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I bite my lip and take a step back from the dining table to admire the table setting I had pulled together. It looked good, but did it suit the vibe of the evening? It was a casual dinner party but I still wanted to impress everyone. This wasn’t Jules and Zara popping in with take out, this was Andrew and I hosting the entirety of Mumford & Sons and Marcus Mumford’s extremely talented wife, Carey.
Did I mention Marcus would be here? In my house? Tonight? With that big flashy grin and those cheeky eyes? Sorry—our house.
My meal. My efforts. All Andrew had to do was follow my orders. I was hosting Marcus Mumford and that flashy grin. Would my husband be offended if I-
“Dia, it looks great.”
I snap back into the present. The one where I am happily married, and so is Marcus, and I do not find him attractive at all. Nor was I shitting myself with nerves at the thought of all of them in my house, eating my food.
Andrew presses his lips to my cheek, sliding a hand onto my lower back like he knows I need grounding.
“Stop stressing- it looks great and you’ve cooked an amazing meal. You don’t need to impress them.”
“I’m not trying to impress anyone.” I mumble stubbornly, crossing my arms over my chest as I eye the table and disprove my statement. “I just want to be a good host.”
“You’ve met Marcus before, you know what he’s like. They just want to be in good company, have a laugh and hang out. And I’ve not met his and Ted’s wives, but I assume they’re the same.” Andrew hums.
Biting my lip, I look up at him. “You’d tell me if the food was shit. I trust that.”
Andrew chuckles, nodding in confirmation. “I love you enough to tell you the truth about your cooking, Dia. I wouldn’t let you embarrass me like that.”
Scowling, I swat him with the teatowel on my shoulder. “Embarrass you? Good to know you’re only worried about your reputation as a host.”
“Hey, I’m teasing. Come on, we’ll have a good night. You just need a wine in you.”
Andrew takes my hand and drags me into the kitchen. The boys were playing a show in Dublin tomorrow night and were finally able to take Andrew up on his offer of, ‘next time you’re in town I’ll have you round for dinner!’, of which really meant, ‘hey Dia, maybe you could make that Italian casserole you do so well and I’ll just supply the wine and the whiskey’.
In fairness, he’d given me a week’s notice once the plans were made, so I’d had seven days of anxiety and stress in the lead up that were totally my own doing.
I’d met Marcus, Ted and Ben when they recorded their song with Andrew and then again backstage at the last Dublin show they did. They were all lovely, charming people and I’m sure Marcus and Ted’s wives were too, but that didn’t mean I was completely at ease with the idea of hosting them in our home for the first time.
In typical me fashion, everything had to be perfect.
I accept the glass of red wine from Andrew and take a deep sip to calm my nerves. I just wanted to make a good impression, mostly for Andrew. It meant a lot to me and while it was my own self-inflicted expectations, I just wanted to do a good job.
“Is Poet ready for bed?” I ask over the lip of my glass.
Andrew nods. “She’s on the couch. She’ll be out like a light soon.”
“She’ll get all riled up again when they come in the door. You know how she is.” I muse, sending him a look.
“What, a lover girl over Marcus Mumford like her mother?”
I scowl, rolling my eyes. “Shut up, Andrew.”
He laughs teasingly as he moves around the kitchen. “Tell me it’s not true, Lidia.”
“It’s not true. Don’t embarrass me tonight.”
Andrew walks over to me and wraps his arms around my waist, chuckling as he kisses my temple.
“So you wore this dress for me then? Knowing how much I love it on you?”
I bite my lip. Multiple times he’d told me how much he loved this dress on me. The sage green was one of his favourite colours and he always complimented how well the knit material hugged my body, especially after I’d had Poet. He said it highlighted my best curves, something I had quietly felt insecure about post-birth. The long sleeves kept it feeling classy and elegant, while the body-con style kept it a little youthful.
“Yeah…I mighta…”
Andrew hums, kissing me tenderly on the lips. “Love you, Mrs Byrne.”
I kiss him back. “I love you- “
The intercom on the wall by the fridge buzzes loudly, telling us they were at the gate. Fuck. Showtime, I guess.
Andrew kisses me once more. “We got this. It’ll be fun.”
I let out a breath and nod. “You’re right. It’ll be fun. Answer the buzzer and put a record on.”
We spring into action, Andrew doing as told while I tidy up in the kitchen before following him to the front door. We pass the living room, where Poet is snuggled up on the couch in her little navy pajamas, cuddling her little stuffed pig as she watches television. She’s two now and an avid thumb sucker, despite mine and Andrew’s best efforts to wean her off of the bad habit.
