REWRITE THE STARS
Emma Heatherington

Copyright

Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2019

Copyright © Emma Heatherington 2019

Emma Heatherington asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780008355630

Ebook Edition © 2019 ISBN: 9780008355647

Version: 2019-07-23

Dedication

For my wonderful children who are the bravest and the best

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Author’s Note

Epigraph

i

ii

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

About the Author

Also by Emma Heatherington

About the Publisher

Author’s Note

A key theme of Rewrite the Stars is Charlotte’s love of music and her desire to fulfil her passion of song-writing. I’m a huge music fan and my very first writing efforts were in the shape of some very cheesy pop songs written on my synthesizer when I was about 12. What do you mean you’ve never heard of my big hits ‘Mystery Man’ and ‘The Boy Next Door’??!!!!!

When I was writing this book, the idea came up that there could be an actual song featured that readers could listen to afterwards – I’m being careful not to give anything away in the form of spoilers, but thanks to Claire Fenby, Emily Yolland and Iona Teixeira Stevens for the enthusiastic chat about this when Jade and I were over at HarperCollins in London. The seed was sown and as much as I love writing lyrics myself, I thought the book deserved something a bit more polished!

So, I began scouting around for existing songs that would suit the story, but then something even better happened … an amazing song was written especially for the book by one of my favourite songwriters, Gareth Dunlop, whose compositions have featured in films including Nicholas Sparks’ The Best of Me and Safe Haven, as well as (drumroll) … ABC’s hit series Nashville! I am still pinching myself. The book has its very own song!

I’m absolutely thrilled to bits that Gareth took the time to write and record the song ‘You’ which features in such a poignant scene in Rewrite the Stars. It really is a beautiful, mesmerising and moving song, and even better than I could ever have dreamed of.

A huge thanks to Dianna Maher of Moraine Music Group, Nashville for helping to make this happen – Dianna, you might notice a very subtle thank you in the form of a character being named after you in the story! Most of all, thanks to Gareth for suggesting a brand-new song instead of using something already out there, for following my brief and for coming up with something so wonderful. I’m so honoured to have your beautiful lyrics, melody and voice attached to my work.

And on that note, I urge you all to go and find the song ‘You’ by Gareth Dunlop via his website (www.garethdunlop.com), then close your eyes, think of your special someone, kick back and give your heart a treat!

Emma x

Epigraph

Be yourself; everyone else is already taken.

Oscar Wilde

i
Dublin, December 2010

I was twenty-two years and nine months old when I first fell in love with Tom Farley.

Elbow-deep in a sink full of suds in our student kitchen, I watched him come in through the back door with my brother Matthew, steal my heart on his way past with his old-school, movie-star-type swagger and I knew my life was never going to be the same again.

My mother used to joke about how I was born cynical, and I was definitely way too sceptical to believe in love at first sight, but this person’s very presence hit me like a bolt of lightning.

He turned my head like no other man had done before, and like none would ever do again.

Tom Farley, with his mega-watt smile, tousled brown hair, dark stubble on a chiselled jawline, the cheekiest dimples you ever did see and bold, devilish eyes of turquoise green, made me weak at the knees. Maybe the attraction was in knowing he was musical, like me. Maybe it was his rugged, ruffled, rough-round-the-edges good looks, or maybe love at first sight did exist and I was now living proof and the latest victim of the old cliché.

Whatever it was, I found myself instantly hooked.

‘What on earth are you wearing?’ my brother Matthew snorted, clearly showing off in front of his new friend. Matthew didn’t have much room to talk when it came to fashion. He was sporting a pair of lilac spray-on jeans with a hideous see-through lemon linen shirt that clashed with his cranberry-coloured hair. Between the two of us, we certainly looked like the circus had come to town.

I glared out the window onto a red brick wall that divided our terraced house from an identical row behind us, turned down James Blunt who was aptly singing his number one hit ‘You’re Beautiful’ and desperately thought of something smart to say in return, but my head was too busy spinning with unadulterated lust.

I was speechless.

My glow-in-the-dark Disney-themed pyjamas with Doctor Marten boots at three in the afternoon was all a bit of an eyesore, but I was a student, on my day off, and how the hell was I to know that the man of my ultimate dreams would pass me by in a whiff of leather and tobacco when I was dressed like a clown?

Yes, Tom Farley, with his air of beauty and superstardom, had just rocked my world and I couldn’t wait to see what happened next, so I ignored my fashion crisis, took a deep breath and dried my hands quickly to go and take a closer look at him.

‘Stick the kettle on, will you Charlie?’ said Matthew when I reached the tiny sitting room where it looked like they were about to set up office. He called me Charlie, which meant he was really showing off now. No one ever called me Charlie. No one was ever allowed to call me Charlie.

I gulped and tried to compose myself in front of this absolute hunk of burning love who was now looking at me just as eagerly as I was at him. Late twenties, I guessed, no wedding ring which was a good start and, despite his bourbon rock-star looks, he had an air of shyness mixed with an inner confidence that made him all the more attractive. I could feel his eyes burn through me, so I looked around the room instead of directly at him to try to keep my cool.

‘Well, I would stick the kettle on, but I was just about to go—’

‘Where?’

Nowhere was the answer. I was about to go nowhere but there was no way I was going to be treated as the tea lady in this whole operation without a proper introduction.

A heap of vinyl with names I’d never heard of was stacked in the middle of the brown carpet, the room stank of stale, spilt beer and weed, while a cactus plant we’d named Jarvis Cocker (because it had prickles) looked as gloomy as the winter weather outside, but Tom Farley brightened up everything in my dull-as-dishwater world. Who was he? Why was he here? My brother was in the process of forming some sort of new age rock band, so I gathered they were here to talk business.

‘I’m OK for tea, thank you … Aren’t you going to introduce us, Matt?’ asked the dreamboat on the sofa and my mouth dropped open when I heard his voice for the first time.

He had the most delicious, gravelly, deep American-Irish accent, which sounded so deeply mysterious in comparison to my own plain old Irish twang. This man, this absolutely gorgeous being, was becoming more appealing by the second.

‘Oh, sorry, this is Tom Farley, our drummer in Déjà Vu,’ said Matthew, finally remembering his manners. ‘He’s probably the best drummer in Dublin.’

Probably the best-looking drummer in Dublin, I’d have added to that sentence, not that I knew many drummers in Dublin or anywhere else for that matter.

Tom held up his hands in a display of modesty.

‘Tom, this is my sister, Charlotte. The bossy baby of the house I was telling you about,’ said Matthew.

I nodded a hello, not knowing whether to thump my brother for calling me bossy, even though it was him telling me to ‘stick the kettle on’, or to hug him for bringing this piece of heaven into my life. Then I stuttered out a proper hello and giggled in a girly way that made me want to thump myself.

‘Nice boots,’ said Tom the drummer, looking me up and down. ‘Snap.’

He pulled up his faded blue jeans ever so slightly to show off identical cherry-coloured Doc Martens and my heart sang. It was destiny. It had to be. He ran his fingers through his tousled hair. I may have swooned out loud. I clenched my own empty fingers, wishing they could touch his hair, too.

‘We’re holding a meeting here shortly,’ said Matthew, clearing his throat. ‘You know, about the new band?’

‘Ah, that’s right,’ I said as if I’d forgotten. As if I could forget. Matthew had talked about nothing else except ‘the new band’ for months now and had been scouring every avenue for the right talent to join him. ‘Is there anything I can do to help, apart from make tea?’

Matthew looked at me wide-eyed.

‘Er, no.’

I knew this was code for ‘Piss away off, sister, or just get the drinks in’, but I wasn’t taking the hint.

‘You know, I always wanted to play the drums, ever since I saw the gorilla in the chocolate ad banging out the beats to that Phil Collins song,’ I sighed, leaning on the doorframe. I even pouted a little. Boy, I hadn’t flirted like this since forever.

Tom laughed, in an endearing way.

‘And Larry Mullen Junior from U2, of course,’ I added, trying to redeem myself. ‘He’s a really good, um, drummer too.’

Matthew was gritting his teeth. ‘I didn’t know you wanted to play the drums, Charlotte,’ he replied swiftly. He seriously looked like he was going to throw something at me now.

‘I do,’ I lied, knowing I was really pushing the boundaries at this stage. ‘Do you teach drumming, Tom?’

Tom was still staring back at me, smiling, his chest moving up and down, and I knew for sure now, as much as my brother was about to kill me for my blatant flirting, that Tom liked me as much as I liked him. He slid out of his heavy jacket and I gulped at the sight of his tanned, toned arms under a khaki green T-shirt, his gaze never leaving mine with a smile that made my stomach do a backflip.

‘I could certainly try to, er, teach you,’ he said, and his voice cracked a little when he spoke. ‘So, you’re the budding songwriter then? Matthew was telling me that you—’

I was just preparing my response when we were both ever so rudely interrupted.

‘I was telling you she writes country songs about men in Stetsons who drink too much beer and break too many hearts,’ said Matthew, clearly put out by the chemistry in the air. ‘She’s not a real—’

‘No, I’m not a real songwriter,’ I said, finishing my brother’s sentence for him. I was evidently embarrassing him with my very presence, so he was doing exactly the same in return as Tom shifted in his seat, watching us battle it out in front of him. We would row about this later.

‘Well, I’d love to hear your songs one day,’ said Tom, much to my delight and surprise. He leaned forward, resting his drummer-boy arms on his knees. The top of his T-shirt gaped open ever so slightly, allowing me to glimpse a light sprinkling of very manly chest hair, just enough to make me want to reach out and touch him. I may have swooned out loud. Again.

‘You really wouldn’t want to hear them,’ said Matthew. He sniggered a bit. I so wanted to swing for him, briefly recalling a time we took lumps out of each other as we fought over who was the funniest character in Friends or when we wrestled over the last mango in the supermarket, much to our mother’s humiliation.

‘I really would,’ said Tom. ‘I think we all need to be educated on how to drink more beer and break more hearts. Maybe you could teach me something too, er, Charlie?’

