Page 3 of Rewrite the Stars
I stood up straight, and instead of scarpering off like a scared mouse as my brother hoped I would, I put my hand on my hip, took a deep breath and decided to go ahead and call Matthew’s bluff.
‘No problem at all,’ I said to them both. ‘Youcan get the drinks in, Matthew, while I go and get sorted. Give me a few minutes and I’ll be right back with a country song that will break both your little hearts.’
Tom Farley winked at me again and nodded his head in approval.
It was official. I was prime time in love.
ii
Twenty minutes later, now wearing my favourite retro flared pale blue jeans, a crisp, clean grey vest top and with my long, bleached curly hair hanging down round my shoulders, I strummed the last chord on my guitar.
The song I’d carefully chosen to sing for him was called ‘By Myself’ (a song I’d written about the very first break-up I’d experienced but he didn’t need to know that) and I’d picked it out from my humble collection knowing the deep rhythm and sultry lyrics would be just enough to get his attention.
As the final pluck of the guitar strings echoed around us in the little room, I waited for his reaction. I looked up slowly, half closed my eyes and, when I opened them, I realized my hands were shaking.
‘I can’t believe I remembered the words,’ I said, a string of apologies going through my head for making his ears bleed, but I was worrying in vain because when I looked in his direction, he didn’t look disappointed or bored at all. He was, in fact, wide-eyed in awe, shaking his head, looking at my face, then at my hands, then at my mouth, and back to my eyes.
‘Wow,’ he said eventually, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and then he applauded slowly. ‘I meanwow! I’m literally drooling here! That, young lady, was bloody awesome!’
We laughed in relief – at exactly the same time. And then we stopped laughing in disbelief – at exactly the same time. Matthew was not laughing.
‘Matthew Taylor, what the hell!’ said Tom. ‘Your little sister has absolute, magic in her words and melodies! Seriously!’
I smirked at Matthew, feeling his pain and discomfort at the tangible harmony and the intense meeting of minds that had beautifully backfired on him.
‘Well, I’m – I’m glad you think so,’ stuttered Matthew. ‘But you should try living with her. She’s—’
‘She’s incredible,’ Tom said, and I fleetingly felt sorry for Matthew who was so removed from this moment between us. ‘Matt, you told me she could sing but you didn’t tell me we’d the next Stevie Nicks on our hands! She even looks like her, too. And as for those lyrics! Did you write that, Charlie? Really?’
He called me Charlie again.
‘Yes, I wrote it. All of me, allby myself,’ I said to him, quoting my very own lyrics. I sat up straight and put down my guitar then flicked back my hair. It’s wonderful how a quick wash, a lick of mascara, a spray of perfume and a change of clothing can help up your game, plus I was feeding off his hunger and energy. ‘Oh, and Stevie Nicks? I’ll take that. Thank you, Tom.’
I should say that I absolutelylovedthat he called me Charlie and that Ilovedsaying his name too. Tom. It was manly enough to make me flutter inside and if I was Stevie Nicks to him, to me he was a scruffy, unkempt young Bradley Cooper. Those eyes could stop the world.
Later I would look up the name Tom online to see what it meant and find out that it translated as ‘twin’, which wasn’t as romantic as I hoped it might be, but then I decided that he was my soul twin. Yes, I liked that. We were kindred spirits, meant to be.
‘I’d really like to hear more of your work,’ Tom said, still shaking his head in awe. ‘Please tell me there’s more where that came from?’
I gasped at his approval. No one had ever said that to me before. No one had ever really listened to my songs, not even my mother who, despite being quite cool in so many ways, was totally convinced that for me music was a hobby for behind closed doors and not something I would ever pursue in the real world. With a super-talented big brother like Matthew and a perfectly turned-out sister like Emily, I was never quite sure what to do to get my parents’ attention, and any efforts I made didn’t always turn out in my favour, you might say.
‘You sure you want to hear more?’ I asked Tom.
I was shaking inside but doing my best to look cool and confident on the outside.
‘ForsureI’m sure!’ he said, standing up from the sofa. ‘Look, you need to get those songs out there, big time, Charlie.’
I could feel my brother wince every time he called me Charlie now. At home and to everyone I knew, I was Charlotte Jane Taylor, named after the Brontë sister of the same name and as a nod to my mother’s favourite novel of all time,Jane Eyre. My older sister was Emily Maria and Matthew James, the first born, often joked that he just about escaped being named Heathcliff as my dad got to choose his name.
‘I mean, why are you even busting your ass with university?’ Tom asked me. ‘You’re gifted, girl. You don’t need a degree! Your qualifications are all in there already.’
He pointed at his temple to emphasize how I already had all the accolades I needed in my creative brain.
‘But I’m going to be a teacher,’ I told him. ‘So, as much as I love what you’re saying, in the real world I kind ofneeda degree.’
Tom hunkered down in front of me and looked me right in the eye. His hands were on either side of me, on the arms of the chair. I could feel his breath on my skin. I could smell his woody, aromatic cologne. I thought I might explode.
‘No, no, no!’ he said, looking up at me. ‘You, Charlie Taylor, aren’t going to be a teacher.Youaregoing to be a huge star.’