I straighten my appearance and fix my hair before picking a piece of lint off of Andrew’s sweater. When he opens the door, Marcus is the first to greet him, loud and proud and full of joy, the way he always is.
God, he’s charming. And handsome.
“Lidia! Good to see you, love.” Marcus smiles as he greets me with a hug while the rest of the group greet Andrew first. “Thanks for having us!”
“We’re so glad we were able to have you guys over. Welcome.” I greet, taking in his scent. I wonder what it was. Maybe I could find it for Andrew for Christmas.
Marcus introduces me to his wife Carey, who I manage to remain totally calm and cool around, before I greet Ted, his wife Milli, and Ben. We usher them inside toward the kitchen so Andrew can fix everyone a drink before we’ll migrate to the table. We accept the compliments on the house and the smell of the food, before our sweet, curious little girl comes wandering in to investigate all of the noise. Running to Andrew, she hides behind his legs before demanding to be lifted into his arms.
“‘Ello, who’s this?” Marcus beams from beside Andrew.
“Popo, you going to say hello?” Andrew coos, chuckling as she starts to act all shy in his arms. “Everyone, this is Poet. Poet, say hello, darlin’.”
Poet giggles, burying her face into Andrew’s chest.
“She’s usually a chatterbox, but it appears she’s feeling a bit shy.” I muse, raising a brow.
“She’s gorgeous,” Carey smiles sweetly at me. “How old is she?”
“She’s just turned two,” I answer.
Andrew nudges her, grinning. “Why have you gone all shy?”
“Ah, she’s probably not used to so many strangers in her home.” Marcus teases, leaning in to our daughter. “Hi darlin’. Thanks for having us in your house.”
Poet giggles, blushing as she rests her head against Andrew’s chest. Andrew looks at me, his eyes screaming, she gets this from you.
I can’t help but blush and take a sip from my glass.
“Ha-lo.” Poet waves.
Marcus reaches out for her little hand and shakes it, melting my heart as I watch my daughter fall head first for him.
Oh, I get it, girl.
Eventually we migrate to the dining table, with Poet wriggling free from Andrew’s grip once she’s received her requested warm bottle. Once she toddles back to the couch we turn the music up, pour the wine and dig in.
“This is brilliant, Lidia. You’re a great cook.” Carey compliments from beside Marcus, who happened to sit directly across from me. Andrew was on my left at the head of the table, with Ted and Milli to my right, and Ben across from them beside Carey.
“Oh, it’s nothing. Just an old family classic,” I blush as I sip my wine and pass the garlic bread around. “I actually made this for Andrew when we first started dating.”
“It’s always been a favourite of mine.” He admits with a grin.
“Is this before or after you had your decade long tiff?” Marcus asks cheekily.
“Marcus,” Carey whispers, sending him a look.
I look at Andrew, who looked guilty of sharing our sophisticated history with a mate. I can’t help but laugh and roll my eyes. “Before.”
“Oh, I don’t think I know this story.” Ted hums curiously.
“Oh, it’s brilliant.” Marcus teases, giving me a nod.
After swallowing a mouthful of my dinner, I dab my lips with my napkin and look down the table.
“Andrew and I met in college,” I begin, “we were babies.”
“We were in the same music performance program,” Andrew explains. “Dia and I were paired up and our professor decided our destiny had been decided.” He chuckles.
“AKA, we started a folk duo,” I state. “And somehow, Andrew convinced me to leave university for him.”
“Oh, I bet your parents were thrilled.” Ben smiles.
“As you can imagine.” I nod.
“Your da loved me.” Andrew smirks.
I sent him a look. “He was convinced Andrew was brainwashing me. Asked to speak with his mother and all.”
“Ah, I can see that.” Marcus chuckles. “Sounds like our lad.”
“Obviously, I convinced him that I was a respectable young man,” Andrew nods, rubbing his foot against my ankle under the table. “We gigged for a bit, wrote a couple songs together. We were together for a few years, and then…I guess, went our separate ways.”
“Andy got signed as a solo artist, we had a little tiff, and decided to part ways,” I nod diplomatically. I’d found peace with the great betrayal of our youth, accepting our break up as part of our history that had led us to the best place we could have found ourselves. There were no more ill feelings and I had learnt to find a way to tell our story without holding a grudge.
“We were super young and needed to do some growing. So we spent a good ten years apart before Andrew came knocking on my door just before the tenth anniversary of his debut album.”
“Well, blowing up your phone.” Andrew corrects sheepishly.
“Ah, yes.”
“Is that the song you did together? That you re-recorded for the anniversary release?” Ted asks, pointing his fork between us.
