‘Christ, I need another drink,’ Tadgh sighed. Seconds after he said it, a bottle of beer came straight through the curtain from the galley, making him and Conlan crease over.
‘I need Shakira in a bikini singing “Hips Don’t Lie”,’ Conlan said hopefully.
Stefan popped his head out the curtain. ‘I can’t do the bikini, but if you two start whistling the tune, I can probably rustle up a passable version of the first verse and the chorus.’
Despite a head that was on the verge of combusting with unanswered questions, Tadgh couldn’t help but laugh.
The air steward then emerged from the galley, pushing a trolley. ‘There’s another beer in it if you buy all the duty free on this trolley, so I don’t have to pretend I enjoy the cheery sales pitches.’
‘Och, you enjoy it really,’ Tadgh joked, thinking he wasn’t even sure who he should buy some duty free perfume for. Unless there was one called ‘Infidelity’.
As Stefan laughed and pushed the trolley towards the front of the cabin, Tadgh handed his beer over to Conlan, concerned that if he had one too many drinks, then he might say or do something that he would regret, and this wasn’t the time or place.
Jesus, his mam would be going nuts if she could see this. As far as he could work out, Shay, his dearly beloved brother, was either messing around with Cheryl, Tadgh’s soon-to-be wife, or with Cindy, her sister, who also happened to be very married to their tour manager.
How could his own brother have turned into such a complete dickhead? Their mam was the most moral, honest, trustworthy person that ever walked the face of this earth. And their dad had exactly the same values: family came first, his word was everything, and as much as he loved a party and a good time, he only ever wanted to go home with his wife at the end of every night. They’d adored each other, his parents, and to them, their marriage was something that they’d both honoured. Sometimes Tadgh had wondered if that’s why he’d agreed to get married in the first place. It had seemed like the next step, Cheryl was pushing for it and his mam was like a woman possessed the first time around, booking churches, organising the reception, planning buffets. She’d spent every Saturday in Brown Thomas, the upmarket department store in Grafton Street, for months, trying on outfits and shoes and hats for the occasion. She’d adored every second of it and when she’d died so unexpectedly, just a week before the big day, they’d all been crushed. Going ahead with the wedding wasn’t even an option.
It had taken months before he could even contemplate being happy or celebrating anything again. It was his da who had finally put him right. One Saturday afternoon, they’d all been at his da’s for dinner, and Cheryl had tentatively brought up rescheduling the wedding. Tadgh had shut it down immediately, saying there was no rush, it was just a bit of paper. He’d meant it. He adored Cheryl, but the only reason he’d been going with the big wedding was for the fun and the family memories. Now that his mam was gone, the only memory would be that she wasn’t there.
Later, after Cheryl had gone back to her flat, Tadgh had been sitting on the front step with his dad, drinks in hand – a whisky for his dad, a Jack Daniel’s for him – when Jack had said, ‘You know, son, yer ma would be gutted to know that her passing had cancelled your wedding. You know how much she was looking forward to it.’
Tadgh had taken a sip of his JD. ‘I know. I think that’s why it doesn’t matter any more.’
‘But it matters to Cheryl. And she’s the one you need to think about now, son. Don’t mess that up. Yer mam wouldn’t want that and if she’s up there watching, she’ll be mighty displeased that you’re stalling it in her name.’
Jack Donovan was a man of few words, but every one of those made Tadgh think. He was being unfair. He could see that now. That night, he’d called Cheryl and agreed to book a new wedding. His only stipulation was that it wasn’t at home in Dublin. That would sting too much. Cheryl had taken on the challenge and before he knew it, he was getting married in St Lucia. In Tadgh’s mind, it had gone from being a wedding to being something he was doing to honour his mum, not even giving a second thought to whether or not it was still what he really wanted.
Tadgh dipped back into the conversation, realised that Conlan was chattering away about some new amplifier and bailed back out to his thoughts again, catching up with where he’d been and castigating himself. What the hell was he thinking? Of course he wanted to marry Cheryl. She had been at his side since they were fourteen years old and he couldn’t imagine his life any other way.
Conlan caught his attention again. ‘By the way, what we were talking about earlier, you won’t tell Shay, will ya? I can’t be doing with the drama.’
‘No, mate, yer fine, don’t worry.’
‘Won’t tell Shay what?’ Neither of them had even noticed his brother approaching from the other side of the partition wall.
Tadgh snapped straight in to cover-up mode. ‘That he’s a shite singer and we’d be far better off if we could find someone who could hold a tune,’ Tadgh quipped, getting the reaction of utter disdain that he expected.
‘Fuck off. I’ve been carrying you lot for years. If it was down to you two, you’d still be playing in Da’s garage and Mam would be the only one dancing.’
That threw up another memory. The boys, fifteen and sixteen, playing in their dad’s huge haulage garage, in the corner that their da had blocked off for their rehearsals. Their mam bringing them ham sandwiches and crisps for dinner, then staying to have a wee dance with their da to the next few songs in their set. How had they gone from that tight, unbreakable family to this?
Tadgh knew Shay was way too paranoid to settle for the jokey answer, so he came back with something a bit more believable. ‘Okay, so we were saying that we reckon we could do a song at the wedding. We just didn’t want to say anything until we got there and checked out if it was going to work with the hotel.’
‘Yeah, that would be pretty cool. We could do “Locked In”,’ Shay offered, naming his favourite song in their set, mostly because he’d written it.