He quickly sat up and drummed on his knees a bit, reflecting my irregular, pumping heartbeat, and all of a sudden I felt a bit sweaty in my Disney pyjamas that had seen better days. I tucked a strand of hair behind my ears, wishing I was looking more presentable, but I was smitten, and so it seemed, despite my somewhat unique appearance, was Tom Farley.

And he called me Charlie.

We stood there in momentary silence, breathing in and out, not having to say a word as the universe weaved its magic around us.

‘Why don’t you go get your guitar, Charlotte?’ Matthew suggested seconds later, with a cheeky grin on his face while emphasising my proper title. It was obviously OK for him to shorten my name, but not for anyone else, especially if it was meant in an endearing way. ‘Go on. Give us one of your country songs. No time like the present, is there?’

I took a long, deep breath through my nose then pursed my lips to consider the challenge. He was really trying to get rid of me now.

‘But I thought you were having a meeting?’ I said. ‘You know, about the band?’

‘We can wait,’ said Matthew. He had just scored a goal and he knew it. ‘You have time for a song, don’t you, Tom?’

Tom beamed that glowing smile at me again.

‘Of course I do,’ said Tom, not knowing if he was giving the right answer. ‘The others are running late so if you don’t mind, Charlie, I’d love to hear some of your work.’

My brother’s grin echoed his now, only Matthew’s was much wider and full of sarcasm as opposed to Tom’s smile of anticipation. He was really going for gold in the embarrassment stakes.

I weighed up my options for as long as I could get away with. I couldn’t do it. No way was I going to let myself down in front of my brother’s hot new band member by singing my cheesy lyrics of how I’d loved and lost (or thought I had) in my wonder years. I’d only written a handful of stuff and most of it was for my ears only. But then out of the blue something struck me. Something told me that I’d an opportunity to either make a fool out of myself or, on the other hand, to really impress this delight in front of me. Something told me to go for it that day, that in fact I’d nothing to lose, and I think that ‘something’ was the energy between me and Tom Farley. I had a feeling, despite my brother’s indifference, that Tom was going to like my humble efforts, even if my writing was in a genre that turned my brother’s stomach.

‘OK, I’ll do it,’ I said, surprising even myself. ‘I’ll sing you a song.’

‘What?’ Matthew burst out laughing and looked at Tom, but he wasn’t laughing at all. He was beaming in my direction, convincing me more that the sudden confidence within me was indeed coming from him. He was giving me strength to take a chance on this, to bare my soul and risk it that he might just like my music.

‘You go for it, girl,’ said Tom. His full lips looked so inviting. I could see his Adam’s apple move as he swallowed hard in my direction. ‘That’s just what I love to see – some good old pride and determination. I’m all ears and ready when you are.’

I stood up straight, and instead of scarpering off like a scared mouse as my brother hoped I would, I put my hand on my hip, took a deep breath and decided to go ahead and call Matthew’s bluff.

‘No problem at all,’ I said to them both. ‘You can get the drinks in, Matthew, while I go and get sorted. Give me a few minutes and I’ll be right back with a country song that will break both your little hearts.’

Tom Farley winked at me again and nodded his head in approval.

It was official. I was prime time in love.

ii

Twenty minutes later, now wearing my favourite retro flared pale blue jeans, a crisp, clean grey vest top and with my long, bleached curly hair hanging down round my shoulders, I strummed the last chord on my guitar.

The song I’d carefully chosen to sing for him was called ‘By Myself’ (a song I’d written about the very first break-up I’d experienced but he didn’t need to know that) and I’d picked it out from my humble collection knowing the deep rhythm and sultry lyrics would be just enough to get his attention.

As the final pluck of the guitar strings echoed around us in the little room, I waited for his reaction. I looked up slowly, half closed my eyes and, when I opened them, I realized my hands were shaking.

‘I can’t believe I remembered the words,’ I said, a string of apologies going through my head for making his ears bleed, but I was worrying in vain because when I looked in his direction, he didn’t look disappointed or bored at all. He was, in fact, wide-eyed in awe, shaking his head, looking at my face, then at my hands, then at my mouth, and back to my eyes.

‘Wow,’ he said eventually, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and then he applauded slowly. ‘I mean wow! I’m literally drooling here! That, young lady, was bloody awesome!’

We laughed in relief – at exactly the same time. And then we stopped laughing in disbelief – at exactly the same time. Matthew was not laughing.

‘Matthew Taylor, what the hell!’ said Tom. ‘Your little sister has absolute, magic in her words and melodies! Seriously!’

I smirked at Matthew, feeling his pain and discomfort at the tangible harmony and the intense meeting of minds that had beautifully backfired on him.

‘Well, I’m – I’m glad you think so,’ stuttered Matthew. ‘But you should try living with her. She’s—’

‘She’s incredible,’ Tom said, and I fleetingly felt sorry for Matthew who was so removed from this moment between us. ‘Matt, you told me she could sing but you didn’t tell me we’d the next Stevie Nicks on our hands! She even looks like her, too. And as for those lyrics! Did you write that, Charlie? Really?’

He called me Charlie again.

‘Yes, I wrote it. All of me, all by myself,’ I said to him, quoting my very own lyrics. I sat up straight and put down my guitar then flicked back my hair. It’s wonderful how a quick wash, a lick of mascara, a spray of perfume and a change of clothing can help up your game, plus I was feeding off his hunger and energy. ‘Oh, and Stevie Nicks? I’ll take that. Thank you, Tom.’

I should say that I absolutely loved that he called me Charlie and that I loved saying his name too. Tom. It was manly enough to make me flutter inside and if I was Stevie Nicks to him, to me he was a scruffy, unkempt young Bradley Cooper. Those eyes could stop the world.

Later I would look up the name Tom online to see what it meant and find out that it translated as ‘twin’, which wasn’t as romantic as I hoped it might be, but then I decided that he was my soul twin. Yes, I liked that. We were kindred spirits, meant to be.

‘I’d really like to hear more of your work,’ Tom said, still shaking his head in awe. ‘Please tell me there’s more where that came from?’

I gasped at his approval. No one had ever said that to me before. No one had ever really listened to my songs, not even my mother who, despite being quite cool in so many ways, was totally convinced that for me music was a hobby for behind closed doors and not something I would ever pursue in the real world. With a super-talented big brother like Matthew and a perfectly turned-out sister like Emily, I was never quite sure what to do to get my parents’ attention, and any efforts I made didn’t always turn out in my favour, you might say.

‘You sure you want to hear more?’ I asked Tom.

I was shaking inside but doing my best to look cool and confident on the outside.

‘For sure I’m sure!’ he said, standing up from the sofa. ‘Look, you need to get those songs out there, big time, Charlie.’

I could feel my brother wince every time he called me Charlie now. At home and to everyone I knew, I was Charlotte Jane Taylor, named after the Brontë sister of the same name and as a nod to my mother’s favourite novel of all time, Jane Eyre. My older sister was Emily Maria and Matthew James, the first born, often joked that he just about escaped being named Heathcliff as my dad got to choose his name.

‘I mean, why are you even busting your ass with university?’ Tom asked me. ‘You’re gifted, girl. You don’t need a degree! Your qualifications are all in there already.’

He pointed at his temple to emphasize how I already had all the accolades I needed in my creative brain.

‘But I’m going to be a teacher,’ I told him. ‘So, as much as I love what you’re saying, in the real world I kind of need a degree.’

Tom hunkered down in front of me and looked me right in the eye. His hands were on either side of me, on the arms of the chair. I could feel his breath on my skin. I could smell his woody, aromatic cologne. I thought I might explode.

‘No, no, no!’ he said, looking up at me. ‘You, Charlie Taylor, aren’t going to be a teacher. You are going to be a huge star.’

My heart rose into my mouth. He had a presence, a charm, and the electricity between us was filling me up and making me feel weak at the same time. He was so close to me now his arms were almost touching my legs.

And you’re going to be my muse, I wanted to say in return, wishing he would just stay there right in front of me forever.

He stood up, pushed his hair from his face and, when he sat down again on the couch, I silently thanked my brother for bringing Tom Farley into my life. He was everything. The way he looked at me and the way he just made me feel was nothing like I’ve ever felt before. I was dizzy with lust and sheer admiration. I was brimming with confidence, more than I’d ever been in my whole twenty-two years on this planet.

‘Go on, give us one more,’ said Tom, resting back on the sofa now. He put one leg across the other to show he was in no hurry whatsoever.

Matthew was almost green with envy.

‘It’s almost three thirty, Tom,’ he said, really peeved now. ‘We could make a start before the others arrive? I really want to go over some poster ideas for our new dates and we’ve a press pack to pull together.’

Matthew looked at his watch, but Tom was still looking at me.

‘I think we should wait on the others instead of having to repeat yourself, Matt,’ he said, grinning my way. ‘Plus, I want to see if Charlie is a one-hit wonder, or if there’s more to come from such a genius mind. Go on, give us one more song, Charlie.’

And so, I sang another one, and then another, neither of us noticing that Matthew had by now left the room, leaving us to it as we got lost in the music. I was singing for him. I was actually singing my very own songs for this beautiful stranger who was making me feel like I was the most important person in his world right now.

‘Hang on,’ Tom said while I was just about to finish a chorus. ‘Gimme that again.’

He grabbed my brother’s guitar from the corner of the room and strummed along with me, then harmonized when he caught on to the chorus. All the time when we sang together, our eyes were locked and I felt like my heart might burst.

‘Keep singing that part,’ he said to me at one point. ‘I wanna try something here.’

And so I did what he said and it made perfect sense. We were making music together. It was the most thrilling rush ever and this was shaping up to be the best day of my life.

‘You’ve blown my mind, Charlie,’ Tom said to me after the third song. He sat the guitar to the side and shook his head. ‘I could seriously listen to you, and look at you, all day. You’ve got it, Charlie. You’ve just got it!’

He was in genuine disbelief. I tried to absorb all this unexpected praise from him.

‘And you know what? The most beautiful thing is you have no freakin’ idea just how good you are!’