I nod. “That’s the one.”
“We love that song,” he smiles, nodding at Milli. “We played it at our wedding. We’ve always loved it, and the new version was just stunning.”
Milli smiles, nodding in agreement. “It’s my favourite.”
“Oh, thank you.” I was touched by their compliments, having a tendency to forget that our music did exist out in the world. It was so intimate for me that it really did feel like we were the only ones who knew about it, even having played it live for those few shows.
“It’s gorgeous. You really ought to do more, Lidia.” Marcus nods.
Oh, wow.
I blush and wave him off. “I’ll get a big head.”
“I’ve already fought that battle,” Andrew chuckles. “It was tough enough getting Dia to record with me again, but she did, and she did an amazing job. Then she agreed to come out on the road and we rekindled things.”
“That’s so romantic,” Carey smiles softly, sipping her wine. “Marcus said it was a short engagement?”
I can’t help but blush, nodding in confirmation. “I think Andrew proposed nine months after we got back together. I told him I wanted to get married three months after that.”
“We’re quite impatient.” Andrew jokes, his blush matching mine.
“I love it,” Carey shakes her head. “I think that’s wonderful. And Marcus is right, Lidia. You have a gorgeous voice. Why did you decide not to pursue music?”
I’m a little intimidated by Carey, but by way of admiration. She seemed sure of herself and what she wanted; she didn’t need to second guess whether or not to go after something. I don’t know how she had the career she did while raising three kids, her youngest being the same age as Poet.
“I grew a career in photography,” I explained. “I think I grew more comfortable as an artist by Andrew’s side, and I wasn’t ready to do it on my own at that age. It was for the best; he’s stronger independent of me and I’m a better photographer than I am musician.”
“Ah, I think you’re equally good at both.” Andrew hums through a mouthful.
“Yes, but you’re my husband. You do have to tell me I’m good at everything.” I tease sweetly.
“Ted, take note.” Milli nods at her husband with a small smirk.
“I’ll write that down.”
“So you really have no plans to sing on anything? Or write anything?” Marcus asks, his stare focused on me. I felt my heart rate pick up, suddenly feeling as shy as my daughter had been earlier in the kitchen.
“I don’t think so, no.”
“Shame.” He smiles.
Thankfully, the conversation moves on from mine and Andrew’s history and my lack of a music pursuit and onto the tour the boys are currently on. Once I can see that everyone is genuinely enjoying the food, I start to feel myself relax a little in their company. I know I should have trusted Andrew’s word, but I was a perfectionist. I wanted this to be good, not just for me, but for Andrew. They were his friends and I cared what they thought about his wife.
His gentle squeeze of my hand on the table reminds me that it’s only his opinion that counts, and that’s not one I need to be unsure of.
By the time dessert rolls around, Poet has made herself known to her father by climbing into his lap, and despite her resistance, is clearly ready for bed.
“C’mon, bub. I’ll tuck you in and sing you a song,” Andrew hums, kissing her forehead as she yawns for the nth time. “Time to go to bed, huh?”
“Andrew, just take her. She’ll fight you all night if you let her.” I chuckle, reaching over to squeeze her foot. “Bed time, Popo. Say goodnight to everyone.”
“Da song?” Poet asks sweetly, tipping her head back on Andrew's chest to look up at him as her stuffed pig hangs from her mouth.
“Yeah, darlin’, I’ll sing you a lullabye.”
Poet nods before looking at Marcus. “Song?” She points to him.
He responds animatedly, placing a hand on his chest. “You want me to sing you a bedtime song?”
“Go on, Marcus is really good at lullabies.” Carey teases, nudging her husband.
Poet grins, nodding.
“Oh, I’d be honoured!”
Andrew chuckles. “You don’t have to, man- “
“Nonsense. C’mon, Andy. We’ve got a little princess to sing to sleep.”
That’s how easy it is?
“Alright, say goodnight to everyone, Po.” Andrew smiles softly, standing and leaning down so I can kiss her goodnight.
“Night, angel. Mama’ll come check on you when you’re asleep. Is breá liom tú.” I murmur as I press my lips to her cheek.
Poet giggles and tugs on my hair before she curls back into her father’s chest. She gives a little wave before she is carried down the hall, disappearing with the two hottest men I’ve ever seen.
I try to ignore the raging jealousy I have for my two year old daughter.
“Is that Irish?” Carey asks as she leans forward, resting her chin on her clasped hands.
I blush, nodding. “Yeah. We try to teach her little bits.”
“I didn’t realise Andrew spoke Irish.” She hums inquisitively.
