Page 43 of Rewrite the Stars
‘Steps!’ says Sophie without even having to pause for thought and Harry lets out a groan which comes from the very tips of his toes, but Sophie is already on her feet, poised and ready for action with her glass in her hand.
‘Oh mate, what have you started?’ Harry asks, rubbing his head as if in agony at the thought of it. He pretends to block his ears seconds later when the bouncy sounds of ‘5,6,7,8’ pumps out through the speakers, but before long he’s on his feet too, full-on ‘boot scootin’ baby’ joining in on the fun, and the four of us line dance around our living room with the coffee table pushed back to make extra space, where we belly laugh and dance our legs off into the wee hours of the morning.
I’m with my favourite people who know and love me, I’m laughing and having fun, and any thoughts of Tom Farley are finally fading away as time passes by.
I want to be nowhere else but here, right now, loving and living in every moment.
Chapter Thirteen
Sundays have always been my favourite day of the week, but I’m fast coming to realize that summer Sundays spent outside the beautiful town of Ardara are going to be even more special.
Waking up to the sweet sound of silence, as opposed to the hum of traffic and horns in city life, then taking it easy over a locally produced breakfast on the deck where the sun hits your shoulders is the stuff of dreams and I inhale every moment.
‘I’ll get some more coffee,’ I say to the three pale faces before me.
Sophie and Harry vow to leave after breakfast, but each are nursing hangovers from hell so a delay is inevitable. All four of us are still full of giddy laughter about different parts of the night before, with the highlight being Jack’s attempt at stand-up comedy after too many gin and tonics. It meant the only person who understood his jokes was him, due to his fits of hysterics every time he tried to reach a punchline.
‘My jaws are sore laughing,’ says Sophie, as she attempts to tackle the sausage, egg and bacon on her plate. ‘I wonder how much longer we can get away with acting like teenagers on the weekends. I mean, if some of your patients heard the shite you come out with at the weekend, Jack Malone, they’d run a country mile!’
Jack seems to agree. ‘I’d run a country mile from me on any given day, never mind the weekends,’ he jokes. ‘Ah, we’ll all grow up someday, especially when we have our twins, isn’t that right, Charlotte?’
I roll my eyes at the ongoing joke we have between us about starting a family, but I do feel a pinch of pressure now when it’s mentioned. It’s assumed to be the next step in life after marriage, isn’t it, but just like Sophie, I don’t know if I’m ready for it yet.
‘Triplets,’ says Harry. ‘That would put manners into all of us. A good old set of Irish triplets each.’
Sophie almost chokes on her breakfast. ‘Triplet boys,’ she says, ‘just to make it even more craic. Yes, that’s what we need to stop these Sunday hangovers. Gosh, my mother would think she’d died and gone to heaven if we’d even just one baby, never mind three. She’s still dropping hints like a punch in the face every time I see her.’
Jack and I exchange a knowing glance. ‘Marjorie is the same,’ he says, referring to his own mother. ‘She’s itching to hear the pitter-patter of tiny feet and makes no bones about it. We just ignore her, don’t we, Char? We’ll do things at our own pace in our marriage and not how others think we should. God, my head is banging!’
I bring him over an Alka-Seltzer and he touches my arm and smiles at me in appreciation. I have to say, one of my favourite things about living with Jack is how we always know when the other one needs a bit of looking after, and we do little things to show we care. Like the many times I’ve been crucified with period pains and he’ll bring home a load of chocolate, fizzy drinks, crisps and sweets, knowing I need to binge on the sofa watching telly while he cooks dinner. Or at more serious times, like when he recently arrived home from work after one of his patients, a young single parent called Jenny, had tried to take her own life and it had floored him. I knew he needed quiet comfort and no stress, so I ran him a bubble bath and lit the fire, then gave him some space to get his head around it.
Marriage can be hard work, but it’s also extremely rewarding and I know that what Jack and I have here in our lives is what a lot of people dream of.
‘This place is sodeceivingfrom the outside, isn’t it!’ says Marjorie Malone in a voice that would break windows as she examines every room a few hours later. There’s simply nothing like an unexpected visit from the in-laws to ruin any given Sunday, is there? ‘Would you look at that view, Dad!’ she continues. ‘It’s like something out of that comical old John Wayne movie,The Quiet Man! And so much space for children to run around safely and not have to worry about traffic like we did when ours were young.’
Jack makes a face behind her back at her very obvious mention of babies and I try not to laugh. He loves his mother dearly, but she really has no idea of how to be subtle.
‘You won’t get much trouble from the neighbours, anyhow,’ says Jack Sr. ‘Ah, this is my idea of heaven, it really is. It’s just a slice of perfection. Well done, you two. You work hard and you deserve such a beautiful home.’
I often forget what Dr Malone Sr sounds like as he doesn’t really get much opportunity to speak when his wife is around, but one to one he’s a very kind, gentle soul and I can see where Jack gets his exceptional bedside manner in his job from. He certainly learned from the best.
‘Who fancies the pub, then?’ asks Jack, eager to give his parents something to do rather than skulk around the house passing comments, and to our surprise they agree. ‘We could grab a bit of a late lunch when we’re there. Come on, my treat.’
We walk for just over a mile past fields full of sheep and cows, scarecrows and strawberry fields and I feel like pinching myself to think that this utter tranquillity is on my doorstep. Jack’s father is right, we have worked hard to own our first home in such a beautiful place and, as annoying as Marjorie can be, it’s lovely to have visitors to share it with.
‘Jack, Charlotte, so good to see you!’ says Peter the barman when we stoop under the low red door into the darkness of the little country pub. ‘Nice to see some new faces too. You’re all very welcome.’
We decide to make the most of the lasting fine weather with a drink in the beer garden at the back of the pub, where we revel in the wonderful atmosphere that always greets us here. Traditional Irish music lilts in the background, couples, families and groups of young singles enjoy a lazy Sunday afternoon drink and even Marjorie seems to enjoy it as she laps up the view with some people-watching.
‘Everyone is so friendly around here,’ says Jack to his parents. ‘I think we’re going to love it here.’
‘I already do,’ I tell him, and he takes my hand under the table.
Marjorie orders a coffee as she is designated driver for the afternoon and manages to get another poke in when I opt for a glass of white wine.
‘I suppose you may as well enjoy lazy Sundays like this while you can,’ she guffaws, watching every mouthful I take. ‘My Caroline has her hands full running after her twins day in, day out. She probably wouldn’t remember the last time she got to kick back and relax like this during the day, but then she is justsocommitted to her children! She had them young too, in her twenties, so she has still the energy to enjoy them.’
Ouch. My eyes widen in Jack’s direction for help.
