Rewrite the Stars. Emma Heatherington

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      ‘Matthew Taylor, what the hell!’ said Tom. ‘Your little sister has absolute, magic in her words and melodies! Seriously!’

      I smirked at Matthew, feeling his pain and discomfort at the tangible harmony and the intense meeting of minds that had beautifully backfired on him.

      ‘Well, I’m – I’m glad you think so,’ stuttered Matthew. ‘But you should try living with her. She’s—’

      ‘She’s incredible,’ Tom said, and I fleetingly felt sorry for Matthew who was so removed from this moment between us. ‘Matt, you told me she could sing but you didn’t tell me we’d the next Stevie Nicks on our hands! She even looks like her, too. And as for those lyrics! Did you write that, Charlie? Really?’

      He called me Charlie again.

      ‘Yes, I wrote it. All of me, all by myself,’ I said to him, quoting my very own lyrics. I sat up straight and put down my guitar then flicked back my hair. It’s wonderful how a quick wash, a lick of mascara, a spray of perfume and a change of clothing can help up your game, plus I was feeding off his hunger and energy. ‘Oh, and Stevie Nicks? I’ll take that. Thank you, Tom.’

      I should say that I absolutely loved that he called me Charlie and that I loved saying his name too. Tom. It was manly enough to make me flutter inside and if I was Stevie Nicks to him, to me he was a scruffy, unkempt young Bradley Cooper. Those eyes could stop the world.

      Later I would look up the name Tom online to see what it meant and find out that it translated as ‘twin’, which wasn’t as romantic as I hoped it might be, but then I decided that he was my soul twin. Yes, I liked that. We were kindred spirits, meant to be.

      ‘I’d really like to hear more of your work,’ Tom said, still shaking his head in awe. ‘Please tell me there’s more where that came from?’

      I gasped at his approval. No one had ever said that to me before. No one had ever really listened to my songs, not even my mother who, despite being quite cool in so many ways, was totally convinced that for me music was a hobby for behind closed doors and not something I would ever pursue in the real world. With a super-talented big brother like Matthew and a perfectly turned-out sister like Emily, I was never quite sure what to do to get my parents’ attention, and any efforts I made didn’t always turn out in my favour, you might say.

      ‘You sure you want to hear more?’ I asked Tom.

      I was shaking inside but doing my best to look cool and confident on the outside.

      ‘For sure I’m sure!’ he said, standing up from the sofa. ‘Look, you need to get those songs out there, big time, Charlie.’

      I could feel my brother wince every time he called me Charlie now. At home and to everyone I knew, I was Charlotte Jane Taylor, named after the Brontë sister of the same name and as a nod to my mother’s favourite novel of all time, Jane Eyre. My older sister was Emily Maria and Matthew James, the first born, often joked that he just about escaped being named Heathcliff as my dad got to choose his name.

      ‘I mean, why are you even busting your ass with university?’ Tom asked me. ‘You’re gifted, girl. You don’t need a degree! Your qualifications are all in there already.’

      He pointed at his temple to emphasize how I already had all the accolades I needed in my creative brain.

      ‘But I’m going to be a teacher,’ I told him. ‘So, as much as I love what you’re saying, in the real world I kind of need a degree.’

      Tom hunkered down in front of me and looked me right in the eye. His hands were on either side of me, on the arms of the chair. I could feel his breath on my skin. I could smell his woody, aromatic cologne. I thought I might explode.

      ‘No, no, no!’ he said, looking up at me. ‘You, Charlie Taylor, aren’t going to be a teacher. You are going to be a huge star.’

      My heart rose into my mouth. He had a presence, a charm, and the electricity between us was filling me up and making me feel weak at the same time. He was so close to me now his arms were almost touching my legs.

      And you’re going to be my muse, I wanted to say in return, wishing he would just stay there right in front of me forever.

      He stood up, pushed his hair from his face and, when he sat down again on the couch, I silently thanked my brother for bringing Tom Farley into my life. He was everything. The way he looked at me and the way he just made me feel was nothing like I’ve ever felt before. I was dizzy with lust and sheer admiration. I was brimming with confidence, more than I’d ever been in my whole twenty-two years on this planet.

      ‘Go on, give us one more,’ said Tom, resting back on the sofa now. He put one leg across the other to show he was in no hurry whatsoever.

      Matthew was almost green with envy.

      ‘It’s almost three thirty, Tom,’ he said, really peeved now. ‘We could make a start before the others arrive? I really want to go over some poster ideas for our new dates and we’ve a press pack to pull together.’

      Matthew looked at his watch, but Tom was still looking at me.

      ‘I think we should wait on the others instead of having to repeat yourself, Matt,’ he said, grinning my way. ‘Plus, I want to see if Charlie is a one-hit wonder, or if there’s more to come from such a genius mind. Go on, give us one more song, Charlie.’

      And so, I sang another one, and then another, neither of us noticing that Matthew had by now left the room, leaving us to it as we got lost in the music. I was singing for him. I was actually singing my very own songs for this beautiful stranger who was making me feel like I was the most important person in his world right now.

      ‘Hang on,’ Tom said while I was just about to finish a chorus. ‘Gimme that again.’

      He grabbed my brother’s guitar from the corner of the room and strummed along with me, then harmonized when he caught on to the chorus. All the time when we sang together, our eyes were locked and I felt like my heart might burst.

      ‘Keep singing that part,’ he said to me at one point. ‘I wanna try something here.’

      And so I did what he said and it made perfect sense. We were making music together. It was the most thrilling rush ever and this was shaping up to be the best day of my life.

      ‘You’ve blown my mind, Charlie,’ Tom said to me after the third song. He sat the guitar to the side and shook his head. ‘I could seriously listen to you, and look at you, all day. You’ve got it, Charlie. You’ve just got it!’

      He was in genuine disbelief. I tried to absorb all this unexpected praise from him.

      ‘And you know what? The most beautiful thing is you have no freakin’ idea just how good you are!’

      I tried to catch my breath in the intensity of it all as we stood there in the middle of this tiny, smelly, hormone-filled student sitting room, our breath patterns moving to the same rhythm. As Monday to Friday university accommodation to my brother, me and our friend Kirsty, the room had hosted many booze-filled parties and late nights over the past four years, but never had I experienced electricity in the air as I did right then with him.

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