‘I’ll treat it with kid—’ He looks up.‘Oh.You look really nice.’
‘Thanks,’ I say.‘Charity shop.’
‘You always did find the best things in those shops,’ says Tadhg.
‘There’s slim pickings in them these days,’ I say.‘Mostly tat from the nineties.This was a miracle find.’
‘I miss going to charity shops,’ says Tadhg, unfolding himself from the couch.‘I found some amazing things in George’s Street back in the day.’
‘The dead men’s suits!’I say.
‘I think it could have been just one dead man with a really sharp wardrobe,’ says Tadhg.‘Who was exactly my size.’
‘His family must have dumped a different suit at each shop,’ I say.‘Do you still have them?’
‘They’re probably still in my parents’ house,’ he says.‘I should dig them out.Though I doubt they’d still fit me.’
‘You could get them altered,’ I say.
‘I’d have to get them fumigated,’ says Tadhg.‘I played so many gigs in those suits they could probably stand up by themselves.’
He’s not talking about shows he played with me.We only ever played four gigs together that year.I feel a pang at the thought of all those shows he must have played in those suits later, after we went our separate ways.I saw his name on posters around town and outside music shops quite a few times in those early post-Trinity years, when I was doing my postgrad and starting my first agency jobs.It never failed to give me a moment of genuine pain, and a jealous rage, one that I couldn’t justify even to myself, that he was still making music without me.
Well.I suppose he’s making music with me again now.
Half an hour later, Tadhg and I are sitting in the alcove at the back of a beautiful room in a Georgian townhouse, with a bottle of Fleurie in front of us.The room is lit by low, soft lamps and decorated in warm cream and gold.It’s like being inside a pearl.A few heads turned as Tadhg walked through, but the fanciness of the clientele means that no one actually gawked.And once we’re tucked into the cosy little alcove, only the people on the nearest table – a couple who look like they’re in their seventies – can see us.
‘Wow,’ I say.‘This really is perfect.’
‘Here, have some of this.’Tadhg pours me a glass of wine and I take a large sip.
‘If ever there was a time for day drinking,’ I say, ‘it’s today.But not, like, in a getting hammered way,’ I add hastily, lest Tadhg think I’m going to start dancing on the table.
He laughs.‘I fully agree.’
We clink glasses.I let out a sigh that sounds more despairing than I meant it to.
‘I know it’s very easy for me to say,’ says Tadhg, ‘but this will pass.’
‘Will it, though?’I take a sip of wine.‘I mean, it’s not just all the attention I’m getting now.What’ll happen when I’m looking for work in the future?Even if they don’t remember the story, this Cinderella stuff will be the first thing that appears when people google me.’
I think of Amanda Sorohan.Despite the fact that she won a huge international art prize last year, the first thing that comes up when you search for her online is the fact that she used to go out with Tadhg.Itiseasy for Tadhg to say comforting things, because he doesn’t have to worry about stuff like that.Me supposedly being his little protégée will be just one more feel-good Saint Tadhg story in a long list.
‘I know,’ says Tadhg.‘But I talked to Tara, and she said we can hire experts who specialise in cleaning up search results for people’s names.’He looks at my miserable face.This is one situation when I really don’t care if my feelings are obvious.‘I know that’s not ideal, though.And I keep saying it, but I’m so sorry, Lol.’
‘I know,’ I say.I make myself sit up straighter.I’m having lunch in a beautiful restaurant with someone I genuinely enjoy spending time with, despite my very complicated feelings about him (they’re not that complicated, Laura, they’re just inconvenient).‘D’you know what, I’m going to forget about all this for a while and just have a nice lunch.’
‘That sounds,’ says Tadhg, ‘like an excellent idea.’
Still, it’s impossible to totally ignore what’s happened.While we’re eating our starters I say, ‘I know we’re not in the same boat, but how do you get used to it?Being written about as if you’re a character in a soap opera rather than a real person?’
‘I don’t know if you ever do,’ says Tadhg.‘The first time there was anything in the news about my personal life I totally freaked out.’
‘Seriously?’One thing about Tadhg, he’s not one of nature’s freak-outers.He’s always been pretty chill.
‘Oh, yeah.I had just started going out with Charlotte Fitzpatrick – you know her?’
I do.Everyone does.She won a BAFTA last year.And I certainly remember their relationship.‘Charlotte and Tadhg’ (the media tried to form a decent portmanteau word for their union but had to admit defeat – Tadhlotte sounded way too like ‘toilet’ in a strong Dublin accent and Chadhg was far too close to either ‘shite’ or ‘shag’, depending on how you pronounced it) were presented as a gorgeous Irish showbiz power couple.The story broke four years after Tadhg and I went our separate ways, and I remember being taken aback by the strength of my visceral reaction to paparazzi photos of him and Charlotte kissing in the Jardin des Tuileries in Paris.
