Crescent park who definitely would.I’m suddenly flooded with panic.

‘Are you okay?’he says.

I look up at his kind hazel eyes and shake my head.

‘I really want to,’ I say.‘But the thought of facing people outside your house …’

My heart is beating faster just at the thought.

‘I should have thought of that,’ he says.‘How about … how about if I come here?’

The panic subsides, just a bit.

‘Yeah, okay,’ I say.‘That sounds good.’

‘Excellent,’ he says.‘I’ll see you tomorrow.Usual time?’

‘Usual time.’

‘And I know I keep saying it,’ he says, ‘but I’m really sorry for letting you down.’

I watch from the door as he gets in his car and drives away.Katie comes out of the kitchen.

‘Were you listening in behind the door?’

‘Not really,’ she says.‘How did that go?’

‘I cried all over him,’ I say as I follow her into the kitchen.‘At my age.Proper snotty crying.After always swearing I’d never cry in front of him.’

‘It doesn’t count if you’re not cryingabouthim,’ she says.‘Are you still angry with him?’

I sigh.I mean, if I weren’t working with Tadhg, if he’d been more rigorous with Hugo, this wouldn’t have happened.But no one forced me to work with him.Media attention was always a risk.Even without Hugo, someone could have noticed me going into his house every day for a week and taken a photo.Katie and Jeanne were warning me about that possibility just a few days ago.

‘No,’ I say.‘I’m not still angry with him.’

When I wake up the next morning there’s a moment of blissful peace before all the events of the last week flood back into my mind.

‘On the plus side,’ I tell Jeanne when we’re sitting in the kitchen, her drinking coffee and me drinking tea, ‘at least the Cinderella stuff has stopped me thinking about Dave and his baby.’

‘That’s the spirit!’says Jeanne.

Tadhg arrives at ten and I’ve just handed him the first cup of tea of the session when he says, ‘I had an idea I want to run by you.’

‘If it’s about Moveable Feast,’ I say, ‘I’m really not in the right headspace to think about that right now.’

‘Don’t worry about that,’ he says.‘No, I was thinking I could post something online making it clear that this bullshit story and its sources were completely unauthorised by me, and that you and I had made a mutual decision to work together for a few weeks as songwriting partners.I know it won’t make all this go away, but at least it’d make it clear that you’re not …’

‘Your charity case.’I think about it for a moment.He’s right that a statement wouldn’t change what’s already out there.But my wounded dignity can’t resist the opportunity to tell the world that I’m not Saint Tadhg’s latest project.

‘Okay,’ I say.‘Let’s do it.’

‘Great,’ says Tadhg.‘Um, I’ve actually written something already.I thought we could post a picture of the two of us with this as a caption.But only if you’re happy with it, obviously.’

He shows me the note on his phone.He really has been thinking about this.

---