“Between us we know bits and pieces. Nothing to write home about, but we want to learn more and teach Poet. Andy’s parents are quite fluent but there’s obviously not a lot of people around that speak it anymore.” I explain with a small smile. “Maybe it’s a lost cause, but it’s important to him.”
“I love it,” Carey nods. “I think it’s beautiful.”
“We tried to speak more French around the boys,” Milli hums. “But they just look at us blankly.”
We spiral into a conversation about languages and children, of which I contribute while I clear the plates and prepare dessert in the kitchen. Something I loved about the large open kitchen was that it meant I could still be part of the conversation in the dining room, and I could hear the faint harmonies coming from my daughter’s bedroom. I was dying to go stand by the door and listen, but I stuck to my hosting duties and practiced the ultimate resilience.
“Ah, Lidia, that looks brilliant.”
I jump lightly as I place the rest of the dessert plates in a small stack on the counter. The boys had obviously finished putting Poet to sleep and while Andrew was refilling drinks, Marcus had snuck into the kitchen and consequently snuck up on me.
“Oh, thanks,” I laugh. “I figured a tiramisu is a crowd favourite.”
“You made that?” He asks in surprise.
I nod. “It’s maybe the one dessert I know how to make.”
“Wow. You’ll have to give Carey the recipe. She’s always wanted to try making it. I’m not even going to bother because I’ll fuck it up, I’m sure.” Marcus grins cheekily.
“Oh, don’t be so hard on yourself. I believe in you.” I wink.
He laughs. “Thanks, love. Though you have too much faith.”
“Ah, how do you think I convinced her to marry me?” Andrew hums as he walks into the kitchen with two empty whiskey glasses ready for refill. “Dia, more wine?”
I nod. “Please.”
Marcus leans on the bench, crossing his arms as he looks between the two of us. “No, no way. I don’t think it took any convincing. You said you were only engaged what, three months? Lidia needed no convincing at all.”
I blush. “You’re not wrong.”
Andrew smirks as he fills the glass in front of him. “She’s a lover girl, beneath that harsh exterior.”
“Harsh?”
“He means strong willed. Fiercely independent.” Marcus assures me cheekily.
“You’re a shit stirrer at home, aren’t you?” I ask with a raised brow.
“I would say no, but that would be a lie.”
“Eh, you’ve met your match, Dia.” Andrew winks at me as he returns to the table.
I shoot a glare into the back of his smug head.
“So do you write with Andy at all?” Marcus hums curiously as he crosses his arms over his chest. His biceps strain against his t-shirt sleeves and I have to force myself to meet his eyes instead.
“Eh, here and there,” I chuckle as I reach for a serving spoon. “I haven’t in a little while.”
“Am I annoying you by pestering you about music?” He asks with a grin.
“No, not at all,” I laugh. “You’re about as persistent as Andy. It’s sweet, but I’m not hungry for it the way I used to be. I play enough at home, for Po, for Andy, it’ enough for me. He’s the professional. It’s fulfilling enough watching him live out the dream.”
“He’s lucky to have you, Lid. It’s a tough gig, being married to a musician. Not for the faint hearted.” Marcus muses, his eyes finding Carey at the table.
“Well she’s just as busy as you. I don’t know how you two do it, especially with three kids.” I say in astonishment.
Marcus nods, agreeing. “It’s tough, man. But we committed to it, so we’ll make it work, y’know? Our thing is that we’ll try not to work at the same time. If I’m touring, she won’t film, and vice versa. Sometimes things clash but for the most part, we manage.”
“I took a bit of a break when Andy first went back into the studio,” I nod. “Now that he’s waiting for the mixes, I’m working more, but when he tours this next album I’ll either take Poet on the road or we’ll try to do visits and I’ll commit to working from home. It’s the sacrifices you make, I suppose.”
“You two seem like you’ve got it sorted out,” he hums. “Would you have any more?”
I give him a wistful smile. “We can’t.”
“Oh, shit. I’m sorry.”
“No, no, it’s okay. Obviously we would have liked to, but even managing Poet some days is tough. I think we’re better suited to just the one. A blessing in disguise, maybe.” I chuckle fondly.
“It’s a wonderful thing, seeing an old mate become a father. He talks about his little girl all the time.” Marcus smiles, and for the first time, it’s not how he looks that makes me melt, it’s what he’s saying. And I think he can tell.
“Are you surprised?” He chuckles.
“I mean…no, I know he adores her.”
“But you didn’t think he’d be one of those lads that’s always yapping about their family?”
