This might be the only chance I get to talk to Kate about Phoebe, before the thunder of remaining Cattenachs descends upon us and the moment is lost.
‘Her name is Phoebe Jones,’ I say, my chest swelling as her name plays on my lips. ‘You’re going to think I’m nuts, but I think she’s perfect for me. As in long-term perfect.’
Kate’s mirth softens and she sits next to me, anticipating the story that will follow.
Once I begin, it all comes out. And despite the hammering in my head, I can’t stop my smile. I fall over my words, somewhere between confession and breathless laughter. And the whole time, Kate watches, a strange half-grin resting on her face.
When it’s all said, she sits back, the boiled kettle long forgotten between us. ‘I’ve never seen you happy like this, Sam.’
‘I don’t know if I’ve ever been this happy before.’ It’s strange spoken out loud, but it’s the truth.
‘Do you have her picture?’
If it were anyone else in the world asking, I’d refuse. But this is Kate Cattenach, long-time confidante in matters of my heart. I find the image of Phoebe and me together by the platform barrier and slide the phone across the washed pine table for Kate to see.
‘She’s beautiful.’
‘She is.’
‘And you only met her… yesterday?’
I know where this is going. ‘I did.’
‘Wow.’
‘I know how it sounds, but…’
‘No, Sam, really, you don’t have to explain. Sometimes you just know, I guess. Not that it was like that for your man and me. I reckon Donal and I have the slowest love-at-first-sight story on the planet.’
‘Yeah, but we all knew.’
She laughs. ‘So I’ve been told. By every single one of yous.’ She hands the phone back. ‘Phoebe – the radiant, shining one. Pretty apt name.’
Name meanings have always been Kate’s thing. Within a day of us all meeting she’d told us what our names meant: Kate – pure (we always added ‘alcohol’ to the meaning as a nod to her incredible drinking prowess); Donal – ruler of the world (which, trust me, he still brags about); Niven – saint (jury’s still out on that one); Shona – happy (which is what we all hope she might be one day); and Sam – heard by God, which I always thought was a bit odd until Kate said that being a musician made it the perfect name for me. Who wouldn’t want God as an audience? God or Aly Bain in my case – I’d be happy with either. I don’t know how much I believe in name meanings, but finding out Phoebe means shining and radiant makes me smile even more.
‘That’s how she seemed to me. Her laugh – it’s like sunshine.’
Kate pulls a face. ‘You’ve got it so bad. Bless you. She must be special.’
‘I think she is.’
‘But – you still came away? And let her go, too?’
Said like that, it doesn’t sound good. ‘We both have things to do. Promises we’ve made ourselves. I don’t want to jump into another relationship unless I’m certain it’s right. Not after Laura.’
Kate nods. ‘I get that. But are you sure you’re not…?’ She exhales and peers through her curls at me. I know what that look means. We’ve been here countless times before. I can rely on her to speak her mind – even if this morning I don’t want to hear it. ‘Tell me where to get off if you like, but are you sure you haven’t agreed to a year apart as a way of not committing?’
‘Yes, I’m sure.’
Am I? I was yesterday…
‘Because it’s okay if you’re scared, Sam. We all get scared. And Laura damn near destroyed you.’
I wish she didn’t know that about me. And yes, I know the urge to head for the hills at the first sign of trouble is strong in my bones. But Phoebe’s not like Laura. She’s worth me being different for, or at least trying to be. ‘It’s a test, being apart. We should test how we feel, if it’s what we both hope it could be. Don’t you think?’
‘A year is one hell of a test.’
‘Maybe.’
She smiles and reaches across to squeeze my hand. ‘Then, good for you. She’d better be worthy of your faith, mind. Tell her if she messes you around she’ll have me to contend with.’
‘Okay.’ I might not pass that message on just yet. The thought of Kate gunning for anyone is terrifying.
* * *
Within an hour everyone is up, including the family’s ancient corgi 007, mostly known as Bond these days, although whenever they take him to the vet they use the former. It’s a never-ending source of embarrassment to Donal when the vet calls ‘007 Cattenach’ into the packed waiting room.
In the middle of the noisy whirr of laughter, breakfast-making and conversation, the doorbell rings. Lexie beats her brothers to answer it and I hear excited squeals from the hall. A moment later, a familiar smile moons around the kitchen door.
‘Am I too early for beers?’
Niven McNish’s laugh rumbles beneath the crush of hugs that follows and it’s a welcome sound.
‘Okay, okay, put your uncle Niven down,’ Donal says, reaching in between us to rescue our friend. ‘Good to see you, man. Can we get you breakfast?’
‘Aye, you can. Sam! Surprise!’ He holds his arms open, chuckling away.
‘I didn’t know the McNish-Meister was gracing us with his presence,’ I say, slapping him on the back, as the family resumes their vociferous assault on toast and eggs around the table. ‘I heard they didn’t let you leave the Island these days. Being the national treasure you are.’
My friend shrugs off his leather jacket and grabs toast from the fresh stack Donal has delivered. ‘I snuck out. I’m officially a fugitive.’ He downs a mug of tea as if it’s the first he’s had for weeks, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. I can imagine him as a Viking invader, downing beer after a conquest. Tea isn’t exactly warrior fare, but the image still suits him. Especially with that hair and wayward straggle of a beard. Has that man ever had a decent haircut? Not in all the time I’ve known him.
‘Is there a reward for your capture?’ I ask. ‘I could do with some cash right now.’
‘Probably not much, knowing the Island. So, how are you? And how dare you not have aged since the last time I saw you?’
‘Get away. I found a grey hair the other day.’
‘Yeah, right. It’s those musician genes of yours, keeping time at bay.’
‘Are they the tight ones?’ Lexie asks earnestly, frowning when we all descend into giggles.
Niven ruffles her hair. ‘Different kind of genes, Lex. But I reckon Sam has musician jeans, too. Probably far too tight for a man of his years.’
‘Hey!’
He shrugs. ‘Say it as I see it. Fiddle players – right posey bastards.’ He holds up a hand in apology when Addie, Ivor and Lexie giggle and Kate shushes him. ‘Kids, you didn’t hear that, okay? Sorry, Kate. So, Mullins, when are you heading off?’
‘Tomorrow.’ I offer a sympathetic grin as the children protest. ‘But you’ve got me all day today, guys.’