Page 52 of Rewrite the Stars
‘What on earth are you doing?’ I ask her. ‘You don’t smoke. Give me a puff.’
She glances at me and shakes her head. ‘No, you can wait,’ she says. ‘I’m being rebellious. I’m never rebellious so I thought I’d take a drive out to see you and smoke a cigarette when I’m supposed to be working. And you don’t smoke any more either so don’t even think about it.’
We both sit looking out at the spectacular views ahead of us with only birdsong for company, when I let out a deep sigh that makes Sophie almost choke on her cigarette.
‘Do you think we’re having a mid-life crisis, Sophie?’ I ask her, in a very serious tone. ‘I mean, I feel like I’m cracking up a bit inside. Maybe I’m just bored. Can you crack up from boredom?’
Sophie lets out a noise that sounds a bit like ‘pfttt’.
‘I’m perfectly in control of my life,’ she tells me, blowing out a stream of smoke that tells me this isn’t her first taste of nicotine. ‘Plus, we’re too young to be having a mid-life crisis. You, however, really need to get your shit together and deal with what’s going on in your head, Char. Emily is worried about you, even your fair weather friend Kirsty is worried about you, and your mother is going round the bend. Tell me what’s going on with you, darling. You know you can tell me anything.’
I dig deep as I cradle my coffee mug but, no matter how much I try and search my mind for a deeper problem that might exist, I can’t find anything bigger than the actual truth, the trigger that started my low moods that have lasted all summer.
‘I just need to find my purpose again,’ I tell Sophie. She puts out her cigarette at last. ‘I just need to find out who I am and where I’m going because right now I can’t seem to find another teaching job, I can’t find it in me to write songs like I used to, I can’t do anything that makes me feel worthy. I just need to find my “reason to be” again.’
Sophie looks at me with great pity.
‘Just being yourself is a good enough “reason to be” if you’re not feeling up to much else,’ she tells me. ‘Sometimes we put ourselves under too much pressure to be this or be that. Sometimes we have to just “be”, to sit still and collect our thoughts. Don’t be so hard on yourself, please.’
I breathe out and lean back on my chair, wondering how much longer I can just sit still and think about things. That’s part of my problem. I’ve had way too much time to think.
‘You know, Sophie, when we were growing up in Loughisland, it was the happiest time of my life, even though it was simple and we didn’t have much,’ I say, not knowing where my words are coming from or where they’re going. ‘The sound of the ice cream van coming into our estate was like our own little version of Disneyland, a bit of snow in winter gave us a whole new playground and we’d use coal bags as makeshift sleighs to slide down hills, and we could tell what day of the week it was by what Mam was making for dinner.’
Sophie smiles but I know my childhood was several light years away from what she experienced. I’m not saying it was better or worse, it was just different.
‘I wore my sister’s clothes when she had grown out of them and I longed for the day when I could wear my own things, instead of depending on Emily’s growth spurts,’ I say with a smile. ‘I’ll never forget the time I saved enough money from picking strawberries at the weekends to buy a whole new outfit of my own. A denim jacket with patches on, a full-length floral tea dress to go underneath it and a pair of boots that made my mother’s eyes water. I was fifteen and it was my first sense of self, my first expression of who I really was inside. I’ll never forget that feeling.’
I know that Sophie is trying desperately to think of something to say, but she can’t relate at all, can she? From what she has told me, as a child she was showered with ponies, violin lessons, speech and drama tuition, designer clothes. Her weekend entertainment was the opera whereas mine was going for a bag of chips with my friends. She knew exactly who she was and where she was going in life from the day she was born.
‘Charlotte, you’re one of the sweetest, funniest, most caring and talented people I know,’ she says to me gently. ‘You’re an out-of-this-world teacher, but most of all, you’re my best friend in the world, even more than Harry sometimes. I’m serious about that.’
Her gentle words make me lose my breath.
‘Really?’
‘Yes, really,’ she nods. ‘I’d be lost without you, Char, and the laughs and words of wisdom we share. You’re such a special person, so unique that even my mother likes you – and that’s more than what she feels for me!’
I manage to laugh at that one but itistrue. I’ve gone way up in Sophie’s dragon mother’s estimations since I walked out on Miss Jean Brady.
‘Maybe you don’t see it now, but you are so special, and being a teacher at Holy Trinity doesn’t define you – in fact I didn’t like to say it to you before, but you’re so much more than that place,’ she continues. ‘You’re deeper than the people associated with places like that, you’ve got more soul.’
‘Ah, thanks Soph. That’s nice to hear.’
‘Believe me,’ she continues. ‘I’ve known Jack Malone for a very long time now and he doesn’t suffer fools. He never did. Everyone who meets him salivates when he walks into a room and yet he only has eyes for you, Charlotte. You’ll get your mojo back, babe. Give your head a break and hopefully you’ll see the bright side again soon.’
Sophie is right but I wish it was easier to get my head out of this tangled mess I’m in. I know I need to switch off, or at least control the noise that’s battering me from inside, to calm the claws that are dragging me down, telling me I’m just a girl from Loughisland who doesn’t deserve to be here in Ardara with a handsome husband who I adore.
The words in my head whisper that I don’t deserve Jack Malone and the beautiful life we have together. A part of me still dreams of a life on the road making music like I could have with Tom, even though I know nothing now about him. All this confusion makes me worry that someday, very soon, I’ll mess all I have up in style and then I’ll lose Jack too.
‘I hope my mojo comes back to me soon,’ I whisper.
Sophie reaches across and takes my hand, swinging it slowly and closing her eyes. Maybe sheishaving a mid-life crisis? Maybe we both are. Can you have a mid-life crisis at the age of almost thirty-one?
‘You’re going to be fine,’ she tells me. ‘You’ve got a great team around you, everyone loves you. This is just a phase.’
‘Or a phrase, as my aunt Bridie calls it,’ I laugh lightly. ‘She always gets her words so terribly mixed up and it used to get on my nerves, but now it’s just funny. She once told my mam she had Matthew up on a peddle stool.’
Sophie laughs her head off. ‘A peddle stool!’ she repeats. ‘Oh I’d love to see her again, dear old aunt Bridie. She was such fun at your engagement party. You do make me laugh with your stories, Charlotte. Don’t ever lose that spark. I’d miss it terribly if you did.’