I tried to catch my breath in the intensity of it all as we stood there in the middle of this tiny, smelly, hormone-filled student sitting room, our breath patterns moving to the same rhythm. As Monday to Friday university accommodation to my brother, me and our friend Kirsty, the room had hosted many booze-filled parties and late nights over the past four years, but never had I experienced electricity in the air as I did right then with him.

‘You can sing too and play guitar as well as drums,’ I managed to stutter. ‘You’re a mighty fine talent in yourself, so I can’t take all the credit for what just happened.’

I tried to divert the compliment back to him, but he wasn’t having it.

‘No, no, Charlie Taylor. I can play, yes, but you have star quality. You’re on a totally different level and I don’t say that lightly. You’re amazing.’

My bottom lip quivered, and I pushed my hair behind my ears.

‘You really think so?’

‘I really know so,’ he said, holding my gaze. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry at all this attention from someone so gorgeous and talented who seemed to be so much in awe of me.

Matthew had always been known as the creative one in our family. He was the colourful one who wanted to sing in a band as well as study to be an architect, so he was the one we all looked up to, cheering him on along the way. I was going to be a teacher and any musical notions I had were brushed under the carpet when we were growing up. It just wasn’t how my family saw me. Matthew was the cool, talented one, Emily was the middle child, the quiet, sensible one who obeyed all the rules, and I was the quirky, hippy dippy baby, the rebellious clever kid, and the one with brains to burn whose way with words would be best suited to a classroom where others would benefit from my wisdom. I just dressed a little funny and sometimes found myself in hot water, but that could all be fixed. Or so my parents hoped.

‘I’ve never properly sung these songs for anyone before,’ I confessed to Tom. It was dropping dark now outside, so I walked past him and pulled the curtains closed.

He gently took my hand on the way back.

‘You have magic, I mean it,’ he whispered. ‘Please believe me, Charlie. You can’t ignore what happened just now.’

We stood there, frozen in the moment. I could barely catch my breath.

‘I think I’m going to get you into trouble,’ I told him.

His eyes widened. ‘I think so too,’ he said.

‘With the band, I mean!’ I retorted quickly. ‘I mean, I hope I don’t get you into trouble with the band. Sounds like the others are here now.’

Our hands parted and he rubbed his forehead, which told me he’d been thinking of a totally different kind of trouble.

‘Yeah, yeah, the band. That’s what you meant,’ he said, then looked at the ceiling and blew out a long breath.

That accent of his was a killer and could get me into trouble any day, I thought. I closed my eyes for a second. I wanted him to reach out and touch me again, to tell me that he didn’t care if he got into trouble. He said I had magic. He said I was amazing. He said so many things I’d never been told before and I wanted to pause this moment so that we didn’t have to just leave it at this.

I wanted more of Tom Farley and when I opened my eyes I could see from the pain in his face that he wanted more of me, too.

‘I suppose I should make a move,’ he said, but his eyes told me he didn’t want to go. I didn’t want him to go either.

Now that we’d stopped singing, I could hear the rest of the band members chatting in the kitchen. Matthew was going to kill me. Not only had I taken up so much of Tom’s time and attention, but I’d also taken over the living room with our unplanned mini concert which was totally stealing his thunder.

Tom whispered to me.

‘Look, Charlie, between you and me,’ he said. ‘I know some people who aren’t a million miles away right now who would die to have just an ounce of the talent you have. You can’t just hide these songs away or ignore this gift you have. You must send your songs out to some record companies. Believe me, you’d be signed up in seconds.’

Record companies? I’d never even thought of doing such a thing, yet I felt a wave of imagination flood my mind. I laughed out loud at the idea.

‘You mean, do this for a living?’ I asked him. ‘Write songs? As a job?’

I laughed again, but he nodded as if it was just as simple as that.

‘As a career,’ he emphasized. ‘Long term. Go to London, Charlie! Go to New York City or somewhere else in the States like Texas or Nashville. They’d eat you up out there, I just know it. Music and lyrics are in your blood, I’m telling you. I have total faith in you. Your songs are totally mesmerizing. You are mesmerizing.’

The room spun a bit and I felt a hot flush overcome me as I imagined little old me in a big city, far away from Ireland and all that I’d known all my life. In my mind, for just a second, I saw myself sitting at a big window seat in a new city, looking out on a mix of sunshine and flashes of colour and sounds I’d never seen or heard before. The very thought made me both dizzy and excited. A rush filled me from head to toe as I imagined someone singing my songs, my actual words to a packed auditorium with a drummer like Tom Farley thumping out the beat and—

‘OK, meeting time!’ announced Matthew, bursting my bubble entirely with his bellowing voice as he returned into the living room. ‘And someone called Lexi is here?’

His voice drew my eyes in the direction of the door where I saw the most beautiful, exotic creature – small, pale, oriental and gothic – and Tom’s eyes diverted briefly from mine for the first time since he’d got here.

My afternoon of heaven was just about to turn into an evening of hell as reality punched me right in the heart.

‘Honey!’ said Lexi in a raspy, posh Dublin accent. ‘Sorry I’m late, babe, but I couldn’t find this house for ages! You should have told me it was the one with the letter box hanging off … Students!’

She made a face that on anyone else would have looked very unattractive, but she still managed to look like a supermodel compared to me, who looked like I was chewing a wasp at the shock of her arrival. My mouth dropped open as she breezed right past me, then wrapped her arms around Tom and kissed him full on the mouth in front of us, giving me just enough time to quickly pick up my guitar and make my swift exit before my brother, complete with smug face, could say ‘I told you so.’

‘Charlie!’ Tom called after me, pushing his girlfriend off his face as gently as he could.

I tried not to look at them again and, when I did, regretted it instantly as I saw her whisper into his ear, almost eating it at the same time. She threw her black, shiny bobbed hair back, showing off a tattoo of Asian text on her long, slender neck, and I touched my own neck which felt boring and bare in comparison.

‘My name’s Charlotte,’ I said to him, hearing my voice quiver. ‘Not Charlie!’ He caught my eye and I felt my lip wobble, then stomped upstairs with my guitar in my hand, my stupid lyrics in my head, my pride trailing on the floor and tears bursting from my eyes.

‘Write a song about it, sister!’ I heard Matthew shout to me when they all finally left after what seemed like hours later. ‘And don’t worry, Charlotte. Everyone who meets Tom Farley falls in love with him. In fact, I might even love him a little bit myself.’

‘Oh, give it a rest, Matthew!’ I shouted, kicking my bedroom door closed.

If he was trying to make me feel better, it wasn’t working. I’d fallen for Tom, hook, line and sinker, not knowing he’d a girlfriend all along. How could I be so stupid and assuming? How could two people have such magic, like he said, yet one of them just walk away and be in the arms of another? I couldn’t understand it. I was young and naïve and didn’t know life could present you with someone so perfect one minute, and then shove you off in a different direction the next.

I tried to shake away his memory, but I couldn’t and, although I didn’t see Tom Farley except from a safe distance when he was behind a drum kit at his gigs, he never really did leave my mind from that day on.

Morning, noon and night I dreamed of him and even though it’s a bit clichéd and predictable, I did put him in a song, just as my brother advised me to. Well, I put him in about twenty songs if I’m being perfectly honest.

I was twenty-two years and nine months old when I first fell in love with Tom Farley, and I was exactly the same age when he first broke my heart.

Life, for all of us, was never going to be the same again.

Chapter One
Dublin, December 2015

Today is my last day of term at St Patrick’s National School, meaning it’s officially the season to be jolly, and jolly I am.

I’ve tinsel round my neck, a Santa hat on my head and I’m celebrating at a local watering hole with some of my favourite people in the world. Life is good.

‘I’ll be right back,’ I say to the gorgeous guy at the bar who is buying me a drink.

My sister Emily is very uncharacteristically dancing on a wobbly table held up only by her brand-new husband Kevin, my roommate Kirsty is snogging a random stranger in a booth and the Black Eyed Peas tell me that tonight’s going to be a really good night. So, with all looking pretty in my humble little world and just enough time to do so before the bar closes, I steal away out the back of the pub for a sneaky cigarette. I don’t normally smoke, but slipping off like this all by myself to do something I know I shouldn’t is as rebellious as my life gets these days.

Pip’s Bar, on a side street near the house that Kirsty and I share in north Dublin, is the type of place you normally wouldn’t drink out of the glass, only the bottle. But with a blanket of snow thick on the ground and the option to skate home and avoid taxis, it’s becoming more and more fun as the beer goes down.

‘Wooo hoo!’ I sing out loud, dancing as I reach for the cigarette in my purse, ignoring a leering look from some dodgy old guy playing a poker machine by the back door.

Being a teacher is fun and fulfilling but on nights like this when school’s out for Christmas, there’s nothing I love more than to cut loose and just be Charlotte Taylor who loves to sing at the top of her voice, instead of ‘Miss Taylor’ who sometimes has to shout at the top of her voice when my seven-year-old pupils get rowdy.

‘Toilets are dat way, me lady,’ says the man at the poker machine in a thick Dublin accent and I hold up my cigarette to show him that tonight I’m a nicotine addict who doesn’t care that it’s minus seventeen or so outside. I push the heavy grey ‘Emergency’ back door open and then shiver in the chill that greets me, asking myself if leaving the heat and the prospect of a snog with gorgeous Jimmy or John or whoever his name was, who I just left holding a beer for me, is really worth it.

The door slams closed behind me and I realize that I’m locked out but I’m in no mood to panic. Mr Poker Player will hopefully come to my rescue if I bang loud enough once I’m done.

I can still hear the music from inside, I’m more than a little bit tipsy and I’ve decided that this Christmas is going to be the best one ever, so I keep dancing like there’s no one watching. And there is no one watching.

It’s almost midnight in a little yard out the back of Pip’s where no one my age ever goes unless they’ve no choice, which is the case for us tonight. I search my pockets for a lighter.

‘Ah man, now you’ve just locked us both out! Do you know how long I’ve been waiting out here for someone to open that damn door?’

‘Sweet Jesus, you scared me!’ I gasp in reply to my companion who I now realize is sitting in the shadows.

‘Sorry, but we’re going to have to wait now until the next smoker comes out if we want to go inside.’

