I feel jittery with nerves when I set out on Monday morning, carrying my Danelectro electric guitar in its padded case.I spent most of yesterday playing it.Tadhg was always saying what a good guitarist I was, and I want to make sure I’ll live up to his memories.It takes me barely fifteen minutes to get to his house in Marino Crescent.The boundary of his property is too beautifully designed to look like a fortress, but that’s almost what it feels like.The green walls separating his front garden from those on either side are at least ten feet high, as are the huge wooden gates facing the footpath.A smaller gate is embedded in the left-hand gate for pedestrian access.There’s an intercom at the gatepost next to it; I press the button.
‘Yes?’says a female voice.Maybe all our meetings will be attended by his staff.Maybe I’ll never find out what it’s like to be alone with Tadhg again.
‘Hi.It’s Laura.Um, McDermott.’I glance up and notice a security camera pointing at me.
With a buzz and a click, the smaller gate’s lock releases, and I head through it and into a perfectly ordinary front garden.I’m not sure what I was expecting – not, like, topiary cut into the shapes of guitars or something.But I’m aware of a faint surprise that it’s all so, well, normal.A narrow gravel drive and an electric car, which is plugged into a charging station.A paved path leading to the front door.Lots of plants.It’s very nice, but it could be anybody’s.You’d never know a music superstar lived here.
The front door (painted a very nice and doubtless expensive teal) opens and, to my relief, Tadhg is standing there, wearing an olive-green T-shirt with a navy shirt over it and what are possibly the same jeans he was wearing last week.I’m not sure what I would have done if I’d been greeted by a butler or something.
‘Hey!’His smile is warm, genuine.I try to gauge the vibe.Are we just … going to keep pretending nothing bad happened sixteen years ago?Pretending we’re just old pals who, because circumstances led them in different directions, haven’t seen each other for over a decade and have now bumped into each other again?
But now I’ve decided to do this time in the studio, I need to make the best of it.If he wants to pretend, then I’ll pretend too.
‘Hello, neighbour,’ I say.
‘Come in!’He stands aside and I walk into the hall.The ceilings are high, the walls a lovely peacock blue covered in framed artwork, the floors beautifully polished parquet.The Danelectro case nearly bashes into a table.
‘Brilliant, you brought your guitar,’ says Tadhg.‘You found the place okay, then?’
‘Well, I do only live down the road.’
‘Of course, you said.’We stand there in the hall for an awkward moment.‘Um, do you want a cup of tea?’
‘Sure.’Suddenly I have a flashback to 2003, our practice space in Brian’s parents’ garage in Stillorgan.Tadhg making endless cups of tea because he needed caffeine to keep going but he didn’t like coffee.Same as me.
‘The kitchen’s back here,’ says Tadhg.I follow him to the rear of the house, into an airy room with tall windows, eau de nil cabinets and a big table with the weekend papers still scattered across it.The table is a beautiful mid-century design rather than bog-standard Ikea, and there’s a framed poster on the wall for an achingly cool indie film; I remember Tadhg wrote a song for the soundtrack that was nominated for an Oscar.Through the windows I can see a garden with what looks like a stable building at the end of it.I take a seat at the table as Tadhg fills the kettle and takes some mugs out of a cabinet.There’s no sign of the person who answered the buzzer.An embarrassingly painful thought strikes me: just because the tabloids haven’t reported that he has a new girlfriend doesn’t mean he’s still single.He’s always been good at keeping his private life private.
‘So it’s just you living here?’As I say it, I realise it sounds like I’m fishing, and I suppose I am.
‘Yeah.’He pops tea bags into the mugs.My shoulders relax a little.
Tadhg turns to face me and leans back against the kitchen counter as the kettle starts to steam.‘It’s a bit big for one person,’ he says.‘I’m kind of rattling around in it.’
I fight the urge to roll my eyes.Am I seriously meant to feel sorry for him, living in his big four-storey townhouse while I’m lodging in Katie’s spare room?
‘Well, there’s a housing crisis going on, you should take in lodgers.’Then I catch the look on his face.‘Jesus, I was joking!I’m not trying to guilt-trip you.’Although maybe I kind of was.
Neither of us says anything for a moment.
Tadhg runs a hand through his already messy hair.‘God, Lol, this is really weird.’
At least he’s acknowledging it.
‘Yeah,’ I say.‘It’s strange for me too.’
‘I don’t just mean us … talking again.’He turns back to the counter and pours water into the mugs.They’re good mugs, seventies-style ochre-coloured earthenware.
‘Whatdoyou mean?’He’s taking milk out of the fridge now.I want to jump up and say I’ll make my tea myself, to make sure it’s just right, but I also want – I need – to hear what he has to say.
‘I mean it’s weird you seeing me like this,’ he says.‘In this big house.With this … this life.’
‘You don’t see any other old friends?’I’m genuinely shocked at the thought.I can’t imagine the Tadhg I knew back in the day ditching people because he got rich and famous.
Tadhg comes over to the table with the mugs, and it’s his turn to look shocked.‘Of course I see old friends!Ciarán was here last week.’
‘Then I don’t get it.’
He passes me the tea, and for a split second our fingers touch.
