Rewrite the Stars. Emma Heatherington

inside.’

      I get my breath back and turn towards the husky American accent that comes from my right. My unlit cigarette waves around and points to the heavens, my feet are still dancing a little bit too ambitiously. I’m in slippery electric blue cowboy boots, which I now know are certainly not the best footwear when there’s snow on the ground, but I should be more concerned that I’m stuck in a back yard with a stranger who seems more than a little pissed off at me right now.

      ‘You really shouldn’t jump out on people like that!’ I reply, straining to get a better look at him, and trying to match his tetchy mood. ‘I could have fallen over and broken my ankle and that would not have been—’

      ‘Charlie?’

      My heart stops. He just called me Charlie. No one ever calls me Charlie except my brother when he’s showing off or …

      ‘Tom? Tom Farley?’

      I must be imagining things. This cannot be real. I take a step back and put my hand to my chest, saying a prayer that this isn’t some prank or messed-up dream like so many I’d had down the years since I last heard his voice.

      I walk closer, towards the silhouette, and I lose my breath when I see his face.

      That voice – how could I not have recognized it after playing it over in my mind for so long? Those eyes that I’ve imagined staring back at me just once more, those lips, that hair, those arms I’d longed to hold me.

      It is him. It can’t be. I don’t understand.

      ‘Tom Farley?’ I say again.

      He nods. ‘How the hell did this happen?’ he asks me, just as flabbergasted as I am.

      I can’t believe this is happening. I can’t be that drunk, can I?

      I’m locked out of a bar in the back end of nowhere, on a freezing cold night in December, and the one person I find in the same position is the one person I’ve been basing my whole imaginary future for five whole years upon, even though deep down I thought I’d never see him again.

      ‘This is unbelievable,’ he says, flashing me a very, very sweet smile and obviously just as taken aback as I am. ‘Charlie Taylor!! Man, I thought the next time I saw you would be on some big stage with your name up in lights, not out the back of some poky bar like this place.’

      He shakes his head, just the same way as he did so long ago. He looks at me, just the same way, with the same wonder and hunger as he did back then too.

      ‘I don’t get it,’ I mumble. ‘What on earth are you doing here? Where on earth have you even been all these years? I can’t even—’

      ‘You need a light?’

      Stop the whole world and let me off. Stop the clocks and silence the pianos and all that. It really is Tom Farley, in the yard of Pip’s Bar, in the asshole of nowhere, and there’s no one out here with him – only me. How?

      I look at the cigarette and realize that yes, I do indeed need a light, but I’m too stunned to even speak. I’ve stopped dancing, but on the inside I’m still doing a routine to ‘Boom Boom Pow’ which the DJ inside has followed up with in a Black Eyed Peas’ double spin.

      I feel like I might faint. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry as a whole movie script of emotion attacks my insides. My mouth is saying words, but my brain isn’t thinking them through. It’s like every part of me is separated, desperately trying to slot together again and make sense of all this.

      ‘I don’t even smoke so please don’t tell Matthew.’

      I’m tongue-tied and I’ve no idea why I said that, as if I’m fourteen years old or something and will get into trouble with my parents or my big brother if I’m caught. I also think I’m about to have a heart attack and it’s nothing to do with cigarette consumption.

      ‘You sure look like you’re about to smoke.’

      ‘What I mean is, I don’t normally smoke, only sometimes when I’m drinking, and after tomorrow I’m never touching them again,’ I ramble.

      It’s actually him.

      ‘I don’t think I will be telling Matthew, no fear of that.’

      ‘In fact, I’m never drinking again after tonight either,’ I rant on. ‘Those are going to be my two big New Year resolutions come January. I actually can’t believe it’s you. It is you, right?’

      ‘It’s me, yes,’ he laughs. ‘Still me. Still the same Tom.’

      Still the same drop-dead gorgeous Tom. Still the love of my life, Tom. Still the one that got away who I’ve fantasized about meeting again one day, Tom. All I know about him is what I’ve found out from my brother since, which isn’t a lot really. The only thing I’ve managed to gather is that they’re no longer friends after the band they formed had a messy break-up.

      I lean into the glow of his cupped hands, glad of the quick blast of heat, and chug on the butt, puffing the ash until it turns bright orange on grey, then I flick my hair back for effect as I exhale a long stream of smoke. Tom, in turn, smells like a heavy mix of spearmint chewing gum, tobacco and leather, just like he did on that first day we met.

      ‘You still smell nice,’ I tell him. ‘Musky.’

      ‘You still talk a lot,’ he replies with his dazzling smile. ‘Chatty.’

      I would argue but I have been told this before, many, many times.

      ‘So, do you still sing as much as you talk, then?’ he asks. ‘Please don’t tell me you ignored my advice, became a teacher and your songs are gathering dust under your bed.’

      My songs about you are gathering dust under my bed, I long to admit to him. My breathing is slowing down now, yet I still can’t believe this moment is real.

      ‘I still love to write and sing,’ I say with a smile, straightening up and fixing my coat up around my chin. ‘But yes, my main collection nowadays does come in the form of “The Farmer Wants a Wife” and other such playground hits.’

      ‘A teacher then,’ he says. He’s disappointed. ‘I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’s a super career, but I always thought you were destined for even greater things.’

      I’m shaking. I’m totally sobered up now. I look around me to make sure there’s really no one else around and clench my nails into my hands tightly to make me feel like it’s real life. I want to scream in delight. I want to jump with joy, but most of all I feel like I could cry with the knowledge that this is indeed, very real.

      ‘Yes, I teach little people their ABCs and I love it,’ I tell him eventually, trying to keep it sane. ‘I’ve just quit for the Christmas break so I’m out on the lash, but I never, ever thought that I’d bump into you.’

      He laughs and flicks his cigarette like he doesn’t know what to say next. He is equally as flummoxed as me. We stare at each other, examining the moment, trying to absorb that so much time has passed, yet here we are still sharing the same breath-taking moment that has hit us right in the heart all over again. Well, at least that’s how I feel, anyhow.

      ‘And you? Are you still drumming?’ I manage to ask him. I’ve no idea how I’m even holding a conversation right now.

      ‘Not much since your brother kicked me out of his band four years ago,’ he laughs nervously in response. Then he whispers, ‘How is Matt anyway? Is he OK?’

      There’s a big pause and swift change of mood. Oh, if only he was OK. How I wish that my brother was OK.

      ‘Matthew’s doing as well as he can,’ I say, looking at the ground. I could divulge so many more gory details of how absolutely not OK he has been, but blood is thicker than water and I would never let my only brother down. ‘He doesn’t really talk about those