Rewrite the Stars. Emma Heatherington
much fun since we met up last night, laughing, singing and catching up. I really don’t want to dampen the mood.
‘OK,’ he sighs. ‘But I really hope that he finds his way again, Charlie, I really do. He’s one hell of a singer and a seriously good guy. He deserves so much more than how we all left things. He really did have big plans but it all just—’
‘Come on now, your turn,’ I interrupt him deliberately. There are tears in his eyes, which frighten me a little, but I don’t want to face up to this or question why just now. ‘You have to tell me more about you, something that doesn’t have anything to do with Matthew and Déjà Vu. How did a talented, gorgeous American boy like you end up in Ireland? I’m intrigued.’
He welcomes such a straightforward question, a timely diversion from the heavy cloud of memories that just triggered such emotion. Matthew’s depression has rocked our family, shaking us to the very core, and I’m not ready to confront Tom any more on the subject, not yet anyhow.
‘My mum is Irish, from Dublin originally,’ he says, tracing his finger along my cheek. ‘My dad is American but his people are English, hence the name Farley, so I’m a bit of a mixture.’
He takes a deep breath.
‘I grew up in Ohio, we moved here when I was seventeen and soon after that my dad disappeared with my mum’s cousin, so she went back Stateside and I just stayed here.’ He glances away and takes a deep breath. ‘The last I heard from my dad, he’d married the other woman and moved to London, so I’ve been drifting ever since, I guess.’
‘Ouch.’
‘Exactly,’ he says, looking away for a bit. ‘Shit happens, though, doesn’t it? As Matthew says, people break up, things change. We have to learn to move on and keep going, don’t we?’
The sadness in his eyes is back.
‘The band was probably the best thing that ever happened to me.’
The band. Matthew. We’re never going to get past this one, are we?
‘You could form your own band? Make a go of it again?’
I’m excited at my suggestion but Tom just laughs.
‘Nah,’ he says, shaking his head. ‘I tried but it will never be the same. That ship has sailed, and I’ve tried but failed, I’m afraid. I’ve also been in and out of jobs, everything from driving cabs in Belfast to selling my soul as a singing stripper for hen parties.’
‘No!’
He throws his head back in laughter now.
‘I thought you’d like that one,’ he says. ‘I’m joking! But I’ve nothing as fancy on my CV as having a degree and being as focused as you are.’
He keeps laughing at the look of shock on my face. I’m trying to be cool at the thought of him stripping for horny young women, even if it was a joke.
‘I get by playing the odd pub gig in a covers band,’ he says. ‘I have a day job and I share a flat here with a Russian guy called Peter who just left to drive to work in the snow, saying it was no big deal even though the whole country is virtually in shutdown. Pete’s really cool.’
My heartbeat has settled after the stripper revelation, and I want to know so much more, but most of all I want to hug this lonely boy who has been so lost for far too long. I imagine him as a teenager, abandoned by both his parents who couldn’t put him above their own needs.
‘You hungry?’ I ask him when I think I just heard his tummy rumble.
‘I’m starving,’ he says in relief, his eyes brightening at the thought of food. ‘That toast was good but I’m a growing boy, plus we still have our date today so don’t stand me up, Charlie Taylor.’
‘As if I would,’ I say, looking forward to it more than anything. ‘But I’ll need to go home first and get changed, which means braving the snow.’
He shakes his head, climbs off the bed and goes to a chest of drawers, which is the only other thing in the room apart from a battered guitar. He hands me a pair of pale blue jeans and a black Guns N’ Roses sweatshirt.
‘Cinderella, you shall go to the ball,’ he says with a heart-melting smile. ‘We won’t be going too far so don’t worry about being too glamorous. There’s a great wee pub that does bar food just a few miles away. It’s got sea views, an open fire and there’s always someone in the corner playing a tune so this will be just perfect.’
I lift the sweater.
‘The Ramones and Guns N’ Roses all in one day!’ I say to him in mock horror. ‘Whatever happened to me being a country girl at heart?’
He walks towards me and takes both of my hands.
‘Come on, let your hair down, country girl,’ he says, kissing me on the forehead. ‘It’s a brand-new day and life is for living, plus I think it will look pretty cool with your blue cowboy boots.’
I look at the offering and my heart skips a beat. My brother has the same sweatshirt. Stay present, be happy, I tell myself. Matthew would want me to be happy.
I’ve a feeling he would also have a lynch mob out for me now if he knew who I was with.
‘By the way, just so you know, I never, ever do this type of thing, ever,’ I say to Tom as I pull the sweatshirt over my head to try it on for size. The jeans fit well enough with the help of a belt tied really tight and, although this all feels a lot out of my comfort zone, it does make me feel a bit sexy knowing Tom wears these on his beautiful body.
‘You told me last night you’d say that,’ he says to me, handing me a towel now. ‘Shower is to the left.’
I take a deep breath and make my way out of the bedroom, feeling his eyes on me every step of the way.
It’s a snowy winter’s day in December, it’s the Christmas holidays, so I may as well have some fun with my rock star from Ohio who I’ve dreamed of for so long. I’ve waited forever for this moment and no one, not even my brother, is going to ruin it for me.
We’re in the cosiest little pub by an angry winter sea, wrapped up like onions with an open fire by our feet, and I’m looking across the table at Tom Farley who still can’t take his eyes off me. And I can’t take mine off him.
I’m not sure what heaven is like, but I’m pretty sure this feeling is as good as it gets.
A smell of turf and damp clothes fills the air around us as an old man plays a slow air on a fiddle in the corner, followed by an almost unrecognizable rendition of ‘A Fairytale of New York’. It has us all singing along at the tops of our voices, giving the famous Pogues song the Christmas national anthem status it deserves.
I’ve a bellyful of oysters and Guinness, a heart that’s about to burst with joy and I don’t ever remember feeling so relaxed and at home in my whole life.
‘I think I’m in love with this place,’ I whisper to Tom. His sweater is soft on my skin and I’m so at ease, glad to be comfortable in these new but oh so welcoming surroundings. ‘I think I’ve fallen in love with Howth and all it means being here.’
I think I could very quickly fall deeply in love with him, too, and I’m sure he knows it.
‘It’s one of my favourite places, too,’ says Tom. His gravelly voice and rugged good looks make him the icing on the cake in this setting. ‘Do you have a favourite place, Charlie? I’d love to go there with you if you do.’
I swoon inside at the idea of us making plans like this together. He wants to do things, see places with me.
‘I’d love to go to Paris one day,’ I tell him. ‘It’s been on my bucket list