I get my breath back and turn towards the husky American accent that comes from my right. My unlit cigarette waves around and points to the heavens, my feet are still dancing a little bit too ambitiously. I’m in slippery electric blue cowboy boots, which I now know are certainly not the best footwear when there’s snow on the ground, but I should be more concerned that I’m stuck in a back yard with a stranger who seems more than a little pissed off at me right now.

‘You really shouldn’t jump out on people like that!’ I reply, straining to get a better look at him, and trying to match his tetchy mood. ‘I could have fallen over and broken my ankle and that would not have been—’

‘Charlie?’

My heart stops. He just called me Charlie. No one ever calls me Charlie except my brother when he’s showing off or …

‘Tom? Tom Farley?’

I must be imagining things. This cannot be real. I take a step back and put my hand to my chest, saying a prayer that this isn’t some prank or messed-up dream like so many I’d had down the years since I last heard his voice.

I walk closer, towards the silhouette, and I lose my breath when I see his face.

That voice – how could I not have recognized it after playing it over in my mind for so long? Those eyes that I’ve imagined staring back at me just once more, those lips, that hair, those arms I’d longed to hold me.

It is him. It can’t be. I don’t understand.

‘Tom Farley?’ I say again.

He nods. ‘How the hell did this happen?’ he asks me, just as flabbergasted as I am.

I can’t believe this is happening. I can’t be that drunk, can I?

I’m locked out of a bar in the back end of nowhere, on a freezing cold night in December, and the one person I find in the same position is the one person I’ve been basing my whole imaginary future for five whole years upon, even though deep down I thought I’d never see him again.

‘This is unbelievable,’ he says, flashing me a very, very sweet smile and obviously just as taken aback as I am. ‘Charlie Taylor!! Man, I thought the next time I saw you would be on some big stage with your name up in lights, not out the back of some poky bar like this place.’

He shakes his head, just the same way as he did so long ago. He looks at me, just the same way, with the same wonder and hunger as he did back then too.

‘I don’t get it,’ I mumble. ‘What on earth are you doing here? Where on earth have you even been all these years? I can’t even—’

‘You need a light?’

Stop the whole world and let me off. Stop the clocks and silence the pianos and all that. It really is Tom Farley, in the yard of Pip’s Bar, in the asshole of nowhere, and there’s no one out here with him – only me. How?

I look at the cigarette and realize that yes, I do indeed need a light, but I’m too stunned to even speak. I’ve stopped dancing, but on the inside I’m still doing a routine to ‘Boom Boom Pow’ which the DJ inside has followed up with in a Black Eyed Peas’ double spin.

I feel like I might faint. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry as a whole movie script of emotion attacks my insides. My mouth is saying words, but my brain isn’t thinking them through. It’s like every part of me is separated, desperately trying to slot together again and make sense of all this.

‘I don’t even smoke so please don’t tell Matthew.’

I’m tongue-tied and I’ve no idea why I said that, as if I’m fourteen years old or something and will get into trouble with my parents or my big brother if I’m caught. I also think I’m about to have a heart attack and it’s nothing to do with cigarette consumption.

‘You sure look like you’re about to smoke.’

‘What I mean is, I don’t normally smoke, only sometimes when I’m drinking, and after tomorrow I’m never touching them again,’ I ramble.

It’s actually him.

‘I don’t think I will be telling Matthew, no fear of that.’

‘In fact, I’m never drinking again after tonight either,’ I rant on. ‘Those are going to be my two big New Year resolutions come January. I actually can’t believe it’s you. It is you, right?’

‘It’s me, yes,’ he laughs. ‘Still me. Still the same Tom.’

Still the same drop-dead gorgeous Tom. Still the love of my life, Tom. Still the one that got away who I’ve fantasized about meeting again one day, Tom. All I know about him is what I’ve found out from my brother since, which isn’t a lot really. The only thing I’ve managed to gather is that they’re no longer friends after the band they formed had a messy break-up.

I lean into the glow of his cupped hands, glad of the quick blast of heat, and chug on the butt, puffing the ash until it turns bright orange on grey, then I flick my hair back for effect as I exhale a long stream of smoke. Tom, in turn, smells like a heavy mix of spearmint chewing gum, tobacco and leather, just like he did on that first day we met.

‘You still smell nice,’ I tell him. ‘Musky.’

‘You still talk a lot,’ he replies with his dazzling smile. ‘Chatty.’

I would argue but I have been told this before, many, many times.

‘So, do you still sing as much as you talk, then?’ he asks. ‘Please don’t tell me you ignored my advice, became a teacher and your songs are gathering dust under your bed.’

My songs about you are gathering dust under my bed, I long to admit to him. My breathing is slowing down now, yet I still can’t believe this moment is real.

‘I still love to write and sing,’ I say with a smile, straightening up and fixing my coat up around my chin. ‘But yes, my main collection nowadays does come in the form of “The Farmer Wants a Wife” and other such playground hits.’

‘A teacher then,’ he says. He’s disappointed. ‘I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’s a super career, but I always thought you were destined for even greater things.’

I’m shaking. I’m totally sobered up now. I look around me to make sure there’s really no one else around and clench my nails into my hands tightly to make me feel like it’s real life. I want to scream in delight. I want to jump with joy, but most of all I feel like I could cry with the knowledge that this is indeed, very real.

‘Yes, I teach little people their ABCs and I love it,’ I tell him eventually, trying to keep it sane. ‘I’ve just quit for the Christmas break so I’m out on the lash, but I never, ever thought that I’d bump into you.’

He laughs and flicks his cigarette like he doesn’t know what to say next. He is equally as flummoxed as me. We stare at each other, examining the moment, trying to absorb that so much time has passed, yet here we are still sharing the same breath-taking moment that has hit us right in the heart all over again. Well, at least that’s how I feel, anyhow.

‘And you? Are you still drumming?’ I manage to ask him. I’ve no idea how I’m even holding a conversation right now.

‘Not much since your brother kicked me out of his band four years ago,’ he laughs nervously in response. Then he whispers, ‘How is Matt anyway? Is he OK?’

There’s a big pause and swift change of mood. Oh, if only he was OK. How I wish that my brother was OK.

‘Matthew’s doing as well as he can,’ I say, looking at the ground. I could divulge so many more gory details of how absolutely not OK he has been, but blood is thicker than water and I would never let my only brother down. ‘He doesn’t really talk about those days any more, Tom. He doesn’t talk about any of the band.’

‘I thought as much,’ says Tom, kicking imaginary stones on the slushy ground.

‘I did ask about you all for a long time,’ I confess, ‘but eventually I copped on that it was more or less a closed subject. I’ve a feeling he doesn’t like to talk about you guys very much any more. Sorry.’

Tom bites his lip and looks away.

‘It really all did turn out so terribly wrong,’ he says, his face scrunching into a puzzle as he looks up to the snow-filled sky, giving me an opportunity to drink him in. He still looks like he could be a real rock star in his biker jacket, his dogtooth black and white scarf and his faded blue jeans. He still smells like I want to pull him closer to me. He still sounds like the man who speaks right to my soul and the one who I never could get off my mind, no matter where in the world I’ve been after meeting him for just a few hours some five years ago.

‘So where have you been?’ I ask him, pain leaching into my voice. For so many years I’ve longed for him, pined for him. I travelled the world to try and shake him off, eventually laying his ghost to rest easy in my mind, but he never really ever left my heart. I know that now more than ever.

‘I’ve been …’ he laughs and scratches his head. ‘I’ve been everywhere trying to recreate what Matt and I tried to do all those years ago, ironically. I’ve been trying to make it big in music but every time a door opened for me, another one shut in my face. Maybe you were right to ignore me and my big dreams of music, but I’m happy for you, Charlie. You look happy. You look just as gorgeous as you did that first time I saw you with your guitar, your beautiful songs, your silly pyjamas and DM boots that matched mine.’

He remembers it all. My God, he actually remembers it all, but if only he knew how much it was killing me to see him again. He hasn’t changed a bit and yet he looks so different at the same time. His eyes are a little more tired but still dreamy enough to wash me away. His lips still catch my breath as I watch them move as he speaks. His hair is shorter now but still magnetic enough to make me want to reach out and touch it, and his arms still look like they were meant to hold only me. I’ve so many questions I want to ask him. Did he ever think of me like I did of him? Did he feel what I felt that day in my humble living room five years ago or was it all in my loved-up imagination?

‘What on earth are you doing here, Tom?’ I ask him. It’s the bravest question I can ask him out loud. ‘Like, seriously, how did you even find this place?’

He laughs at my bewilderment at finding him here.

‘No one our age ever goes to Pip’s Bar,’ I emphasize, ‘especially not in the run-up to Christmas when there’s so much fun to be had closer to town. This is really, really strange to bump into you here of all places.’

My cigarette isn’t as appealing as I thought and I want to stub it out already, but that would be very uncool.

‘True. I suppose it’s hardly Vegas, is it?’ he laughs.

He looks back at me with dreamy, sparkling eyes that crinkle at the sides. They don’t dance and flirt at me as much as they did before, but there still is something that makes my head spin a little more than the buzz of the beers I’ve been on. There’s still chemistry between us. I knew I wasn’t imagining it all those years ago.

He takes a deep breath.

‘It’s a long story why I’m here,’ he tells me, blowing a long line of smoke out in my direction. ‘Maybe I was looking for someone.’

I should have known.

‘Maybe I was looking for you?’ he says.

My eyes widen. I take a step backwards. I can’t tell if he’s joking or serious but I’m too afraid to ask.

‘I never thought I’d be so lucky, but lo and behold, here I am, talking to you, you’re talking to me, and we’re freezing our asses off at the same time on possibly the coldest night of the year,’ he says. ‘Plus, you’ve locked us out. It could be serendipity after all?’

His voice is deeper now, like it’s been well-lived-in, making him sound a lot older than he looks, which I reckon must be a few years over thirty since I’m now the grand age of twenty-seven.

‘I love that,’ I tell him.

‘What? Being locked out in the cold?’

‘Very funny,’ I say with a nervous giggle. ‘I mean, I love serendipity.’

‘Me too.’