‘There’s the thing – we were thinking “Yesterday”.’ Tadgh couldn’t help himself. ‘Cheryl loves that song. It’s always the one that she asks for at gigs.’
‘Look, whatever,’ Shay answered, and Tadgh could see he was trying to go along with it but not quite getting there. ‘Whatever Cheryl wants, Cheryl gets.’
There was something in the way he said it that made the hairs on the back of Tadgh’s neck stand up. A hint of goading that he couldn’t leave unchecked.
‘You okay, bro. I don’t know, you seem a bit… off. Something on your mind?’
Shay shook his head, and as he did, Tadgh could smell the alcohol on his breath. Shit. How much had he been drinking on the flight? His bloodstream must have started the day pretty much 90 per cent Jack Daniel’s from last night, and he’d obviously been topping it up. This wasn’t a good sign. Sober Shay was great company, a born entertainer who was a bit of an egotistical dick, but still the kind of good time that everyone wanted to be around. Drunk Shay went one of two ways – either life and soul of the party, or an arrogant tosser who wanted to antagonise the world. Tadgh wasn’t sure which one he was getting, and going by Conlan’s wary expression, he should probably fear the worst.
‘You want to know the truth?’ Shay was blatantly goading him now, and it was a fight Tadgh was ready to take on.
‘Yeah, sure,’ he shrugged, keeping it low-key. He didn’t need to puff up his chest and raise his voice to get a point over. That had never been his way. His da was the same. In all his years, Tadgh couldn’t remember his da ever raising his voice, even when he was pushed to distraction by their antics. His ma had berated Shay loud enough for the whole street to hear when he’d ‘borrowed’ his da’s car at sixteen to go pick up a girl from Blackrock, and then crashed it into the front window of the kebab shop on the high street on the way back. Not his da. He just took the keys and walked away, but he’d been so pissed off it had been weeks before he could look Shay in the eye again. It wasn’t too different from how Tadgh felt right now.
‘I just don’t know why you’re getting married. I mean, what’s the point? It’s not as if she’s going anywhere, know what I mean? And what, you’re seriously telling me that you’re going to go through your whole life and only be with one woman? Give me a fucking break.’
The fact that Cheryl was the only woman he’d ever slept with had always been a source of piss-taking from his brother. Tadgh honestly didn’t care – he didn’t need to play Shay’s game and shag someone new every weekend. Truth was, he couldn’t think of anything worse. ‘Worked okay for Mam and Da,’ Tadgh countered calmly.
‘That’s my point. It’s not nineteen fucking sixty-five. Things have changed. You’ve got the whole fecking world out there, so why tie yourself down to one person?’
Tadgh shook his head. ‘You just don’t get the whole love thing, do you?’
‘Oh, I get the whole love thing. I just don’t think it needs a contract.’
They’d had this discussion, in one way or another, so many times over the years, but never so directly aimed at Tadgh, and never two days before his fecking wedding. He couldn’t stop himself from prodding the bear just a bit more.
‘So what are you saying? That I shouldn’t marry Cheryl?’
‘I just don’t think you need to put your whole life in the hands of one person. What if it goes tits up somewhere down the line? Won’t you regret wasting all these years of your life when you could have been out having yourself a real good time?’
On the inside, Tadgh knew he had a point, and he’d have been stupid not to have thought that one through himself. The reality was that there was no way round it. If he wanted to go out and live life as a single guy, he’d lose the only woman he’d ever loved. It was a price he wasn’t willing to pay. Simple as that.
He steeled himself. It was excruciating playing this cool. All he wanted to do was poke his brother in the chest, ask him what was going on, point out that he was playing with fire if he was messing with Cheryl’s married sister. And he was playing with something far more explosive if he’d lied to Conlan and he was actually messing with Cheryl. Tadgh felt his teeth clench. He just couldn’t contemplate the fallout from that situation. It would destroy them all.
‘Why would my marriage to Cheryl go tits up, Shay?’ That came out just a bit more confrontational than Tadgh had intended and he could see that Conlan was starting to look a bit nervous. It wasn’t like any of them could leave the room to cool down.
Shay put his hands up. ‘Hey, I’m just saying it could happen. Maybe somewhere down the line she’ll decide that she doesn’t want to go through her whole life and be with only one guy.’
Conlan closed his eyes, doing the out-of-body thing that he’d been trying to master in times of conflict since they were all about twelve. A fight had once broken out at one of their gigs, and Conlan had done the last four songs and the encore with his eyes tight shut.
Tadgh had listened to enough of this. He still couldn’t bring himself to accuse Shay of anything outright. Not when they were on a plane and couldn’t get away from each other. This was the kind of stuff that could end relationships and do damage that couldn’t be fixed. With every passing mile and minute though, he was getting closer and closer to asking the question he really wanted an answer to.
For now though, he settled for, ‘Why would you think that, Shay? Is there something you’re not telling me? Something I should know about the woman I’m about to marry?’ Tadgh’s gaze was piercing, and he refused to break eye contact until the plane juddered and forced the issue. Shay swayed to one side, the alcohol kicking the ankles out from his balance.
The seatbelt sign came back on and Stefan trundled back with the trolley. ‘Sorry, gents, need to break up the party.’
Tadgh turned and walked back to his seat. This was the second time that turbulence had saved his brother’s skin. And he still wasn’t sure that his relationship with his brother wasn’t about to hit a very painful crash landing.