Читать книгу Rewrite the Stars - Emma Heatherington, Emma Heatherington - Страница 11

The box-sized bedroom I wake up in the next morning is so tiny that I can reach out and touch the wall from anywhere in the single bed. Navy curtains hang loosely on a long narrow window as condensation drips down on the inside, and a radiator below is lined with multi-coloured socks and white boxers that sit in a zig-zag row. I can smell burnt toast and hear muffled voices downstairs.

Where the hell am I?

I peep under the covers, afraid of what I might see, but I know by the heat in my body that I must be fully clothed. I’m wearing a Ramones T-shirt that is definitely not mine, a pair of old-school tracksuit bottoms and a pair of mismatched fluffy men’s bed socks, which explains why I’m so cosy and toasty. I check the time on my phone. It’s just gone ten in the morning. Gosh, I slept like a baby.

‘Knock, knock. Can I come in?’

Tom pops his head round the door, enters the room and sits on the edge of the single bed as I run my hands through my hair, trying to recollect coming in here in the first place last night. Everything about this room, everything about him, is so new yet so familiar.

‘Tom?’ I say.

‘Still me, Charlie,’ he replies. ‘You sleep OK? Were you warm enough?’

I go to speak but I can’t. He keeps calling me Charlie even though I’ve warned him it could get him a slap on the wrists if he ever meets my parents again.

‘Where the hell are we?’ I ask. He laughs a little, and then leans over beside me. I can smell his aftershave. It’s very … oh God, he looks even better in daylight.

‘You told me last night you’d wake up and ask me that,’ he says, resting his hand on top of mine. I want to move it, but I can’t. ‘Don’t look so scared, babe. We had fun, but nothing more happened. Well, lots of good stuff happened actually, now that I think of it.’

I take a moment and have a good long look at him, feeling myself relax a little now as the night before unfolds in my hazy hungover memory.

‘I remember,’ I whisper and close my eyes, recalling now his muscular strong arms and the musky smell of his soft skin, almost feeling again now the way he touched me so tenderly.

‘I practically carried you to bed here in my deluxe spare room,’ he says and we both burst out laughing. ‘I carried you right over the threshold and even gave you some clothes to sleep in. So much for a hot-blooded night of making up for lost time. You were very tired.’

I can’t help but giggle at the thought of it all.

‘So much for it all being meant to be,’ I say, covering my mouth with my hand. ‘Sorry to disappoint you but once a convent girl, always a convent girl.’

He lifts a pillow and pretends to fight me, and we wrestle until we fall into a kiss that brings me right back to the night before. I inhale every part of the moment, delighted for once in my life that I was too pissed to turn this into a shitty one-night stand, especially not with someone I’ve dreamed about for so long. All things considered, I’m very, very proud of myself. Sober me may not have been so resilient, but I’ll never admit that to him, of course. Plus, he’s an excellent kisser – his lips are warm, soft, gentle but firm in all the right places at all the right times.

‘Well I guess some things are worth waiting for,’ says Tom, fixing my hair round my shoulders when his lips part from mine. ‘You have been worth waiting for. I still can’t believe you’re here with me now.’

‘Me neither,’ I whisper. We didn’t end up under the covers together, but we had a very good night. A very, very good night.

‘Brunch?’ I say, remembering now how we had made plans.

He nods. ‘We’re a bit snowed in for now though and could be for a while,’ he says, his green eyes twinkling again just like they did last night. He reaches across and peeps out the curtains to prove it.

‘It’s coming down heavy,’ I say to him. ‘So, what do we do now?’

‘Well, it’s not every day you bump into the girl of your dreams in a dead-end pub in the backstreets of Dublin five years later, so why don’t we start the day off slowly with a really fancy instant coffee, some toast and just enjoy each other’s company?’