I raise a brow, intrigued. If Andrew were standing here I know he’d be moving the conversation along and not without a faint blush to his cheeks. It’s not that I don’t think Andrew is proud of our little family, but hearing what he’s like when he’s away from us is touching.
“Oh, he’s talking about you two all the time. And I’m not just saying that. I know a lot of people think he was born to be a musician, or a singer, but I think he was born to be the man he is now; realised by the family he’s created. The one he’s created with you, Lidia.”
I let out an awkward laugh as my eyes start to water.
Marcus chuckles and reaches out for a hug. “I’m sorry.”
“No, it’s fine,” I sniff, embarrassed—and, oh my god? Marcus Mumford is hugging me in my kitchen?—I manage to pull myself together, dabbing at my eyes with a kitchen towel. “It’s just—funny to think of how we got here. But maybe it’s true, what they say about how you can’t outrun something that was meant for you. Sometimes I think about how much more we would have had, had we not run.”
“Ah, but that’s the part where you find out who you are,” Marcus grins, nudging me with his elbow as he leans against the counter. “You need that, before you can find each other again.”
There’s a reason why they call this man a genius. Not everyone gets a truth bomb like that in their kitchen before the tiramisu is due to go out.
We chat for a little bit longer before I remember I have a whole dessert on the bench waiting to be eaten. It’s nice to get to know Marcus a little more one on one—outside of the fact that I think he’s utterly charming, I can see how deeply he cares for his friendship with Andrew and it’s nice to get to know that side of him. Seeing Marcus and Carey manage two crazy careers and a family reassures me that Andrew and I are more than capable of doing the same within our slightly smaller, slightly less crazy little bubble.
“Oh my god, Lidia, this looks amazing.” Carey gushes. “I need the recipe for this.”
“Me too, my god.” Milli mumbles as I place the tiramisu in the middle of the table.
“I would say me too, but I’ll just come round for dinner when one of you make it.” Ben states, causing a ripple of laughter down the table.
“It’s really not too complicated, I swear, you’re all making me feel very appreciated but I have to tell you I’m a fraud.” I laugh.
Andrew places a hand on the small of my back as he laughs. “Just accept the praise, Dia. It looks incredible.”
I shoot him a wink before sitting down and plating up. I won’t lie, it’s probably the best tiramisu I’ve ever pulled together, and thank God because if there was a table of people I most wanted to impress, it would certainly be this one.
While the men offer to do the clearing up, I take that as my moment to sneak off to Poet’s room to check on her. Carey follows, wanting to get a sneak peek of the mural Lorraine had painted for us that I’d told her about. She adored the idea and wanted to see it for herself. That, and she needed a ‘baby fix’ as a result of missing her kids while joining Marcus on tour for the week they were in Ireland.
Leaning over her crib, my heart softens at the sight of her. Her light brown curly hair was a mess around her sweet little face, her little cupid lips puckered around her thumb as she clutched her stuffed pig under her arm. She was a heaven sent angel and I might be biased, but nobody would be able to convince me otherwise.
Carey grips my arm. “Oh gosh, Lidia, she’s so gorgeous.” She whispers.
I look at her with a pout. “Isn’t she?”
“She looks just like you, only she’s got darker hair. She’s your twin otherwise.”
I took a little pride in that considering she was so alike to Andy in so many other ways. If anything, I saw a lot of my mother in Poet, and that was better than anything.
Carey praises the mural and the work that we put into creating Poet’s nursery as we sneak back out of the room. She loved interior styling and was incredibly complimentary of the home Andrew and I had turned this house into.
“I love that you’re so isolated out here, too. Not too far out, but you’ve got enough privacy away from everybody. It’s the best way to raise kids.” She tells me as we walk down the hall.
I nod in agreement. “Absolutely—I thought I would struggle moving out of the city, but it’s such a home here. I don’t think I ever thought I would be so…fulfilled out here.”
Carey smiles. “You have a beautiful little family—it radiates from you, Lidia.”
Wow. Had this been all I ever really wanted?
“And thank you so much for inviting us all over. The next time you and Andy are in London we’ll have to have you out for dinner. You’ll have to come out to Devon and stay on the farm for a weekend.” Carey tells me as she squeezes my arm.
“I hope you know we will one hundred percent be taking you up on that.”
She laughs. “Good! We’ll add it to the diary, we ought to— “
We pause just before the living room as the soft strum of an acoustic guitar or two can be heard travelling down the hall. Like clockwork, Carey and I look at each other with a raised brow, knowing all too well that our husbands could not pass up the opportunity of jamming, despite the sleeping baby.
