‘Divorced. At long last.’ She flips a handful of hair back from her face. ‘So, footloose and fancy free the three of us, eh?’
I’m about to reply when Niven strides onto the stage. ‘Ally’s just leaving Craignure. Reckon that gives us at least forty minutes to start sound-checking, and maybe go over the set?’
Shona claps her hands and heads to her spot. I’m struck by how confident she is now. At university I always felt she wore her characteristics like the oversized biker jackets and huge army surplus shirts that formed her uniform back then. Now, everything fits.
I realise I’m staring as she arranges her pipes in the mic-stand holster and selects a low whistle to start playing. When she looks up at me, I avert my gaze.
She is so different from the last time I saw her. The change is remarkable: I’m a little stunned by it. Things aren’t helped when Niven nudges me, mid-song, and whispers, ‘Close your mouth,’ nodding in Shona’s direction which, thankfully, she doesn’t see.
I knew she’d had a rough couple of years with the guy she’s just divorced. He was a rugby player, all flash cash and model looks with an adoring Instagram army running into the hundreds of thousands. Kate reckoned Shona liked the attention after years of doubting her appearance and appeal. The guy wooed her – expensive holidays, gifts, a wedding covered by celebrity magazines and even an impressive studio in the basement of their home. But he never made her happy. Donal and Kate were worried about her for a long time. It’s great to see her happy and back in control.
And she looks amazing.
I check myself and focus on Phoebe. I’ll send her photos of this gig tonight, just to prove I don’t only play in small Island front rooms. Not being a musician herself I don’t think she really understands what it’s like as a performer. We haven’t really spoken much about my job or what she does, for that matter. I know she worked in the office for a theatre production company most recently, and that she studied part-time for a PhD. I should know this stuff. Both our lives will be different if we end up together. We’ll both have to make changes.
Next time we speak I’ll ask her about her dream job – or what she plans to do when she’s back in London. When she’s back with me.
* * *
Niven and Shona are pulling faces at each other across the stage like a couple of kids. It’s like the six years we’ve spent apart just didn’t happen. I can feel myself reverting to the Sam Mullins I was last time we played together – before Laura, before the studio, before I even considered coming back to Mull. I miss that version of me. He wasn’t happy all the time and was broke more often than not; he went from gig to gig, working all the hours, hardly sleeping. But there was simplicity in his life that I’ve lost.
I don’t know why I’m thinking about this now. Maybe it’s the knowledge that I’m not just a visiting musician here: I’m Frank Mullins’ boy.
Ailish is right: at some point I’m going to have to follow up the lead from the photograph. It’s what I came here for. And I will do it.
But tonight, I can hang out with the other Sam Mullins and let the music take me from every concern and responsibility. Enjoying the fun, not thinking any further than the next tune. The freedom is intoxicating.
Tonight is going to be a great gig.
Chapter Twenty-One
Phoebe
Hi, Sam,
* * *
I arrived at my Roman host’s home a week ago and it’s the most wonderful place. I loved Florence but visiting in the height of the tourist season wasn’t the brightest idea. Both the apartments I stayed in were miles out of the city centre so I felt a bit removed there. I’ve seen everything I wanted to see, but I don’t feel I found the heart of that city. I’ll go back one day at a better time and do it properly, I think. Maybe you can come with me.
Rome is completely different. Tobi and Luc’s friend Giana is the perfect host and her home is wonderful. She’s already taken me to three places I didn’t even know existed. It’s nice to be in one place for a while, too. And it’s funny, but I didn’t expect to love Rome as much as I do. It’s ridiculously busy and hot and never quiet, but it’s wonderful.
Giana is fascinating. She’s an artist, originally from America, and she always wanted to live here. I feel like I’ve known her for years not days and I’ve already heard her life story. I love how she found her perfect place in Rome. And she adores books so she’s totally my kind of person!
How are the house gigs going? I bet your audiences love you. Anyone would. Have you had any more news about Frank? I hope so.
I miss you. Write soon. Or text. Or even call… You know, as we’re sticking to those rules of ours so rigidly. (I’m glad both of us are rubbish at obeying rules.)
Phoebe xx
* * *
There was no point even trying to fit everything I wanted to say to Sam on a postcard this time. I fold the piece of notepaper I’ve written my message on around the postcard of the Piazza del Popolo that I bought at the little gift shop two doors down from my current home and smile as I fit it into the envelope. I am sitting in the small library room of Giana Moretti’s apartment. She asked me to help organise her books and we struck on the idea of making rainbow shelves. As an artist it appealed to her.
Every day so far, Giana has made coffee and sweet sugary bomboloni doughnuts for our mid-morning snack. Espresso, sugar, book print and paper makes the most amazing perfume. She’s in the kitchen preparing it now and she’ll bring it to me soon. My stomach is rumbling just thinking about it.
Writing to Sam has made me realise how at home I feel here compared with Florence – and thinking of home brings thoughts of my friends back in London. I wonder how they are. I check the old wooden clock above the counter – half past ten. What will they be doing now? Meg has Thursdays off so she’ll probably be pottering around the house or maybe heading to the British Library to write. Last I heard from Osh he was neck-deep in pre-production prep for the festival film he’s finally secured funding for. Gabe will be appearing in it, in between rehearsals for his new play at the Almeida Theatre.
Picking up my phone I compose a group text:
* * *
Hi beauties! I’m making a book rainbow in the library of my new home in Rome. How’s your Thursday going? Miss you all LOTS. Tell me all your news. P xxx
* * *
Within a minute, my phone buzzes with replies:
* * *
Phoebe bloody Jones, we miss you too. Get your butt back to London and I’ll sneak you into my movie. I’m doing a movie at last! Just call me Danny Boyle! Are you going near Siena on your travels? I have 3 days filming a commercial there. Got to pay ma bills, right? Maybe we can meet up? Let me know. Big love, Osh xx
* * *
PHOEBE! You’re alive! Up for a chat later? G x
* * *
Phee! Give me 5 and I’ll call. Lots to tell! M xxx