Page 58 of Rewrite the Stars
Jack glances at me.
‘I didn’t make the link until he said it, either,’ I say to Jack, kicking myself for lying to my husband. I don’t want to talk about this now. Jack is leaving tomorrow to go to the other side of the world for ten whole days and I can’t bring this up before he goes. It’s all too complicated. I don’t want to hurt him, and I don’t want to hurt myself any more than I’m already feeling now.
‘It might be hard for Matthew to see his former drummer taste such fame when he missed out, I suppose,’ Jack says, totally oblivious to the bigger picture. ‘It’s so sad to think it could have been him up there, but instead he’s playing pub gigs in Galway.’
I look out the window onto the darkness of the road that flashes past us.
‘Maybe that’s why he hasn’t mentioned it,’ I mutter, trying my best to think of something else I can say to change the subject.
We zoom on down the road home and I even pretend to be asleep for part of the journey, but all the time my head is scrambled as feelings I don’t want to acknowledge race through my mind. I want to tell Jack and just come clean but I’ve left it too long now. I’ve lied to him and I hate myself for it. I really wish we hadn’t gone to the concert tonight. One day I’ll learn to listen to my gut. One day I won’t be so reckless. I really feel I was playing with fire tonight, and I got close to being burned.
I lie in bed as September rain pitter-patters on the window pane of our cottage and turn around on my pillow, reaching out to touch Jack. But my hand just meets empty sheets.
I open my eyes, wondering what day it is, and my stomach drops as the memories of the night before come flooding back. The concert, the noise, the screams of the crowd, the look on Jack’s face when Tom said he was in Matthew’s band, the sick feeling in my stomach as I watched him perform, the song … oh my God, the song. And now the web of lies I’ve created.
‘Jack?’ I call out, untangling myself from the sheets. I get up and put on my dressing gown, then make my way out to the top of the stairs where I can hear music coming from downstairs and the smell of frying bacon wafting up the stairs. Jack is listening to and singing along to The Police. Sting is singing one of my favourites, ‘Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic’, and Jack knows every word, which makes me smile. He sang that to me on one of our early dates. I feel like I’ve woken up to a second chance, so glad that all my secret past with Tom Farley wasn’t revealed last night. I hope that it’s over. That it’s never mentioned again, though I know that the next time we see Matthew, Jack will mention it innocently, not knowing the history and the mess attached to his name. And then Matthew will lecture me even more about how I need to get over Tom Farley and be honest with myself, once and for all.
I make my way down to the kitchen where I’m surprised to see Sophie at our table, dressed for work in her grey pinstripe suit and red lipstick. She looks tired, as if she’d rather be in bed than en route to nearby Arklow for a meeting. I remember she told me about going there last night.
‘I desperately needed a coffee so thought I’d swing by,’ she says in apology as if she’s interrupting us. ‘Sorry if I disturbed your morning.’
‘No, you’re not a bit sorry,’ laughs Jack. ‘You knew well I’d be cooking breakfast while Princess Charlotte sleeps and your belly was rumbling at the thought.’
I hold up my cheek as Jack kisses me good morning and pull out a chair at the table across from Sophie.
‘You have him well trained,’ says Sophie. ‘Never in my wildest dreams did I ever think I’d see Jack Malone being so attentive in the kitchen. He couldn’t boil an egg when we were at college, and that’s no exaggeration.’
I rub my eyes and yawn. ‘He is spoiled as well,’ I tell Sophie. ‘He gets breakfast in bed most Sundays, don’t you, honey?’
Jack is too busy singing along to one of our favourite songs to notice.
‘You tired too, Char? I’m bloody exhausted,’ says Sophie. ‘I don’t know what I was thinking, planning a meeting this morning after rocking my socks off till so late last night.’
‘Try flying to Canada like I have to,’ says Jack, flipping bacon in the pan. So he is listening then. ‘I’ve approximately three hours left here before I go to the airport and I still need to grab some stuff from the cleaners.’
‘I’ll do that,’ I say to him. ‘At least I’ll feel useful for something.’
Sophie tilts her head briefly in sympathy for my sense of unworthiness while they both busy around after their careers, but before I can indulge any further, she lights up when she recollects the buzz from last night’s gig. Ah, here we go …
‘Before you go any further, missy, can you please explain what that sex god singer was talking about last night on stage about being in the same band as your brother!’ she exclaims. ‘How could you have missed that? Do you actually know him?’
Shit. A direct question. Do Iknowhim?
‘Of course … well, I knew him at the time,’ I say, feeling my heart skip. A hot flush creeps over me. ‘He was their drummer for a while. They didn’t last long really, just less than two years, so I didn’t get to know him very well, but yes, I probably did meet him a few times.’
Sophie spreads out her hands in disbelief and bewilderment.
‘So, you’re telling me that if you’d wanted to, you could have got back-stage passes for us all last night?’ she asks like a teenage girl with a crush on a boy band. ‘Ah man, I’d love to have met them! Next time, you need to be on the ball, Char. That’s quite a claim to fame!’
I wish she would stop.
‘So, would he still remember you?’ she asks. ‘Gosh, I wonder who the girl in Dublin was who broke his heart. I bet she’s kicking herself now.’
I squint at her briefly and glance up at Jack but she doesn’t get my hint to shut up.
‘I heard someone behind us say exactly the same thing last night,’ says Jack as he serves up our breakfast. I pour some orange juice into each of our three glasses. My hand is shaking. I heard it too, of course. ‘He did say she’s married though, didn’t he? And he’s on the same path himself. I suppose life does move on. Nice of him to acknowledge her.’
Sophie tuts in disagreement.