I smile in agreement, recalling how he played guitar last night while I danced in my bare feet drinking wine in the poky living room and singing into empty beer bottles. I sent my sister Emily and friend Kirsty a text at the time to say I was OK and told them I’d met Tom actual Farley and had gone to a ‘party’. I begged them not to tell Matthew but neither of them replied, meaning they were probably too busy having fun themselves to care. Now I’ve got missed calls, which means Emily is probably panicking. I’d better call her, but not just yet …

‘So you don’t want to ever perform your own songs, then, just write them?’ Tom asks me as we lie there on the bed, still chatting over an hour later, too warm now with the duvet draped around our legs. Two empty cups and a plate full of crumbs sit beside us on the floor. I don’t think I’ve ever enjoyed tea and toast as much in my whole life. We’re a bit squashed but it’s cosy and I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else right now.

‘I like the writing part better,’ I say to him, resting my arm over his hip. ‘Maybe I’m too shy and like to hide behind all the words and music, even though to some that might be hard to believe. You see, someone once planted a crazy dream in my head that I could actually be a proper songwriter one day.’

He is still standing by his claim and spent most of last night telling me so.

‘It’s not a crazy dream,’ he whispers to me. ‘I totally believe in you. I really think you should ditch the teaching and go on the road with your songs.’

He has no idea how much he is tempting me to do just that, but I know he is telling the truth when he says he believes in me. I knew it the first day we met that no one will ever ‘get me’ the way Tom Farley does. It’s like he can look into my soul and push me to live my life in the way that I should.

‘So what are your plans now, Tom? Please tell me you’re still going to follow your own dreams to make it big in music?’

He stares up at the wall behind me as if for inspiration. I stare at his face.

‘Ah, I dunno, Charlie. I’m a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants guy when it comes to it,’ he says, then turns towards me again, leaning on his elbow on top of his half of the pillow. ‘I used to think I was going to be a real-life rock star, and I’d some really good opportunities that got me close, but I bailed out. I messed it up, so now I like to just go with the flow and see where it takes me. Right now, I’m bluffing around in some real estate but it’s not for me at all.’

‘Real estate?’ I say, laughing at the contrast of it all. ‘I can’t imagine you in a shirt and tie showing people round fancy houses.’

He sits up straight and puts on his best poker face, then laughs in return.

‘You know, it pays the bills for now, so I count myself lucky, I suppose.’

So, he messed it up. I’ve a feeling my brother could tell me exactly how if he wanted to, but he never did.

‘Tell me more about you, Charlie girl.’

He pushes my hair back and his eyes dart around my face. He has such a handsome face.

I shake my head. ‘You really aren’t going to drop that name, are you?’

He looks so blasé. ‘Why should I? It suits you. Charlotte is too posh.’

I raise an eyebrow. ‘And you think I’m not posh?’

‘Are you posh?’ he laughs.

‘No way,’ I say to him. ‘But posh girls can be fun too, you know.’

He puts his arm around my waist and pulls me closer into the heat of his body. ‘I’ve a feeling we’re going to have a lot of fun, Charlie,’ he says with a wink, pulling the duvet up over us again. ‘So, go on. Tell me more about what you’ve been up to since I first fell for you and life got in the way.’

I take a deep breath. He fell for me? Although I’d always hoped he had, I never thought I’d hear it directly from him.

‘Well, I’m a big twenty-seven years old now,’ I say, getting the formalities out of the way. ‘I’ve been a brunette and a redhead since I saw you last and even a shade of purple but I got rid of that quickly. And then back to blonde.’

Now he raises an eyebrow. ‘I’d never have guessed, my little chameleon.’

I suppose that’s one way of describing my eclectic taste in fashion. My father would describe it in a totally different way, telling me some days I’m like a walking charity shop or a love child between Russell Brand and Mrs Merton.

‘As well as teaching in a lovely primary school where the kids are ace, I’ve been working the very odd shift when I can get it in Music City, a singer-songwriter-type cabaret club for about a year now, so I do sing stuff other than nursery rhymes when I get the chance,’ I tell him.

‘You’ve done really well for yourself so far,’ he says. ‘Is it a permanent post at the school?’

I nod and can’t help but smile with pride.

‘It’s just been confirmed. They want to keep me,’ I tell him, and he holds up a hand for a high five. Everyone knows it’s almost impossible to find a full-time permanent teaching post in Dublin, so it is something I’m very, very proud of. ‘But before I became Miss Taylor, teacher of dreams, I’d some adventures in Australia which was fun. My sister met her husband there – while I met a lot of real-life snakes, you could say. I think that’s about it.’