Chuckling, I follow her back to the living room where Andrew and Marcus sit perched on the couch with Ben, Ted and Milli sitting around them. Ben keeps time, drumming softly on his lap as they harmonise softly together. It’s some old folk tune I can’t remember the name of, but it sounds beautiful tucked away in their registers. Andrew picks delicately at his Takamine while Marcus strums softly on mine. I had to take a second to process what was happening: Marcus Mumford is playing my guitar.
We hover in the doorway, watching as they do what they do best. Andrew catches my eye and winks, likely knowing what a sight this was for me. Part of me wonders if he had pulled Marcus in for a tune for my benefit, and if so, how would I repay him later this evening for such a gift?
Marcus Mumford. On my guitar. In my house. I am a lucky woman, and my husband was about to be a lucky man.
They finish the song and Carey and I clap teasingly from the doorway.
“We didn’t wake Poet, did we?” Marcus asks thoughtfully.
You can wake up Poet any day of the week, angel.
“No, she’s out like a log.” I chuckle. “Takes after her da.”
Andrew grins victoriously, as though there isn’t anything better he could have passed down to her. “That means she’s dead to the world.”
“You two couldn’t help yourself, could you?” Carey asks, raising a brow at her husband. It seemed Marcus was about as guilty as mine.
“Practically ran to the guitars.” Milli laughs, leaning into Ted’s side as she perches on the arm of the armchair he was sitting in. They seemed like such a lovely couple; steady in their love and the life they’d built for themselves. I found it inspiring to know you could be so content, so many years in.
“Ah, just showing Marcus his way around a Tak- you know he only plays Fender, Dia?” Andrew smirks at me.
I roll my eyes. “You’re such a snob about Fender.”
“That’s what I said!” Marcus states, pointing at me.
“He literally plays Fender.”
“He’s a hypocrite, Lid.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Alright, alright.” Andrew laughs, waving us off.
Marcus takes that moment to pull me in, once again, to the conversation he hadn’t been able to give up earlier that evening. “Go on, Lidia. I want to hear you. Sing us a song with your lover.”
I blush profusely, the idea appearing more as a nightmare to sing in front of professional musicians. It didn’t count when I sang in front of Andrew because our history had afforded us the kind of trust that is hard to find elsewhere. Even gigging at Temple Bar hadn’t been this intimidating. Singing in front of a pub of drunken strangers was a whole other ball game to singing to a lounge room of utter musical geniuses.
“Uh, no, I don’t think so- “
“Dia and I sing all the time,” Andrew states, instead standing to hand me his guitar. “Sing a song with Marcus.”
I don’t miss the slight raised brow from my husband, who had apparently planned this all along.
Marcus lights up at the idea. “Will you do me the pleasure, Lid?”
Oh, God.
“I- I don’t- “
“Come on, just one?”
“I would tell Marcus not to pressure you, Lidia,” Carey begins as she finds a spot on the couch beside Ben. “But I’d love to hear you two singing together.”
Andrew slides a hand onto my hip and places the guitar in my hands. “C’mon, sing one for us. Give our duet something to panic about.”
Nothing could compare to singing with you, not even Marcus Mumford, baby.
Reading my mind, Andrew winks at me and nudges me gently to take his previous spot beside Marcus.
“This wasn’t in the hosting contract,” I state as I give in and take Andrew’s guitar from him. “I should be paid extra for this.”
“Right, what are we going to sing?” Marcus asks me the second I sit down. He’s like a kid in a candy store, and if my nerves weren’t so shot, I’d probably be right there with him. At the thought of a song suggestion, my mind goes completely blank. I look to Andrew, my only place of safety in any situation these days.
“Actually, there’s a song from a film you did,” he says, turning to Carey, “that Lid loves—” he turns to me, “what’s it called?”
“500 Miles.” I blush. “The Peter, Paul & Mary version.”
“Oh, I loved that one.” She nods, looking at me with a smile. “Do that one, Marcus likes that one.”
“Is that too old school for you?” I ask teasingly.
With his mega watt grin, Marcus shakes his head and starts picking the chord. “Course not. You want to take the first verse?”
“Definitely not.”
Marcus laughs and takes the lead. We find our rhythm together on the guitars first, matching tempo and key, before he starts to sing. His voice is soft and slowed, and without the band or the energy a Mumford gig often employs, his voice soars, even when taking into consideration a sleeping baby down the hall. I almost become too entranced to remember that he and I are in this together.