‘You know, fate … going with your gut instinct … believing that things are meant to be. In fact, you’ve just reminded me of my third resolution for next year, which is a pretty good one.’

‘And that is?’ he asks me.

I stand in just a little bit closer to him for effect, urging myself not to make it so obvious I’m still mad about him and have been for all this time. I so want to touch him, just his jacket would be enough. The attraction I have for him is intensifying more than I ever knew could happen and I’ve all sorts of emotions clogging up my head.

‘My resolution is to take more chances in life,’ I explain, my eyes widening at the thought, even though if my mother heard me, she’d go mental. In her eyes I’ve always been one to live life close to the edge. ‘I’m going to put things in the hands of chance and fate, you know. Take more risks in life. Go with the flow. Be true to myself and not suppress the real me to please others.’

He glances towards the door, and then looks behind him. There’s a gate at the back of the small yard we’re standing in but, apart from that, it’s just us, some bins, some steel barrels and a very snowy sky.

‘Would you like to go somewhere else to talk more?’ he asks, looking around him, as if for inspiration. ‘Like you said, it’s hardly our type of place, is it? Plus, we mightn’t get back inside again since the door is well shut.’

Oh my good Lord … did I just hear him correctly? He wants us to go somewhere to talk? Just the two of us? This must be a dream.

I can’t think of anyone else I’d like to talk to right now but then my heart sinks. I can’t really just abandon Emily, Kevin and Kirsty inside even if I do want to run away with him more than anything in the whole world. Could I? And what if I don’t go? Will it be something I’ll regret the rest of my life? Will I never see him again?

‘We could walk around to the front and knock the door to get back in?’ I suggest as a compromise. ‘I really should go back in to my friends. They’ll be wondering where I am.’

He looks deflated now. He licks his lips lightly in defeat.

‘No problem, Charlie. Respect to that. I’ll walk you round to the door.’

I so want to change my mind. What the hell am I thinking? Maybe I’m becoming sensible at long last.

‘Thank you,’ I say to him, but I don’t make a move to go. Maybe I’m not so sensible after all.

He is looking at my lips now, then my chest, then my hair. He is looking at me like he did that day in our student living room in our matching boots when the air was filled with awe and song and music. I feel the blood fizz through my veins, warming me up.

I can almost read his mind through the hunger in his eyes, and my stomach has now joined in on the ‘Boom Boom Pow’ dance. In fact, everything is a little bit dizzy on the inside when I’m standing so close to him.

I gulp. I don’t want him to go. I don’t want to miss this ‘one in a million’ chance again.

‘I’d like to get to know you better this time, Charlie,’ he says. ‘If tonight won’t work, could we meet up some time soon? No pressure, but just see what happens? See if it really is serendipity that we met again tonight?’

The dancing inside me comes to an almighty stop. My heart is thumping. I look up at him. He’s very sexy, especially up this close. He’s Tom Farley. I’ve spent so much time for the past few years fantasizing about this very moment and putting him in my songs.

I breathe.

He breathes too.

The snow is really pelting down now and seeping into where we’re standing under the half shelter.

I think of Emily, Kevin and Kirsty again inside. Kirsty is probably still talking to that group of strangers at the bar, and the nice-looking guy who bought me a drink just before I came outside might be still waiting for me at our table. Emily might be wondering where I am, but Kirsty will already be planning on a hot night with one of the doctors, not giving a shit that they’ve all only just met. So, if she can do it, why shouldn’t I have some fun too?

It is my third resolution after all, even if it’s not New Year for another couple of weeks. My mind swings like a pendulum – what should I do? Should I go? Should I go?

‘I think we could get into trouble, Tom Farley,’ I tell him. ‘A lot of trouble.’

‘I think you said that to me before,’ he whispers.

That’s it. I’m going.

‘Let’s get out of here then.’

He offers me his arm and I take a deep breath, laughing in nervous disbelief as we walk away, slipping and sliding on the white snow, giggling like two love-struck teenagers who are hiding from their parents. Or, in this case, my big brother who might not be so impressed that I’ve taken a chance with his ex-band-member.

‘I have to warn you though, you might have to listen to more of my country songs,’ I tease him as we plod through the cold winter night. ‘I’ve quite a few now for you to catch up on.’

He stops and looks at me. He turns me towards him.

‘I’ve wanted to do that for years,’ he says, and something tells me he’s serious. His thumb wipes a snowflake from my cheek. ‘I still know the melody to that one you sang for me, believe it or not.’

‘No, you don’t,’ I laugh in response but then he hums it, filling in the gaps with words he remembers, and I gasp at his recollection.

All of me, all by myself, longing for you, nobody else.

‘I can’t tell you how much you impressed me that day,’ he tells me, and we walk through the empty streets, the sounds from the bar fading into the distance and the cold biting our smiling faces.

‘I can’t believe you remembered my song,’ I say to him. ‘Wow.’

He takes my hand and the touch of his skin rushes through my veins, making my head spin a little. I can’t decide if I’m more terrified or excited with the decision I just made, but I’ve got a feeling, or so I keep telling myself, that this really is going to be a good, good night in a way that I would never have expected. That, or else I’m going to be in a whole lot of trouble for something I know nothing about.

Chapter Two

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.

Chapter Three

We’re in the cosiest little pub by an angry winter sea, wrapped up like onions with an open fire by our feet, and I’m looking across the table at Tom Farley who still can’t take his eyes off me. And I can’t take mine off him.

I’m not sure what heaven is like, but I’m pretty sure this feeling is as good as it gets.

A smell of turf and damp clothes fills the air around us as an old man plays a slow air on a fiddle in the corner, followed by an almost unrecognizable rendition of ‘A Fairytale of New York’. It has us all singing along at the tops of our voices, giving the famous Pogues song the Christmas national anthem status it deserves.

I’ve a bellyful of oysters and Guinness, a heart that’s about to burst with joy and I don’t ever remember feeling so relaxed and at home in my whole life.

‘I think I’m in love with this place,’ I whisper to Tom. His sweater is soft on my skin and I’m so at ease, glad to be comfortable in these new but oh so welcoming surroundings. ‘I think I’ve fallen in love with Howth and all it means being here.’

I think I could very quickly fall deeply in love with him, too, and I’m sure he knows it.

‘It’s one of my favourite places, too,’ says Tom. His gravelly voice and rugged good looks make him the icing on the cake in this setting. ‘Do you have a favourite place, Charlie? I’d love to go there with you if you do.’

I swoon inside at the idea of us making plans like this together. He wants to do things, see places with me.

‘I’d love to go to Paris one day,’ I tell him. ‘It’s been on my bucket list since I was very little. I must be a romantic at heart, even though I’ve always believed I was a cynic. Something, or someone, must have changed my mind.’

He knows well that I’m referring to him. I never believed in the power of love until I met him.

‘We’ll go to Paris one day, then,’ he says, his eyes lighting up at the idea of it. ‘You and me, candlelit dinners overlooking the Seine, evening walks taking in the sights … Of course you’re romantic, Charlie! You’re a writer. Romance is bursting from you.’

I take what he says as a compliment. I suppose I couldn’t write country songs with heart-breaking themes if I wasn’t romantic.

‘I’d love to see Paris with you one day, Tom,’ I say to him. ‘But I’d also be happy to stay here forever.’

‘You’d be very welcome to stay here forever,’ he says, putting a strong arm around me, telling me the feeling is mutual. ‘We could live by the sea and watch the world go by, test-run our self-penned songs on the punters at our leisure before strolling home with the wind in our hair. Not the worst type of life if you ask me.’

My heart swells at the thought of it.

‘Imagine being able to make a living out of your own creations, being exactly the person you know you want to be instead of being a slave to mortgages and bills in some silly rat race in the city.’

I allow myself to dream of a life here in pretty Howth with its island views, writing songs and playing music, being who I am and not who I seem to have become.

‘That’s how I thought my life would be,’ sighs Tom. ‘Don’t you ever just wish you could make a living from your talent, your passion and your dreams instead of always going against the grain of who you really are, Charlie?’

He looks like a man with so many regrets as his mind drifts away again from the beautiful moment we have been sharing for the past couple of hours.

‘You’re too talented to be stuck in a job you hate,’ I tell him, sitting up straight. ‘You used to steal the show on stage with the band, even from behind the drum kit. Plus I’ve heard you singing so I know you’d make a great front man if you wanted to.’

He smiles lightly but I know he doesn’t believe me.

‘I’m thirty-two years old,’ he says to me. ‘Maybe it’s about time I stopped dreaming of being the next Bob Dylan and earned some money for a change.’

‘Maybe it’s time you stopped trying to be someone you’re not by working in an office,’ I say, knowing I’m talking to myself as well as him.

‘I’m a free spirit, Charlie,’ he says as if reading my mind. ‘So are you. We should both be earning a living doing what we love instead of where we both are now. But sometimes life gets in the way and we need to do what we need to do. Does that make sense?’

I nod slowly. Of course it makes sense.

I think of my job at the primary school and how much I love it, yet since Tom told me how talented I am five years ago, I’ve always feared I might be a square peg in a round hole, ticking boxes, robotically following systems I don’t even believe in just to keep a roof over my head and to have a career that gives me a steady income.

I think of Matthew, a truly tortured artist now working in a corner shop in the middle of nowhere and living with our parents as he battles with his mental health issues which have suffocated him when all his dreams folded. He couldn’t make his passion work, so why would it be any different for me?

Then there’s my friend Kirsty who wants nothing more than to be someone’s wife with two-point-four children, and my sister Emily who travelled to Australia with me and met the love of her life on the way. Always content with the simple things in life, Emily has forever been my role model and the one I look up to with her carefree attitude and happy-go-lucky ways.

I don’t know how I became who I am now on the outside, but on the inside I’m bursting to be different, to take risks, to follow my heart and soul instead of my head. Inside, I’m longing to be the real me and so far in my life the only one to recognize that is this man in front of me. He sees in me something that I have only ever seen myself. He believes in me so much that it’s almost catching my breath.

