Page 38 of Rewrite the Stars
‘I want to dedicate this song to my very brave, very supportive and very patient sister Charlotte who sacrificed so much to look after me, even when she knew sometimes I didn’t deserve it,’ he says softly. ‘I’m so happy for you tonight, and I love you more than you’ll ever know. This is one of your old favourites. So this song is for you.’
I stare at the floor now, unable to look at my brother any longer as Martin joins him on guitar and they launch into an acoustic version of a song called ‘Love and Pain’, which I remember Matthew practising for hours on end back in our student digs between band rehearsals.
It was a co-write between himself and Tom and the words now resonate with me so differently, as I finally understand the true story behind it from both Matthew’s point of view, and Tom’s of course.
I might never touch you, it drives me insane, oh nothing hurts more than your sweet love and pain
I feel a hand squeeze my shoulder and, when I glance up, it’s my sister Emily who looks at me knowingly. I take a deep breath, I grasp her hand, then, before the song is finished, I get up from my seat and quietly slip out into the bathroom where I desperately try to compose myself. But I can’t stop the tears that flow.
Not tonight, I tell my own reflection in the mirror. Please don’t let this ruin tonight. A knock at the door makes me jump.
‘Hello,’ I call out. ‘Just a minute!’
‘It’s just me,’ says Jack. ‘You disappeared very quickly there. Are you OK, Charlotte?’
I squeeze my eyes shut and gulp back the emotion, but it sticks in my throat, refusing to go away. He doesn’t deserve this. I don’t deserve him.
I keep telling myself this will pass, that time will make me forget Tom Farley, but then something simple like a stupid song can bring everything to the surface again and I’m back to square one.
‘I’ll be right there,’ I call out to Jack, feeling like I’m betraying him with my very thoughts. ‘Everything’s fine. I’m just freshening up.’
My mind runs overtime as I dab under my eyes, trying my best not to let my tears ruin my mascara. I need to get a hold on this. I’m haunted by Tom’s ghost and that’s all he is – a ghost, a figment of my overflowing imagination. I don’t even know him any more. It’s been months since I saw or heard of him. I have got to let this go. I’ve got to get over him once and for all. I hate him for making me feel this way, I hate myself for feeling this way.
‘Do you want me to come in?’
‘No! No, I’ll be right there,’ I say to Jack.
Handsome, kind, beautiful Jack, who loves me more than I can ever imagine. And I love him too. Idolove him.
I don’t want to go out there just yet, but I know I have to, so I paint on my best smiling face for my guests and my future husband, open the bathroom door and he greets me with a kiss.
‘You’re shaking,’ he says. ‘Did that song upset you, Charlotte? Martin thought you’d love to hear Matthew sing again, but maybe it was too much?’
Oh, if only they knew.
‘I haven’t heard his voice in a very long time,’ I say, only half explaining but it’s as much as I can tell him. ‘I just got a bit more emotional than I thought I would, but it was lovely, Jack. I’m so grateful he felt strong enough to sing for me.’
We go back and join the party where Martin has now taken the lead, totally changing the mood by singing ‘Amarillo’ which has everyone dancing. Before long, Sophie and I are in fits laughing as we lead everyone in an Abba tribute, singing and dancing our hearts out.
I catch Matthew’s eye as I sing about being a dancing queen and we both silently acknowledge the bridge we’ve both crossed this evening. He is back doing what he does best with the man he loves by his side, I am singing again with a friend I adore in an apartment I love and with Jack who I’m planning a future with.
Life is moving on in the right direction and I’m singing from the inside out. Even Marjorie and Jack Sr take to the floor, followed by my own parents who I feel are going to do everything they can to show that anything the Malones can do, they can do better.
‘Oscar might come in and join us for a beer,’ Dad says to me at a musical interlude, still dancing as he speaks.
‘It’s the curse of the working class!’ I say, impressing him very much with my Oscar knowledge. ‘I’m a big fan too, Dad. You brought me up to have good taste!’
He dances on very smugly, hugely pleased with himself, and I shed a tiny tear of happiness, thinking of how far we’ve all come since we sat in that lonely hospital corridor willing Matthew’s life to be saved.
‘That I did, my girl!’ he says, tilting his chin out again. ‘That, I did!’
The evening passes with no more tears, except from Kirsty who after way too much wine called her new beau by her ex’s name and he stormed out, oh and my aunt Bridie who was just so proud of me she couldn’t stop blubbing (though I do think it was the Chardonnay). By the time the last of the guests leave, I’m delighted to hear nothing but silence and the sound of Jack pottering around in the bathroom as he gets ready for bed.
I remove my heels, marvelling in the feeling of my toes in the warmth of the deep pile living room carpet, and take my phone from the charger to have a quick glimpse at what’s been going on tonight in the outside world while we’ve been celebrating.
Streams of messages filter through from well-wishers and guests who joined us tonight, thanking us for such a wonderful evening, and I smile as I read them, but then my heart jumps when I see an email in my inbox from an address I used to write to all the time.
The subject matter just says ‘Congratulations Charlie’and the sender is Tom Farley.