He looks impressed that I’ve travelled a bit, but what he doesn’t know is that he, or at least the idea of him, came with me every step of the way.

‘And Matthew?’ he asks, unable to look me in the eye when he mentions my brother’s name. ‘What’s he up to these days?’

My stomach flips. I suppose we should just get this part over and done with.

‘He’s living back at home with my parents,’ I tell him, feeling my brow break into a frown at the thought of what has become of Matthew. ‘They’re looking after him as well as they can, but it’s been hard on everyone. It’s been so hard on us all watching him lose interest in everything he worked so hard for.’

Tom lets out a deep sigh that sounds a lot like regret.

‘I’m so sorry to hear that,’ he says.

It’s not Tom’s fault. It’s no one’s fault that this darkness has got such a grasp of my once so flamboyant big brother who was always bursting with life and energy, convinced that the sky was the limit when it came to chasing his dreams.

‘He’s got a job in the little corner shop, which takes his mind off his troubles a little,’ I continue. ‘Not exactly the architect or big star he dreamed of becoming, but it gives him a purpose and that’s what we all need, isn’t it? We need something to get out of bed for in the morning.’

I draw imaginary circles on his arm as I speak.

‘Are your parents still living further up north?’ Tom’s face reflects mine as he looks back at me with such a sense of pity. I remember hearing how he visited my home once with Matthew, and of how my mother had rolled out the red carpet as if it was The Beatles coming to visit.

Their band, Déjà Vu, had been offered a record deal at the time with a small label in Belfast and had popped by to see our folks en route to a meeting, which to Mam and Dad was like winning the lottery.

‘Yes, they’re still up in the little village we grew up in, which suits him, away from the city and all his reasons for giving up on everything,’ I tell Tom. Whatever happened between you guys, it shook him. I don’t think he ever got over it.’

Tom wears a deep frown and pinches his eyes.

‘How much do you know, Charlie?’ he asks me. ‘What did Tom tell you about why we all broke up?

They’d been going so well. Marketing plans were being discussed, recording studios lined up, even a fairly decent local tour all backed up by a label who believed in them and were just about to sign them up, but suddenly it was all over. It all went pear-shaped so quickly.

I lean up on one elbow now, mirroring him and take his hand from his face, holding it for reassurance.

‘He told us nothing more than the band broke up and it broke his heart,’ I say to Tom. ‘He wouldn’t say why, but I’m sure it wasn’t anyone’s fault in particular, was it?’

I say I’m sure, but then what would I know? Tom, on the other hand, doesn’t look so sure.

‘He just told me that bands break up, people break up. It happens,’ I continue. ‘He never wanted to tell me anything more than that, so I respected that. He’d put so much time and energy into the band and the break-up just rocked his whole world.’

Tom looks like he wants to say so much more but I put my finger on his lips.

‘Listen, Tom. My brother, as much as I adore him,’ I say, ‘can be very stubborn when he doesn’t get his own way, so you don’t need to tell me any more if you don’t want to. In fact, can we please talk about anything other than Matthew, just for now? We’ve had such a wonderful time. Let’s not ruin it.’

Tom looks relieved. We’ve had so much fun since we met up last night, laughing, singing and catching up. I really don’t want to dampen the mood.

‘OK,’ he sighs. ‘But I really hope that he finds his way again, Charlie, I really do. He’s one hell of a singer and a seriously good guy. He deserves so much more than how we all left things. He really did have big plans but it all just—’

‘Come on now, your turn,’ I interrupt him deliberately. There are tears in his eyes, which frighten me a little, but I don’t want to face up to this or question why just now. ‘You have to tell me more about you, something that doesn’t have anything to do with Matthew and Déjà Vu. How did a talented, gorgeous American boy like you end up in Ireland? I’m intrigued.’

He welcomes such a straightforward question, a timely diversion from the heavy cloud of memories that just triggered such emotion. Matthew’s depression has rocked our family, shaking us to the very core, and I’m not ready to confront Tom any more on the subject, not yet anyhow.

‘My mum is Irish, from Dublin originally,’ he says, tracing his finger along my cheek. ‘My dad is American but his people are English, hence the name Farley, so I’m a bit of a mixture.’