‘Do you mind if I call my sister really quickly?’ I say to Tom, needing a moment from this realization and perhaps some familiarity before I really am tempted to run away with him and pack in all that I’ve worked for. ‘It’s not that we need to know each other’s every move, but I did abandon them all last night so it might be good to see how they got on.’

Tom gladly gives the go-ahead then goes to the bar to get some drinks in, giving me time to check in with Emily. She misses the call then rings me straight back and I’m excited to tell her all about my very quaint surroundings here in this brand-new place where life seems so free and easy.

‘Happy school holidays, Miss Taylor!’ she sings down the phone when I pick up. ‘Are you still with that absolute ride Farley? Our Matthew will murder you, you do realize that? I get a feeling he hates him and everyone else who was in that band.’

I can hear Kevin, my brother-in-law, mutter in the background something along the lines of Matthew being all right if nothing falls on him.

‘I’m with him, yes, in a little pub in Howth,’ I tell her. ‘I think I’ve fallen in love with Howth, not to mention the company. Oh Emily, he is just the best. I’m feckin’ mad about him.’

Not that I need to tell her that as she’s listened to me go on about all the ‘what if’ scenarios and fantasizing I’ve done about Tom Farley over the years.

‘I swear,’ she says to me. ‘I can’t believe this, Charlotte, he’s a dream! He’s your dream! Did you tell him about the songs you wrote about him? Oh my God, it’s like a movie! Did you tell him how mad in the head you’ve been about him for five years now?’

For the first time ever, I want to gag my big sister as she states the obvious as if she’s on speed.

‘And did you ask him what happened with our Matthew and the band?’ she continues. ‘I’d so love to know the real story there. Like, why on earth would Matthew leave Dublin and go back to the sticks over a silly row? It must have been really bad for it all to get so messed up. Ask him, I dare you! You better ask him, Charlotte!’

I don’t want to ask him. In fact, I feel panicky at the very thought of knowing the truth in case it ruins everything. I know it must have been bad – we all know it must have been bad – but I don’t think I want to know any more than that. What if it was Tom’s fault? What if it was so bad that it meant we could never be together?

I glance across at Tom who is thankfully engrossed in conversation with the barman and can’t see the worry in my face.

‘He’s everything I hoped he would be,’ I whisper to Emily, feeling tears of fear prick my eyes at the thought of this all going wrong. ‘I really hope that Matthew can forgive him for whatever it was and see how good we are together.’

My sister gasps in a high-pitched tone.

‘Sorry, I’m just really happy for you,’ she says, getting emotional now, too. ‘I can’t believe you just bumped into him like that. Like, five long years later, too. Kevin, did you know that she has waited five years to find this man? Even the hunks Down Under couldn’t change her mind and believe me, I tried to distract her from him. But look, she was right. It’s fate!’

I wait as my sister and her husband update each other on what Kevin knows and doesn’t know about my five years of pining for Tom.

‘So, anyhow, I just thought I’d check in so that you knew I was alive,’ I say quickly, trying to divert the subject, ‘and to apologize again for abandoning ship last night. I hope Kirsty isn’t too mad.’

I say that with the ultimate tongue in cheek as we both know that Kirsty, as long as she has a man stuck to her face, couldn’t care less if any of us disappeared to Outer Mongolia.

‘She’s worried sick about you.’

‘I’m sure she is,’ I laugh.

Tom comes back to our seat and I feel slightly nervous. Not nervous to be with him in the slightest, but nervous that my sister will let me down by declaring my forever love to him not knowing he is beside me again and he might overhear her.

‘Last I heard from Kirsty, she was planning her wedding. Yes, another one,’ says Emily, while Kevin continues to commentate in the background. ‘I mean seriously, I don’t know how she does it. I’m still de-stressing from my wedding a year later, never mind contemplating another. She’s like, what do you call her? What’s the name of the actress with all the husbands?’

Tom can definitely hear her now. We glance at each other. He catches my eye and smiles.

‘What’s the name of the famous actress who was married eight times?’ I ask him, not wanting him to feel left out.

‘Liz Taylor,’ he whispers.

‘Liz Taylor, yes! Kirsty would make Liz Taylor look like a spinster at this rate,’ I joke to my sister. ‘Look, I’d better go but you two enjoy the rest of your day and I’ll see you soon.’

But Emily doesn’t seem to want to go. She’s totally caught up in all things to do with me and Tom, it seems, and wants to hear more.

‘Is he there right now? Beside you?’ Emily says just as I’m about to hang up. ‘You know, our mother fancied him more than any of us when he was in the band with Matthew. She totally had the hots for him and said if only she was twenty-five years younger!’

I take that as my cue to go and we swiftly say our goodbyes, then I lean back on the booth and drop my phone beside me.

I can’t believe she said that my mother fancied Tom but, let’s face it, he probably has women of all ages swooning after him all the time. He’s the type of man that older women float towards in a giddy mix of maternal instinct and physical attraction.

‘So, your friend, is it Kirsty? She’s been married more than once or was that just a joke?’ he asks, out of the blue, and I’m a bit taken aback at his interest in the brief mention of Kirsty’s exotic love life.

‘Yes, Kirsty is a real romantic who would consider marrying Mickey Mouse if he asked her to, why?’ I ask, taking a gulp of my drink.

‘Just asking,’ he says to me. ‘Funny old thing, marriage. I’m just curious.’

OK, then, since he’s just curious …

‘Well, her first marriage was when she was twenty-four to a Turkish lad called Demir who she met on holiday,’ I tell him. ‘They’d known each other two weeks when he proposed.’

‘Sweet.’

I smile at his sincerity.

‘That’s one word for it, I suppose,’ I explain, ‘but as soon as he got his visa just over a year later, she was history.’

His face changes. ‘Ah, not so sweet then. Poor Kirsty.’

That’s what we said at the time, but we needn’t have worried.

‘Second of all was James, a forty-seven-year-old divorcé she met online who only wanted someone to look after his children so he could work around the clock,’ I say, and Tom’s eyes widen. ‘So this time she jumped ship after two years, realizing that being Fräulein Maria was not her destiny, after all. She’s twenty-nine now and still hasn’t given up on her happily ever after.’

Tom sits back and raises an eyebrow. I can’t tell if he’s impressed or just intrigued that someone in this day and age could be so gullible.

‘I guess we all make foolish mistakes when we’re young and think we’re in love,’ he says, a tinge of regret in his voice. He looks like his mind has drifted again for a second. ‘Do you fall in love easily, Charlie?’

‘What?’

‘You heard me.’ He squeezes my hand and my heart flutters.

I hold his gaze as I wonder how to reply. If only he knew how I’d longed for him after only minutes in his company five years ago. How I’d spent hours of my life pouring my thoughts into love song after love song and how every single man I’ve met since him failed to give me the intense feeling in the pit of my stomach like he did. I’d thought that maybe I’d imagined him to be something he wasn’t, that I’d dreamed him up in my head, yet here we are having the most relaxed, perfect time together and it tells me that I was right all along.

‘I don’t think I’ve ever been in love before,’ I say to him, wanting to hold back from spilling my whole heart out to him so soon. ‘I’m a bit of a cynic, maybe. My mother always said I should lower my expectations instead of dreaming of Mr Perfect For Me.’

He laughs now with a tiny hint of embarrassment at the mention of my mother.

‘So, you’ve never been in love,’ he says. ‘Ah, come on.’

If only he knew.

‘Same question back to you,’ I say to him, feeling brave but unsure if I want to know the ins and outs of his love life. I already know that it’s been, let’s say, very busy.

He takes a sip of his frothy pint of Guinness and then leans forward and clasps his hands.

‘I’ve certainly thought I was in love before,’ he says, not afraid to look me in the eye as he does so. ‘Many, many times I thought, wow, this must be it, but then it would wear off and I’d wonder if that’s how it should be. I’ve been searching and hoping for something deeper, you know? Something real that lasts and that doesn’t give up when the novelty and lust drug wears off, but to be honest, I’m still wondering if I really know what it’s all about at all. What even is love?’

We both take a deep breath and sit in silent contemplation. I feel tears prick my eyes when I think of the words I put into songs about him, yet I didn’t even know him at all back then. Is that love? Or how I dreamed of this moment when we’d be reunited and it’s just as perfect as I’d imagined it. Is that love?

‘What I do know?’ he says, breaking our silence and looking my way, ‘is that when I first met you, Charlie, I think I felt something that I hadn’t before.’

He pauses. I try not to gasp.

‘And I also know that I haven’t felt the same with anyone ever since, no matter how I tried to convince myself otherwise,’ he continues. ‘That probably sounds ridiculous but it’s true, Charlie. I find your talent, your presence, everything about you just so mesmerizing, which is why what your brother thinks of me just can’t get in the way any more. Not this time. Not ever.’

I inhale this moment. Could this really be happening? Is it true what they say, that when you know, you just know? What is it about the two of us that makes this all feel so unique and real? When I see him, I want to touch him, to hold his hand, to take every part of him in. When I speak, it’s like he hangs on every single word and answers in exactly the way I want him to – actually no, he answers even better than that.

I swallow hard. ‘Thank you,’ is all I can say. ‘I’m really honoured you think I’m so talented. I’ve always feared my songs might be a bit twee and simple.’

He looks at me in disbelief. ‘You should be shining brightly, Charlie Taylor,’ he says, leaning closer, touching my face. ‘You absolutely impressed me and have rarely left my mind ever since that day, no matter where I’ve been or who I’ve been with.’

I want to ask him why he didn’t come and find me back then if his feelings were so strong. What stopped him from looking me up and saving us both from all this misery for so long? Even if it hadn’t worked out, why didn’t he try and make it happen in the first place? And so I take a deep breath and ask him just that.

‘I think you broke my heart that day,’ I confess to him in an outburst I’ve been trying so hard to hold back on. ‘My heart went to pieces when I saw you with your girlfriend, not to mention all the different girls I saw you with after that.’

He bites his lip, then runs his fingers through his hair.

‘I think that when you’re ready you should ask your brother why I never made that move,’ he says to me, and for the first time since last night I see a different look in his eyes. A little bit bitter, maybe.

‘Matthew?’

Oh no, not this again.

