Полная версия
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.
