‘I never said you weren’t capable of writing songs on your own!’
‘Didn’t you?’he says.
There’s a very uncomfortable silence.
I clear my throat and say, ‘Okay, so you do remember all of the old songs.’
‘Maybe not everything,’ says Tadhg.He takes a deep breath.‘But, like, ‘Tourniquet’ and ‘Midnight Feast’—’
A laugh escapes me despite myself.‘God, they were terrible song names, weren’t they?’
He grins.‘Terrible’s a bit harsh.But yeah …’
“Midnight Feast’ is definitely a terrible name,’ I say firmly.‘And I can say it because I wrote the terrible lyrics.’
‘Okay then, yes, I’ll admit it.It’s absolutely godawful.’
‘Says the man who called a hit single ‘End of My Garden’.’
‘Ouch!’says Tadhg.But he’s laughing.‘Fair point.’
Okay.This is getting a bit more normal.It’s good that we can take the piss out of each other again, right?
‘Every time it came on the radio Katie and I used to say the title sounded like a hideous euphemism.’I put on a creepy old man voice.“‘Would you like to see the end of my garden, little girl?’”
This time his laugh sounds a tiny bit forced.I think I might have struck a nerve.
‘Yeah,’ he says.‘I definitely can’t blame you for that.’
My cheeks flush as I realise what I’ve done.A joke about a bad song title is one thing, especially after I’ve just mockedmy own efforts.But I’ve basically just told him that Katie and I, two people who used to be his friends, have been sniggering about his song together behind his back.It sounds way more cruel than I meant it to be, especially given how he and I left things back in 2003.
‘It’s still a good song,’ I say.My cheerful tone sounds fake even to me.
‘Ah well,’ says Tadhg with a wry smile.‘Maybe not one of my best.’
The silence that follows feels actively painful.I’m worried he thinks I hate him.I’m worried he’s regretting asking Tara to send that email.I’m worried this isn’t going to work.
And I want this to work, I realise.Ireallywant this to work.I want to make music again.I want things to be okay with Tadhg again.But so far I’m still aware of a distance between us.Every so often we forget things are weird, just for a few minutes, but then there’ll be a moment that reminds me we’ve essentially been estranged for sixteen years.Fuck it, I have to do something about it or this whole working-together thing is going to be unbearable.
‘Tadhg …’ I say hesitantly.‘We’re … we’re cool, right?’
Tadhg’s laugh definitely doesn’t feel forced this time.‘Well, I think we’ve just established our lyric-writing skills leave a lot to be desired.’
‘No, I mean … things between you and me.Are they cool?I know stuff … I mean …’ I’m stumbling over my words, and a part of me wishes I’d never started speaking, but I can’t stopnow.‘I know it all ended badly between us back then.But can we decide to just, I dunno, have a fresh start?It was a long time ago, and I’m pretty sure we both did and said things we regret …’
I pause.I’m coming worryingly close to talking about our last night together in 2003.And while I do regret a lot of things about that night, I really, really don’t want to go into the details of it now with him.I don’t want to think about how I felt that night.Or what I did.
I take a deep breath.
‘Can we start again?’I say.‘Pretend we’ve just met?Or at least pretend we never fell out?’
Tadhg looks at me.Those hazel-green eyes, the eyes that must have gazed out from a million teenage fans’ walls, from thousands of billboards and bus posters and album covers, are fixed on mine.I bite my lip nervously.But I don’t look away.
He raises his mug with a smile and I feel my shoulders sag with relief.
‘To new beginnings,’ he says.
I clink my mug off his.‘New beginnings.’