“If you miss the train I’m on, you will know that I am gone
You can hear the whistle blow, a hundred miles
A hundred miles, a hundred miles
A hundred miles, a hundred miles
You can hear the whistle blow, a hundred miles,”
Marcus looks at me to join him on the chorus, reminding me just how short this little folk diddy is, and that I really did prefer letting my partner take the lead when it came to singing together. It’s how I knew that any type of singing career for me wouldn’t exist beyond Temple Bar; I was not built to command the stage like he or my husband were. And that was okay. In fact, I preferred it that way.
“Lord I’m one, Lord I’m two, Lord I’m three, Lord I’m four,
Lord I’m 500 miles from my home
500 miles, 500 miles,
500 miles, 500 miles,
Lord I’m 500 miles from my home,”
Marcus sits back, nodding at me with that peaceful smile one often finds themselves with when it comes to the ease of music like this. I steady my breathing and look across the room to Andrew, finding my centre before I open my mouth.
“Not a shirt on my back, not a penny to my name,
Lord, I can’t go home, this away,
This away, this away,
This away, this away,
Lord, I can’t go home this away,
If you miss the train I’m on, you will know that I am gone
You can hear the whistle blow a hundred miles.”
I follow Marcus’ lead as we play to a close, knowing full well he was supposed to join me on the last few bars but gave me my moment in front of everyone. It was sweet of him, and maybe self-fulfilling because I know he just wanted to hear me sing, but either way it lights up my insides with that quiet giddiness as I realise I’d just sung with Marcus Mumford. It’s like I could compartmentalise the Marcus Mumford from Marcus, my husband’s friend, and in this moment, he was very much the man that had written some of my favourite songs.
“Ah, that was beautiful, thanks Lid,” he beams, wrapping an arm around my shoulders and pulling me into his side.
“Thank you for humoring me.” I chuckle, my cheeks burning as everyone claps. With pride, yes, but also with that humble streak of embarrassment I know was written all over my face. Luckily, only Andy knew how to speak my language.
“What do you say you give up the folk duo gig with your husband and we do a swap?” Marcus teases.
“Don’t put ideas in her head,” Andrew scoffs, shooting me a wink.
“Ah, I don’t think you’re quite prepared for the tumultuous marriage that comes with such a dynamic,” I chuckle as I hand Andrew back his guitar. “As fun as that was. I’d say your day job is probably going to go quite well for you.”
“You ought to record a version of that.” Ted pipes up.
Carey jumps in, sensing my horror. “Alright, alright, boys. She’s a photographer first and foremost. Not everyone wants to be a popstar.”
Amongst their laughter, I can’t help but feel uniquely seen by Carey in that moment. What a little gem of a moment that was and I was grateful to my husband for creating such moments in our life together, but I had done so much to keep my separate identity and passion intact while also indulging in my musical ability. Having a woman on my side that must know a thing or two about that, was reassuring.
After a couple nightcaps followed by some coffees and endless conversation that could go on for hours, we eventually see everyone off to the door. It’s a night that I don’t want to end, but am simultaneously looking forward to climbing into bed at the end of it.
As soon as we are finished with goodbyes, kisses, hugs, promises of catching up in Devon and promises of a forwarded tiramisu recipe, Andrew and I close the door and finally, exhale.
Leaning my back against the door, I look up at him, huffing a strand of my curly blonde hair out of my face.
“Okay?”
“Okay.” He chuckles, leaning in and pressing his forehead down to mine. “Well done, Dia. You were the most excellent host.” He murmurs.
I grin and kiss him, unable to help myself. “You think so?”
“Mmhmm. Food was incredible. Table was brilliant. And she sings? She can do it all.”
I let out a laugh, pushing myself up from the door and into his waiting embrace. “I hate you for that. You totally planned that.”
“I mean, I may have commandeered the situation, yes. But it was all for the greater good. You got to sing with your folk music crush, and it wasn’t on a stage in front of thousands of people. You’re welcome.” Andrew grins cheekily, kissing me back before taking me by the hand to drag me back into the kitchen.
“That’s very considerate of you,” I muse as we begin to clear away the remaining dishes. “Because if you ever pushed me into that kind of situation, you know you’d have a divorce and a custody battle coming your way.”
“Yes, I’ve got to think these things through now there’s a baby involved.”
“Carey said she was gorgeous,” I pout at him over my shoulder as I load the dishwasher and turn it on. “When she was sleeping.”
“Marcus said the same thing,” he chuckled, looking up from his one task of wiping down the bench. His wedding band sparkles under the low hanging light above the island. My heart sings, every single time. “She fell asleep holding his hand as he sang her a lullabye—”
“Andrew, don’t.”
“And he said, ‘she’s gorgeous mate—y’know, I know she’s got dark hair, but she’s the spit of Lid.’ I couldn’t wait to tell you that.”