‘Or I can just tell you now some of what happened, and you can make your own mind up if you want to see me again?’

We sit together, in a slightly uncomfortable silence, each acknowledging the dip in the mood and the onset of reality. I can almost hear my heartbeat. I don’t know if I want to hear this or not.

‘Just tell me,’ I say, closing my eyes as I concentrate on breathing. I’ve a feeling my whole world is about to be pulled from beneath me, just when it was all going so well. ‘No matter what it is, I’m sure it can’t be that bad.’

He swallows, holds my hand a little tighter, and I can see that this is just as difficult for him as it is for me, but it’s like an elephant in the room now and we have to get it out of the way.

‘The girls I was with back then, they never meant a thing and Matthew knew it,’ Tom explains to me. ‘It used to irritate him that I got all this stupid attention. Not that he was jealous or anything, but more that he wanted me to focus on the band itself, or him at least, rather than the women who followed us. Then, one night after a gig, I got the courage to ask him for your number. I made some excuse about wanting to hear more of your songs and he flipped, like, totally flipped, and told me that he never wanted to see me near you again. Called me a womanizer and a … well, you can imagine the rest.’

I shake my head and smile a little, but Tom isn’t smiling at all. This is a big thing for him to tell me and even talking about it is really opening up old wounds.

‘I can imagine.’

‘I totally got that he was your big brother and of course he was worried, but no matter how much I tried to explain to him that to me you were different, he wouldn’t have it,’ says Tom. ‘He was the big boss at the time, it was his band and I had to do what he said if I wanted to keep my place. We were really going places and he made me choose – go after you like I wanted to or stay in the band. At least he said that was why he was mad.’

I bite my lip as it all falls into place. Maybe this isn’t as bad as it seems. Unless there’s more?

‘But there’s no band now, right?’ I say to him. ‘There is no band so none of that matters any more, does it? We can be together now if we want to. It’s nothing to do with Matthew any more.’

I think of my brother and all the times he seemed to stand in my way when in his head he was standing up for me. He was always so super protective and I hated him for it, but maybe he had a point. He saw Tom as a Casanova who would break my heart. He was looking out for me as any big brother would, but that time is over now. We are where we are now. We can live in the present.

‘No, there is no band now, and I’d a big part to play in that too,’ says Tom, dropping his head and looking away. ‘That’s when the story ends, and it wasn’t a happy ending, as you know.’

Oh. So I haven’t heard it all yet. There is more …

‘Why did you guys break up?’ I ask him. ‘Please don’t say it was over me?’

Tom wets his lips with his tongue and exhales long and slow. My stomach hits my mouth.

‘We were having silly rows up until then,’ he continues quickly. ‘There were cracks. Me and Matthew were clashing left, right and centre. He wanted to be the star of the show, I wanted to have more say in what direction we were going in. It was a clash of ego, of power, a real-life case of too many chiefs, and I told him he was jealous, but I always had a feeling it was more than that.’

I dab my nose with a tissue as I try and absorb my part in all of this.

‘Jealous? You mean, jealous of you?’

He bites his lip. ‘Yes, I guess in a way he was jealous of me,’ he says, his eyes heavy now and sad. ‘But not just jealous of me. He was jealous … he was jealous of what me and you could be if we got together.’

It all starts to make sense now, even if it seems so petty and ridiculous on Matthew’s part. He used to make every excuse he could think of to put me off Tom Farley. He used to love to tell me that he’d a woman at every gig, a different one every night, and because he knew I fancied Tom he’d remind me that I’d always just be the same to him. I’d offer to help out at gigs, but Matthew would have anyone but me come along and hang out with them. He would never let me get close.

‘I felt there was something deeper going on with him, something I couldn’t control, and I just couldn’t work around his negative energy any longer so I stormed out and we all became history after that,’ says Tom. ‘It cost me my whole musical future, but it also lost me a very good friend and any chance of seeing you again. Maybe that was a big mistake. Maybe it was a selfish, childish move that backfired as it broke up the band and it broke … well, it broke Matthew too, I suppose, didn’t it? I never imagined he would take it so badly.’

I can’t think straight. I put my hand to my forehead. Do my parents know this? Did Matthew tell them he was jealous of the idea of me and Tom getting together? I still don’t understand why. My family have been to hell and back with Matthew for four years now, but do they know I had a part to play in this too, even if I’d no idea?

The music in the bar is irritating now instead of entertaining and the punters are suddenly too loud. I’m uncomfortable instead of cosy. I’m sick instead of happy and content.

I can’t speak right now. All I can think of is my brother and his mental health problems that have driven him to some very dark places, of the recluse he has become, of his rejection, of his avoidance of any mention to do with the band he set up with such love and attention. He refused to tell me what happened, but I’d never have guessed any of this.

‘And you’re sure that’s all it was?’ I choked. I’ve a feeling there was more. There had to be. ‘It seems pretty trivial to build up a band for a year then throw it away over you asking for my phone number.’

Tom’s chest rises and falls, and he looks away, his face etched with pain.

‘I dunno, Charlie,’ he sighs. ‘I tried to talk to Matt. I really tried to dig deep with him, you know? He was acting so strangely around me, and I couldn’t get it out of him if there was something else. Are you sure he never told you anything?’

I shake my head. Matthew’s darkness moved a black cloud over our whole family as we battled to help him, but he refused to talk. He just closed up and said he’d had enough of life. We’ve been on a time bomb of nerves with him ever since, watching his every move. Tom’s return could be enough to tip him over the edge again.

My phone rings, giving us both a welcome distraction until we see who it is.

‘Oh God, you’ll never believe it but it’s Matthew calling me,’ I whisper, wishing I could just run away from all this mess between these two men who I’ve so much feeling for. Could he have found out where I am today?

‘You should answer it,’ says Tom, rubbing his temples. ‘Would it help if I spoke to him?’

I look at the floor. The smell of Guinness is turning my stomach now and the fire is too hot. I can’t answer. I can’t answer Tom and I can’t answer my phone. Matthew leaves me a voicemail message, but I don’t need to listen to it. I know how his moods have been lately. If he’s heard I’m with Tom, he’ll just spit out a rage at me and I can’t cope with what he has to say right now.

Plus, I’m angry at him. I’m so angry that he couldn’t see past his own ego back then, his own big brother macho attitude or his own jealousy that I might have just an inch more talent than he wanted me to have or might stamp on his toes. How dare he make that decision for me when it was none of his business?

I’m angry at Tom now, too. I can’t believe he didn’t stand up to Matthew more and push through with the band when it was all he ever wanted in life and when they were showing so much potential. How petty of them to throw it all away over some jealous row – unless there was more to it than I’m being told?

‘Aren’t you going to call him back?’ Tom asks me and I shake my head.

I feel a bit sick. I don’t want to talk to Matthew right now.

‘I think I need some fresh air,’ I tell him, lifting my coat.

‘Me too.’

He follows me outside and we stand in the slushy snow watching waves crash on a grey foamy sea in the near distance. I shiver, clutching my bag that holds my dress and other bits and pieces from last night, while Tom paces around me, smoking a cigarette and waiting for a reaction. But I can’t give him one right now.

‘None of this has to ruin us, does it?’ pleads Tom. ‘We can’t let it happen again, no way. I have feelings for you, Charlie. We can’t keep letting other people get in our way. Do you have feelings for me, too? Tell me.’

He puts his cold hand on my face and rests it there, looking deep into my soul. A hot tear trickles down onto his fingers from my eye but he doesn’t move his hand away.

‘I do,’ I say to him. ‘More than you’ll ever know.’

He slips his arms around my waist now and pulls me close to him, the warmth of his body soothing me instantly. I close my eyes, lean on his chest and feel the rush that fills me up from head to toe. I have to be with him. I just have to.

‘Last night at the bar,’ he says to me, like he’s breathing his last words to me. ‘Charlie, I didn’t just turn up there unexpectedly, you know that.’

I’m confused now. I look up at his face.

‘I was hoping you’d be there,’ he says. ‘I had absolutely no idea if I was on some wild goose chase, but I went to Pip’s Bar because I was looking for you. I had this mad hope you might be there, just because it’s the area of town you used to live in, and then I gave up and went out the back for a cigarette but … well then, there you were. It was like it was meant to be. Mad, really, when you think of it.’

I gulp, stunned a little that it worked out as it did. My friends and I hadn’t planned to go there last night. It was only because of the weather that we did. He couldn’t have known. He took a gamble. He’s telling the truth.

I look up to the black, snow-filled night sky and the moon that reflects down over Dublin Bay. We didn’t just meet last night by accident. Sometimes things are meant to happen. Some things are meant to be.

‘You should be a detective,’ I laugh, and he kisses me on the forehead, not lightly like he has done before, but a long, lingering kiss that makes me hold him even tighter. I give myself to him, leaning in and absorbing every ounce of the man I’ve wanted to hold me and touch me for so long.

‘I wish we could stay here forever,’ he whispers to me, and I feel exactly the same. I love this place more than anywhere I’ve ever been. This moment, this kiss, this knowing that for once in my life the planets aligned and brought us here together again.

I think I love Tom Farley, but then I always knew I did.

‘Look, just let me talk to Matthew once and for all,’ I whisper and when he looks at me, I can see the pain and worry in his eyes. ‘I’ll explain to him that he can’t get between us, no matter what happened before, and we’ll see where this all goes. I can’t take a chance on losing you again, Tom, and I know you feel the same.’

‘You sure?’

I nod at him. ‘I’ve never been so sure,’ I tell him. ‘We’ve waited five years for this. I don’t want to lose you again. Never. It’s happened once and it will never happen again.’

Chapter Four

Matthew James Taylor, my one and only brother, was my hero every day of my life when I was a little girl. He was the big brother of dreams, the one who all my friends adored and wished they could be around, no matter what stage of life I was at.

As a child I’d hear him sing in his bedroom, everything from Elvis Presley to Oasis, and I’d watch him in awe when he took the lead in school concerts, drama groups and anything that allowed him to take centre stage. Other boys were mad into following football and chasing women, but Matthew had one dream and one dream only and that was to sing.