He takes a deep breath.

‘I grew up in Ohio, we moved here when I was seventeen and soon after that my dad disappeared with my mum’s cousin, so she went back Stateside and I just stayed here.’ He glances away and takes a deep breath. ‘The last I heard from my dad, he’d married the other woman and moved to London, so I’ve been drifting ever since, I guess.’

‘Ouch.’

‘Exactly,’ he says, looking away for a bit. ‘Shit happens, though, doesn’t it? As Matthew says, people break up, things change. We have to learn to move on and keep going, don’t we?’

The sadness in his eyes is back.

‘The band was probably the best thing that ever happened to me.’

The band. Matthew. We’re never going to get past this one, are we?

‘You could form your own band? Make a go of it again?’

I’m excited at my suggestion but Tom just laughs.

‘Nah,’ he says, shaking his head. ‘I tried but it will never be the same. That ship has sailed, and I’ve tried but failed, I’m afraid. I’ve also been in and out of jobs, everything from driving cabs in Belfast to selling my soul as a singing stripper for hen parties.’

‘No!’

He throws his head back in laughter now.

‘I thought you’d like that one,’ he says. ‘I’m joking! But I’ve nothing as fancy on my CV as having a degree and being as focused as you are.’

He keeps laughing at the look of shock on my face. I’m trying to be cool at the thought of him stripping for horny young women, even if it was a joke.

‘I get by playing the odd pub gig in a covers band,’ he says. ‘I have a day job and I share a flat here with a Russian guy called Peter who just left to drive to work in the snow, saying it was no big deal even though the whole country is virtually in shutdown. Pete’s really cool.’

My heartbeat has settled after the stripper revelation, and I want to know so much more, but most of all I want to hug this lonely boy who has been so lost for far too long. I imagine him as a teenager, abandoned by both his parents who couldn’t put him above their own needs.

‘You hungry?’ I ask him when I think I just heard his tummy rumble.

‘I’m starving,’ he says in relief, his eyes brightening at the thought of food. ‘That toast was good but I’m a growing boy, plus we still have our date today so don’t stand me up, Charlie Taylor.’

‘As if I would,’ I say, looking forward to it more than anything. ‘But I’ll need to go home first and get changed, which means braving the snow.’

He shakes his head, climbs off the bed and goes to a chest of drawers, which is the only other thing in the room apart from a battered guitar. He hands me a pair of pale blue jeans and a black Guns N’ Roses sweatshirt.

‘Cinderella, you shall go to the ball,’ he says with a heart-melting smile. ‘We won’t be going too far so don’t worry about being too glamorous. There’s a great wee pub that does bar food just a few miles away. It’s got sea views, an open fire and there’s always someone in the corner playing a tune so this will be just perfect.’

I lift the sweater.

‘The Ramones and Guns N’ Roses all in one day!’ I say to him in mock horror. ‘Whatever happened to me being a country girl at heart?’

He walks towards me and takes both of my hands.

‘Come on, let your hair down, country girl,’ he says, kissing me on the forehead. ‘It’s a brand-new day and life is for living, plus I think it will look pretty cool with your blue cowboy boots.’

I look at the offering and my heart skips a beat. My brother has the same sweatshirt. Stay present, be happy, I tell myself. Matthew would want me to be happy.

I’ve a feeling he would also have a lynch mob out for me now if he knew who I was with.

‘By the way, just so you know, I never, ever do this type of thing, ever,’ I say to Tom as I pull the sweatshirt over my head to try it on for size. The jeans fit well enough with the help of a belt tied really tight and, although this all feels a lot out of my comfort zone, it does make me feel a bit sexy knowing Tom wears these on his beautiful body.

‘You told me last night you’d say that,’ he says to me, handing me a towel now. ‘Shower is to the left.’

I take a deep breath and make my way out of the bedroom, feeling his eyes on me every step of the way.

It’s a snowy winter’s day in December, it’s the Christmas holidays, so I may as well have some fun with my rock star from Ohio who I’ve dreamed of for so long. I’ve waited forever for this moment and no one, not even my brother, is going to ruin it for me.