I look up, catching Andrew’s smirk and knowing eye. I mean, I couldn’t say it out loud, but had Marcus Mumford-
“Yes, Marcus Mumford indirectly called you gorgeous.”
I blush and look away. “Shut up, Andrew.”
Andrew lets out a laugh, throwing the cloth down and wiping his hands down his sides. I hated when he did that. The sink to wash his hands was right there.
“It’s okay to admire people, Andrew.” I huff, looking around at the spotless kitchen as my husband made his way toward me.
“Yeah, yeah,” he chuckles, wrapping his arms around me. He leans in to kiss my neck. “It’s okay to be totally obsessed- “
“I’m not totally obsessed- “
“Whatever you say, Dia.”
“Be quiet. Should we go check on the baby?”
“Ah, you mean the baby that is also obsessed with Marcus?”
“At least fifty percent of that is your doing.”
“Right, of course it is.”
Because we are unable to get enough of her, Andrew and I make a conscious effort not to race one another down the hall, instead making a performative attempt to walk slowly beside one another until we get to Poet’s bedroom door. I nudge the door gently, her dark room lit only by the warm orange nightlight across from her crib. She was peacefully asleep, the only sound coming from her soft little murmurs as she was held safely within a dream. Most nights it took everything I had not to climb into that crib alongside her, not yet ready not to have her clinging to me in our big bed.
One positive that came from her transitioning into her ‘big girl bed’ was that it allowed the time for Andrew and I again. I hadn’t realised just how much I'd missed being the one to be held at night, a custom I’d unknowingly taken for granted when I’d moved in with him.
“I miss her sleeping with us.” Andrew whispers down my spine behind me as we stand in her doorway.
“I know, but it’s good. For her, and for us.” I remind him as we slowly back out of her room and head down the hall to our room. “She was so well behaved tonight.”
“She’s good around adults. Mam was right when she said to socialise her young.”
I nod in agreement as Andrew pulls his sweater over his head and throws it onto the armchair in the corner of our bedroom. “She’s curious, rather than loud and disruptive. I think she gets that from you. She mimics a lot of your mannerisms, have you noticed?”
“A little. Except for when she’s doing pawawees with you.” Andrew teases, sending me a look.
I laugh and start pulling my dress over my head. “She’s my little mini. I need to get her matching activewear.”
When I pull my dress over my head, Andrew has crossed the room to me, his hands waiting on my hips once they become bare from my dress. Throwing the garment onto the chair with his sweater, I look up at him with a lazy, tired smile.
“I’m too tired for sex tonight—”
“That’s not what I’m propositioning,” he chuckles, leaning down to bury his face into my shoulder. He wraps his arms around my middle, hugging me sweetly. I slide my arms around his shoulders, running a hand through the back of his hair. He’d left it out tonight at my request, and I loved seeing him play with it through the evening. It reminded me of how he’d do the same with Poet’s wild curls as she laid on his chest, drinking her bottle and listening to the stories he’d read to her. It reminded me that before her curls, came his. And how without him, we wouldn’t have her.
I love my little family.
“Thank you for tonight,” Andrew murmurs into my skin, never not sending goosebumps all over me. “You’re amazing.”
“At hosting?” I chuckle, rubbing his back tenderly.
“At making a home out of this place. For me and her. For the people we invite inside.”
My brow softens, my eyes glistening at his softness. I press a kiss to the part of him my face is pressed against.
“You make it so easy.” I murmur.
I feel his heart beating in time with mine. No matter how deeply buried, I always felt his heart.
After a minute of just holding one another, something we rarely get enough of these days, I feel his lips turn into a small smile on my shoulder.
“Even when I bring your crush home?”
I chuckle. “Even then. Marcus is an easy guest to host. He’s a good conversationalist.”
“You two were talking up a storm in the kitchen.”
My smile mirrors his. I bite my lip and pull back, forcing his eyes to mine. When I have them, I reach up and cup his cheeks.
“Y’know what we were talking about?”
“What?” Andrew chuckles.
“You. I get five minutes alone with my crush, and I just find myself talking about you,” I murmur softly. “Always, I’m talking about you.”
Andrew’s eyes soften as they scan my face. When I don’t break, or play it off as a joke, I think he understands what I’m saying. Not even Marcus Mumford can compare to you, baby. As if that was even a question. Crushes come and go, so do idols and heroes and those we vow never to meet in real life because we resonate too much with the image they have created. But true, real love? The person I was always meant to find my way back to? Even after all those miles and all that time?
That’s forever kind of stuff, baby.