At first my father tried to push him into sports of all sorts, thinking he wasn’t manly enough if he didn’t play rugby or cheer on the reds or blues or whoever was the popular soccer team of the day. But Matthew was always to be found in his bedroom with a guitar strumming along to the Top Ten hits, or in the music room that used to be our garage but was soon filled with second-hand keyboards, drums and everything under the sun that Matthew could gather to build his own idea of a ‘man shed’.

In many ways he was an isolated boy growing up, because in rural Ireland it was only cool to have alternative interests as long as you could still score points and goals when it came to Gaelic games and show some rough and tumble.

But Matthew wasn’t that type at all. He was quiet and gentle and the only time he’d raise his voice was when he was hitting the high notes of a Guns N’ Roses song.

‘He’s a deep boy,’ my mother used to say, as if in apology. ‘He thinks too much. Maybe his passion for music will be his saviour one day.’

And so, it became his thing.

I, on the other hand, could have stood on my head and done a jig to try and impress, but even if I could I’d never be seen to be talented like Matthew was. Emily often joked she was the invisible middle child, while at least I got some attention being the youngest, but Matthew was always the one to watch – the one who was destined to be different – and everyone came to adore him for it.

Now, to see him put down his tools as such, to have abandoned his university degree in architecture (which was a back-up plan he never thought he’d need anyhow), and to be working in the village corner shop back at home as he battled with the demons in his head was a bitter pill to swallow.

I follow the stone walls into Loughisland, a drive I could do with my eyes closed, and my heart swells when I see the familiar faces making their way up and down the little street where I will always call home.

It’s a quiet-looking place to the naked eye, but behind the scenes it’s a bustling little village, where the tiny primary school is the heart of the community and where everyone lives and breathes for football matches on a Sunday after Mass. I loved growing up here – a world away from Dublin and the city life that caught my stride since I left here almost ten years ago.

I park the car on the side of the street and walk towards Sullivan’s corner shop, which even in December has a huge ice cream cone outside advertising its famous 99s that everyone who passes through will stop for. The shop is attached to a pub of the same name where you’ll also find the local undertaker, should you ever need to plan a funeral when you’re doing your grocery shopping. Well, you never know, do you?

Across the street is the chapel with its adjoining cemetery, and I notice some very entrepreneurial thinker has opened a new florist’s alongside, meaning that every event or occasion, be it a christening, a wedding or a funeral, is well catered for. A tall, somewhat overpowering evergreen tree is decorated with bulbs of green, red and blue and a string of clear lights hang to tell us that it’s the season to be jolly.

I was christened in that very chapel on a sunny Saturday in April many years ago. I made my First Holy Communion there in a white dress handed down from Emily when I was seven, and it was the first place I heard a choir singing ‘Ave Maria’, which made me fall in love with live music when I was barely tall enough to see over the pews. We sang carols every year beneath a tree in the exact same place, which would then be replaced when spring came with pots of daffodils and snowdrops, then bursts of colour in summer that always made us proud of the locals who made such an effort to make the place so pretty.

The snow has thawed a little now, but a bitter winter breeze catches my breath, forcing me to tighten my scarf and quicken my step towards the shop front of Sullivan’s. I get there and stop, despite the sharp weather, to watch Matthew through the window serving a friendly local. A wave of sadness overcomes me from deep inside.

This is my hero, my big brother. How did he ever come to this?

His eyes light up when he sees me through the window before a familiar-sounding chime above the door marks my entrance. The shop smells of my childhood – of warmth, boiled sweets, newspapers and ice cream in wafers – and I rush across to give him a hug which he receives shyly. He is thinner than he used to be and his hair, which once upon a time sported every colour of the rainbow, is pale brown, lank and light. He is thirty-two years old now but he looks at least ten years older in his navy apron, worn-out jeans and with his tired, drained face.

‘You got my message then?’ he asks, his eyes wide in anticipation. ‘I probably wasn’t making much sense, but I hope you understood my rambling?’

His eyes crinkle as he smiles, which tells me he may have some good news. It’s far from what I was expecting. I didn’t listen to the voicemail he left me last night, but I can’t bring myself to tell him so. I just couldn’t do it. I was too afraid he may have found out about me and Tom and I wanted to speak to him in person, hence my unannounced visit.

‘Oh, did you leave me a voicemail?’ I bluff. ‘Sorry, I’m so bad at picking up messages.’

‘Some things never change,’ he says, wiping his hands on his apron. ‘I just said I wanted to meet up with you in the next day or two, so looks like we’re on the same wavelength, after all. I’ve something to tell you.’

I know by his face that it’s good news, which is a huge relief. Something to tell me? What on earth could it be?

‘I did see a missed call,’ I confess, feeling guilty now, ‘but decided on a visit home instead. I miss my big brother.’

Never one for big affection, he rolls his eyes and goes back in behind the overcrowded counter as another customer approaches. It’s the type of shop that used to feature in every Irish town or village but has died out over the years, replaced instead by heartless chain-stores that don’t reflect the soul of a community like this one does. Here, you can buy everything from a loaf of bread to your morning paper, but you’ll also find hardware, a pub and you can choose a coffin out the back if you need one.

‘I’ve a few things to tell you, one biggie and the other is a really cool idea for Mam and Dad, if you and Emily are up for it,’ he says as he punches numbers into an old-fashioned till, without acknowledging any further that I’ve no idea what he’s talking about. ‘I think it would be something different and would give Mam a lift this Christmas.’

‘Of course,’ I say with as much enthusiasm as I can muster. ‘We can talk more when you’ve finished your shift.’

I’m a little bit worried but only because this all seems too good to be true. Matthew wanted me to come here to share some big news, and to plan a Christmas surprise for our parents. It’s like the old Matthew is back, the one who used to be so bright and full of ideas and excitement.

He glances through the hatch behind him that looks into the bar where, as always, there is horse racing flashing on a TV high up in the background.

‘I can finish up here now,’ he tells me. ‘Look, do you want to pop next door and I’ll buy you a drink? Mrs Sullivan can mind this place too when I need a break. We have that sort of arrangement.’

‘Cool,’ I say to him. ‘I’ll let you get finished up.’

I make my way out onto the blustery street again, my head lost in wonder and steeped in time as it always is when I come back here.

Mrs Sullivan knows the score, I think to myself, realizing that Matthew’s ‘job’ at the shop is more for his benefit than theirs, of course. It’s a baby step back into society for him and a subtle level of responsibility that gives him a reason to keep going.

Four years of this have passed, though. We’d all hoped he’d have got better a whole lot sooner, but depression knows no boundaries and the black dog inside him doesn’t seem to want to move on just yet. Well, not until now perhaps, as he shows this light glimmer of excitement for the first time in a long, long while.

Mrs Sullivan, or Angela Martin as I know her as she was only a few years older than me at school, is the third Mrs Sullivan to run this place for as far back as I remember. She greets me shyly, a bit nervous as most people are around us city types who left Loughisland for wider shores, but she soon relaxes when we start chatting like I’ve never been away at all.

‘He’s doing so well,’ she tells me, wiping her hands on a brown and white tea towel. Nothing in here has changed a bit. The old chocolate-coloured stools at the bar are the same with their black metal legs that I used to have to climb up to reach my seat when Daddy and I would slip in here on a Saturday afternoon for a sneaky bet on the horses. I’d be fed Tayto Cheese & Onion crisps and bribed with a glass of Fanta while he chugged down a quick pint of the black stuff and prayed that his luck would come in.

‘I think working here can only be good for him,’ I say to Angela. ‘We’re worried sick for him, to be honest, but thanks to you and your family for giving him this chance.’

‘You know he wants to start a folk club?’ she says, as if she’s telling me she’s won the lottery. ‘Now, that’s a good sign! He’s showing an interest in music again at long last. Your mother is thrilled!’

We keep our voices down as the open hatch that adjoins the bar to the shop means noise can travel, but we don’t get to chat any further as just then Matthew makes his way in and joins me.

‘Have you ordered?’ he asks. ‘Have what you like, it’s my treat.’

He seems so chirpy and excited, which now all makes sense. The folk club here in the village, the job in the shop and whatever this Christmas surprise for Mam is. I dread the thought of bursting his bubble when I get round to mentioning Tom, but maybe, who knows, it could be good timing if he’s other more positive things on his mind.

‘I’ll have a gin and tonic,’ I say to Angela. ‘What are you having, Matthew?’

‘The usual,’ he says to Angela. ‘And don’t be expecting any fancy berries or glasses like goldfish bowls in here, Charlotte. A gin and tonic is a gin and tonic in Loughisland, not a bowl of mixed fruit.’

He laughs at his own joke and Angela pretends to be offended.

‘The original and the best,’ I say to them both and soon we are clinking our glasses together in true Christmas spirit. ‘So, what is it you want to tell me? It’s good news, I take it?’

Matthew sits up straight on the stool. ‘I thought, well it just came to me yesterday before I rang you …’

His appearance may be changing each time I see him but somewhere in there is still my big brother, still the one we all looked up to.

‘I was thinking,’ he continues. ‘Wouldn’t it be a great idea if we were to take Mam and Dad on a summer holiday next year, just the five of us? Well, Kevin too, I suppose, as he’s family now,’ says Matthew. ‘It’s their thirty-fifth wedding anniversary this year and I think after all the crap we’ve been through over the past while, it might be something to look forward to? As a family?’

I almost choke on my drink in delight. ‘I love it!’ I tell him.

‘You really think so?’

He’s showing so much hope for the first time in ages. He’s making plans. He’s excited about something once and for all. I lean across and hug him.

‘That’s the best idea ever!’ I say to him, and I really mean it. ‘Let’s get onto Emily and Kevin and we’ll surprise Mam and Dad with all the detail on Christmas Day. Is that what you’re thinking?’

‘Exactly,’ he agrees. ‘You know, Charlotte, I remember when I was just a nipper how Mam used to stand at the kitchen sink and say that if she ever came into money, she’d love to take us all to see the pyramids in Egypt. Now I know it will take a lot of money, but if we booked it for, say, August, it would give us all eight months to save the fare and some spending money. Does that sound OK?’

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.