‘Most of my old mates, I saw them all the way through … everything.’He sits opposite me at the table.‘It all happened gradually.They were there when ‘Winter’ took off.They were there when I started playing bigger venues.They were there for the whole Glastonbury thing.But it’s different with you.The last time we saw each other I wasn’t …’ He trails off, looking squirmingly embarrassed.
‘Really fucking famous,’ I finish for him.
‘Um, yeah.’He looks down at his mug.
I take a sip of the tea.It’s perfect – just the right amount of milk and …
My eyes widen and meet his.He half-smiles.
‘Just barely a quarter teaspoon of sugar, right?’he says.‘I don’t know why you look so surprised.I made you enough cups of tea back in the day.’
I smile back.I can’t help it.He is, I realise with a start, the only other person who hasevermade my tea exactly the way I like it.Even Dave always put in too much sugar and not enough milk.‘I suppose fame hasn’t changed youthatmuch.’
He takes a sip from his own mug.‘Well, I still drink about ten cups of tea a day, so I suppose you’re right.’
‘I bet you always take a box of proper tea when you go abroad,’ I say.
‘Of course I do.’
‘So do I,’ I admit.‘Though I’m squeezing it into a Ryanair-approved carry-on bag, not taking it on a private jet.’
‘Laura,’ he says, ‘I havenevergone near a private jet.’
‘I know,’ I say, and then realise this shows I’ve read about his vocal opposition to celebs using private planes.‘I mean, I’d assume so.’To change the subject I say, ‘So you have to travel a lot?’
‘All the time.’He doesn’t look excited about it, so I change the subject again and ask what I’ve been wondering since he said he lived alone.
‘Who buzzed me in earlier?Over the intercom?’
‘Tara,’ says Tadhg.
‘Oh, right.Does she work here every day?’
‘Oh no, she’s not in the building,’ says Tadhg.‘She’s in my office in town.I just asked her to monitor the door this morning in case I was playing music too loud out in the studio when you arrived and didn’t hear the buzzer there.She can access it remotely.’
Tadhg doesn’t even have to answer his own doorbell.Itisweird seeing him in this life.
‘So … how is this all going to work?’
‘How’s what going to work?’Tadhg looks at me across thetable, his expression quizzical.His glasses are slightly crooked and he clearly hasn’t shaved today.
‘I mean this whole thing,’ I say.‘Me coming here.’
‘Oh!Right,’ says Tadhg.God, this is kind of excruciating.Every time I think we’re being normal, things get awkward again.‘Well, I thought we could start by just playing music together before we try working on the song.Warm ourselves back up.’
It makes sense.Diving straight in to ‘our song’ would be too disorientating.It could bring up arguments too, and right now I think I have to keep things peaceful.
‘Sure,’ I say.
‘Cool.’And then he grins.A proper smile, no awkwardness at all.‘Want to see the studio?’
‘Wow.’
From the outside, the studio looks like what it is – the well-kept former stables at the bottom of the garden.But inside …
‘It’s beautiful!’I stare around at the blonde wood, the beautiful grand piano, the drum kit, the mid-century chairs and couches, the rugs on the floor, the collection of beautiful guitars sitting in their stands.We’re in the main recording studio, having gone through an airlock-esque little entrance room and another room containing the sound desk.There’s a vocal booth on the other side of the main studio space.It’s so, so much nicer than any professional studio I have ever been to for work, andit’s basically just his home office.It’s also bigger than my and Dave’s entire flat.
‘Well, today it’s all yours.’
