I put down my guitar case and pull off my parka.‘Stop apologising, it’s getting annoying.I told you, I know it’s not your fault.’
‘Well, if it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t be in this situation.’
‘Hugo’s the one who leaked the story,’ I say.
We head out to the studio, but I just can’t concentrate on the song we’re trying to write.I’m too aware of the hordes outsidethe house.I’ve turned my phone off, but I know there’ll be loads of messages waiting for me when I turn it back on, so it almost feels like an unexploded bomb.I keep looking over at it and Tadhg clearly notices because after an hour and a half he says, ‘Look, if it’s all too much being back here today, I totally get it.We can take a break.’
The thought of going home (See, world!I’m not homeless!) and staring at the walls makes my heart sink even further.‘No, I’m grand.I need the distraction.If I go home I’ll go mad.’
‘I don’t mean you going home,’ says Tadhg.‘Sorry, I should have said.’
‘What do you mean, then?’I say.
‘Well, we could just hang out here,’ he says.‘Watch a film or something.You haven’t seen the screening room yet.’
‘You have ascreening room?’
‘Um, yeah, it’s in the basement, where the original kitchen used to be.’He catches my expression and says, ‘I mean, it’s just a big screen and some comfy chairs – it’s not, like, my own multiplex or anything.’
‘Of course,’ I say.‘Just an average private screening room.’
‘Hey, don’t mock it till you’ve watchedCasablancaon that big screen.Well, medium-sized screen.I don’t want to raise your expectations too high.’
I wouldloveto watchCasablancawith him in a private screening room.But I think I might be too emotionally fragile for it.‘We’ll always have Paris’?I suppose Tadhg and I will always have the bus stop on Westmoreland Street.My mixed feelingsmust show on my face because Tadhg says, ‘Or – and I hope you say yes to this one, because I would love an excuse to get out of the house – we could get lunch at—’ And he names another restaurant where dinner costs more than my week’s rent.
‘We won’t get a table,’ I say.This is the sort of place where a table usually has to be booked a year in advance.Dave tried to book one for my birthday two years ago and they basically laughed at him over the phone.
‘I know this sounds really wanky,’ says Tadhg, ‘but they usually keep a table free for, um, VIPs who might need it at the last minute.So I’m sure we’ll be fine.’
‘Jaysus.’I raise my eyebrows.‘First special sandwich deliveries and now this.’
Tadhg bows his head.‘Sorry.But what do you think?’
I have to admit, the thought of a fancy meal does appeal.But the thought of being seen in public does not.I say this to Tadhg.
‘Oh, you don’t need to worry about that,’ he assures me.‘The table’s in a little alcove.It’s really private – we won’t have people gawping at us.It’ll be grand.Paul can drive us in.’
Fuck it, if I’m going to be Tadhg’s little Cinderella, I might as well go to the ball.Or the posh restaurant, as the case may be.
‘I’m in,’ I say.‘As long as we can stop off at my place so I can change my clothes.I don’t think they’ll let me in wearing a band T-shirt and trousers with an elasticated waist.’
‘Deal,’ says Tadhg.
Tadhg calls the restaurant and confirms that the alcove table is indeed free.
‘Do you want to come in while I’m getting ready?’I say, when we pull up outside my house ten minutes later.As we head inside, I hope any potentially curtain-twitching neighbours are at work.
‘Um, make yourself at home.’I am suddenly weirdly conscious that he knows I’m about to go upstairs and take my clothes off.Not that he’ll be giving that matter a second thought.Or even a first one, probably.
‘I will,’ says Tadhg.‘Do you have any biscuits?’
I point him in the direction of the custard creams and run upstairs.
Fifteen minutes later, having put my glasses into my bag just in case we somehow stay out so late I have to take my contact lenses out, I descend the stairs in a 1980s Laura Ashley frock and find Tadhg sitting on the couch in the sitting room readingDevil’s Cub, one of Katie’s beloved Georgette Heyer novels.
‘Can I borrow this?’he says without looking up.‘I’m learning a lot of surprising things about the eighteenth century.’
‘I’m sure Katie won’t mind as long as you look after it,’ I say.‘Her Georgette Heyer collection is sacred.’
