Page 42 of Rewrite the Stars
Jack has gone to check on the food, uncomfortable, I guess, with my indifference to a job he encouraged me to go for, while Sophie realizes it’s time for a subject change.
‘Anyhow, never mind boring work chat,’ she says, sensing my discomfort and coming to the rescue as always. ‘We spent the journey here talking about a new band we’ve just discovered. They’ve a song that’s never off the radio and I absolutely love it. What did I say their name was, Harry? You know me, I’m bloody useless with names. Blind something?’
‘Blind Generation!’ Jack and I say at the same time, and then Jack comes back out from behind the barbecue, leaving a stream of smoke behind him.
‘Their new song is awesome!’ he says. ‘I’d love to hear them live one day! We were dancing like two eejits round the kitchen to that song earlier and singing along at the top of our voices. It’s a great song.’
My tummy leaps.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to say how I know the lead singer, how he has been such a huge part of my life, how he was in my brother’s band, how my conversation about him with Matthew caused that now infamous life-changing accident that led me to Jack, how I feel like I’m now over it all at last … but I don’t. I keep it to myself. That’s all in the past and it really doesn’t matter any more.
I don’t want to talk about Tom Farley. I want to keep those old wounds well and truly healed over.
‘Sing us a song, Char! Go on!’ says Sophie, a few glasses of wine and four full bellies later. Jack is next to me on the sofa indoors now, while Sophie and Harry lounge on an armchair each. It’s dropped dark and our evening, as always with the Darlings, has been fun, relaxed and full of laughter and stories.
‘Yes, I’d love that,’ says Jack, squeezing my hand a little for encouragement. ‘I’ve always wished I could play a musical instrument, it’s such a gift.’
‘Did you never play music, Jack?’ asks Harry. ‘I was a mean spoons player back in the day, but my music teacher always said I’d a voice that would scare dinosaurs. Did wonders for my confidence, old Miss Boot. Boy, was she aptly named or what?’
I chuckle at the very thought of it.
‘You know, my poor mother spent a fortune on piano lessons, but I just didn’t have it in me,’ says Jack, ‘which is why I’m so in awe of the talent the Taylor family have. Matthew should have been a huge star and Charlotte is hiding her voice somewhere, but I wish she could find it. I’d love to hear you sing, babe, and I don’t mean hearing you sing in the shower or along with the radio. I mean sing your own stuff.’
I push back my hair and set my wine glass on the little wooden coffee table in front of us, wishing I could find my singing voice and my writing confidence again too. I feel panicky at the thought, so I focus on my surroundings, just like Jack taught me when I confessed one day after a difficult time in my new job that I felt out of breath, overwhelmed and anxious.
The coffee table was left here by the previous owners and is one of my favourite pieces of furniture in the cottage, while a huge seascape painting sits above the fireplace, a housewarming present from Emily and Kevin who know how much I love the ocean. There’s a bookshelf containing everything from my childhood collection of Enid Blyton to Jack’s eclectic taste, including Seamus Heaney poetry and Paulo Coelho’s latest offerings. I breathe in and out, reminding myself I can say no. It’s just a friendly suggestion. I don’t have to sing if I don’t want to.
‘Do you think Matthew will ever sing professionally again?’ Sophie asks me, unaware of my brief inner anxiety. ‘That song he sang at your engagement party was something else, wasn’t it?! It’s such a shame to let a talent like that go to waste.’
‘I hope that when he settles into life in Galway, he’ll take a few gigs over there,’ I say, wishing my words to come true. ‘In fact, I secretly think Martin was encouraging him to go there for that very reason. You know, a fresh start, a new beginning. Sometimes we all need that.’
Jack puts his arm around me.
‘I have to say I totally agree,’ he says, pulling me closer for comfort. ‘Matthew will thrive with all that new energy there and Martin has his head screwed on for sure. He knows if Matthew is to walk again, and I truly believe he will, then positive change, lots to look forward to and lots to keep living for is the answer.’
The room goes silent as we ponder the idea of my brother ever getting out of his wheelchair – I’ve pictured the scene over and over in my head, willing for him to make it one day. It hurts me so deeply to think that it’s how people know him now.Poor Matthew. The one in the wheelchair. The one who was depressed. The one who could have made it, but didn’t.
‘He was always so full of life and fun, you know,’ I tell my friends with a smile, trying to recall some of Matthew’s real character before the accident. ‘You should have seen him on stage back then when Déjà Vu were on the way to the top! He had crowds of people eating out of his hands, a real showman people couldn’t get enough of. It’s all he ever wanted to do with his life, and we were all right behind him. I still can’t believe it was all taken from him so cruelly.’
I always get such a buzz when I think of Matthew in his heyday, but my lip trembles at the thought of how he is now.
‘You must have been so proud of him,’ Sophie says, softly. ‘You still are proud of him, I know that. What on earth happened for it all to go so wrong for him? Didn’t I hear they had a record deal and were going places?’
I try to speak, but I can’t even go there. I can’t tell any of them how my love for another man, the same man my brother loved, the very man who is the singer in the band they were all just so excited about, is what made Matthew spin his car into a ditch … It’s all too much. I can’t tell them.
‘Just creative differences, I suppose,’ I say with a shrug, hoping that they won’t probe me any further. ‘Matthew always described it as a break-up, and he never got over it so it’s not something he likes to go into much detail on.’
Jack knows I struggle with talking about Matthew, even though he’s never been told the full story. He can tell when I’m struggling, be it a conversation about work, friendship or even something that might come between us. He says he can tell by the quiver in my voice, how I play with my hair or my eyes dart around the room. He knows I’m struggling now.
‘Matthew’s a strong, decent, super-talented guy and he has a great future,’ says Jack, his upbeat tone changing the mood instantly, in a way that only he can. ‘So, Charlotte love, what do you say we get this party started and you give us a song? Find that voice again, I know you can.’
I want to. I really, really want to, but I just can’t. I can’t sing for them. Not now. Not yet.
‘I will someday, love, I promise, but would you mind if we put on the iPod instead?’ I ask, my eyes pleading for understanding. ‘I don’t think Sophie and Harry have heard the sound system yet? It’s awesome.’
Jack is fully supportive to me as ever and immediately drops the subject without a fuss. He gets up from the sofa and to lighten the mood he does his best embarrassing dance, a quick step mixed with a moonwalk, which has us all in stitches.
‘OK, ladies and gentlemen!’ he says. ‘I’m now taking requests for the cheesiest tunes you can think of. What do you fancy? Speak now or forever hold your peace!’
