Page 53 of Rewrite the Stars
I smile sincerely at that. Sophie and I are opposites in so many ways yet we just work together as friends. Maybe I am where I’m meant to be after all. Maybe I do deserve this beautiful life I’ve been given, even if I did pack in my job and throw my whole reputation up in the air.
‘Look, I don’t know if you’re even up for it, but on a totally different subject, I’ve got some tickets for September twenty-third to see that band we all seem to like in Dublin,’ Sophie tells me, her eyes brightening with excitement.
A band? That does get my interest actually. Maybe hearing some live music would shift me up a gear and perhaps help me get the courage to start writing again. I loved hearing live music in Galway with Martin and Matthew. It lit a spark in me, even if that spark went out again like a damp squib as soon as I got into bed when we’d left the pub.
‘Maybe it will be something to look forward to instead of the usual seafood restaurant or hanging out here when we get together next month?’ Sophie says. ‘What do you think? You don’t have to answer now, but have a think about it, talk to Jack.’
I let go of Sophie’s hand and tie my hair back up into a loose bun, already decided that whoever it is or wherever it is, I’m going, hands down.
‘Who’s the band?’ I ask her, and then the penny drops in my head as I realize exactly who the band is. My stomach does a somersault. Oh no.
I’d seen posters around the city, in fact I’d seen them everywhere, even in Galway when I was visiting Matthew.
‘You mean, Blind Generation?’ I squeak, not even recognizing my own voice when I speak. ‘Is that who you mean?’
‘Yes, that’s them,’ says Sophie, and then she goes off in another ramble as to how she still can’t remember their name no matter how many times she’s told it. ‘One of the girls at work says her husband has some sponsored tickets to give away and she asked if I fancied it. She’d heard me singing their song one day, bless. Anyhow, no big deal but I have them if you want to go. Ask Jack.’
‘I will,’ I mutter, feeling rushes of energy surge through me like I’ve haven’t felt in a long time. ‘Sophie, would you mind if I had a quick shower? We could go for lunch?’
She turns right round to face me.
‘Well, that perked you up no end!’ she says, with sheer delight on her face. ‘If I’d known the suggestion of going to see Blind Generation would shake you up, I’d have told you the minute I got here. You go do your thing, Char baby. I’ll have another coffee, this time without the cigarette. What on earth was I thinking, smoking? I actually feel a bit sick now.’
But I don’t hear a word she’s saying. I make my way to the bathroom and, as I stand under the hot streaming water, all I can think of is that I’ve just agreed to go and hear Tom Farley sing live, in actual person. What the hell am I thinking agreeing to such a mad notion? I’m going to see him in the flesh for the first time in three years. I’m bringing my husband. And I’m going with my best friend who has absolutely no idea that I even know him – or knew him, should I say – in the first place.
It’s just a night out, I tell myself. It’s just a concert. And Tom Farley is just someone I used to know. It’s not going to change anything. Is it?
Chapter Eighteen
Wicklow, September 2018
‘Are you sure you’re going to be OK while I’m away?’ Jack asks, as he packs his bags for his journey to Montreal. ‘Ten days feels like a long time to leave you on your own when you’re not yourself at all.’
I hand him an extra two folded shirts I’ve ironed for him and get a wave of panic at the thought of being here for so long alone, but there’s no way I’m going to let him see my true feelings. This research trip to Montreal has been in his diary since the beginning of the year, and I know how much he has been looking forward to it. His father did it, his grandfather did it, and now it’s Jack’s turn to take the baton and continue the fascinating neurological studies his family are known for.
‘I’ve a stack of books to read, two more jobs to apply for and, who knows, I might even take up painting while you’re away,’ I say to him. ‘All those days skulking round the art gallery in Ardara have piqued my interest and I could do with something creative to feed my withering brain. The lovely lady who works there, Mary, is very inspiring and keeps urging me to give it a go, plus I spent a fortune on materials the last time I was in.’
Jack sits down on the bed and pats the space beside him, so I join him and lean my head on his shoulder. There’s a knot in my stomach that won’t go away and it tightens every time I think of him leaving, not to mention the madness of going to the Blind Generation concert tonight. I could always back out, fake a sickie and no one would bat an eyelid considering my recent frame of mind, but part of me wants to get closure on whatever fears still exist within the depths of my head about Tom Farley and all he represents.
‘Or you could use the time to take up singing and writing songs again?’ Jack suggests. ‘I know you miss your music so badly, Charlotte, and I often wonder if it’s me who has held you back in some way from expressing that side of you.’
He looks deep into my eyes and his familiarity fills me up with such a glow of warmth and safety that makes me miss him already.
‘It’s definitely not you,’ I tell him, and I mean it. ‘You are everything that’s good in my world, Jack. The way you make me feel, the life we have together, this beautiful home we’ve made, and all we have to look forward to fills me up inside. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I just sometimes fear that you could do better than be with someone like me. I’m not sure what I have to offer you any more.’
Jack pushes my hair back off my face and shakes his head.
‘Oh Charlotte, don’t ever say that again, you eejit!’ he says, kissing me on the lips. ‘You are everything to me. You’re my whole world and I still adore you as much as I did when I first laid eyes on you. Everything about you is what I need, and what I want. I just fear there’s something stuck in you. You’re holding back. And I think it’s something to do with why you don’t play or write music any more.’
I swallow hard. There are many perks with being married to a very clever, very handsome doctor but there is always the fact that very little gets past him when it comes to matters of the heart and mind.
I so want to tell him how I feel responsible for Matthew’s accident by getting involved with Tom Farley, and how those feelings of guilt never seem to go away.
I want to tell him how I hope that by seeing Tom in real life tonight I can finally put his ghost to rest in my head. I want to tell him how Matthew and I were both madly in love with the same man who will sing tonight on that big arena stage, but I can’t. I just can’t. Jack is right. It’s stuck in me and I can’t get the words out.
‘Are you sure you’re OK to go tonight when you’ve such a big journey ahead of you tomorrow evening?’ I ask him. ‘We could come up with some excuse to Harry and Sophie. They’d understand.’
Jack stands up and stretches out his arms high into the air. He looks good enough to eat with his tanned, muscular torso, the runway of dark hairs on his belly that lead down to the top of his blue jeans that always turns me on. I often look at him in awe and wonder of how someone could be blessed with such a caring nature, brains to burn and looks of a movie star. It’s no wonder his patients often fall in love with him (thank God Matthew didn’t!) and we sometimes have a laugh about how he has to professionally resist the clutches of women of all ages when they become attached to him. He is my husband and he is an absolute gift. I wish I felt good enough within myself to stand beside him.
