I don’t want to cry here. I won’t cry here.
‘Phoebe.’
At first I ignore it, assuming the voice is aimed at someone else. I’m pretty certain I am not the only Phoebe in St Pancras station.
‘Hey, Phoebe.’
And then I see him.
I can’t believe it. He wasn’t supposed to be here.
But he is – and the sight of him is so impossibly lovely I drop my bags, run into his arms, and cling to him like a lifebuoy in a storm.
‘I can’t believe you’re here,’ I sob against his shoulder. I can’t bottle my tears any longer. From the way he holds me I don’t think he minds. He smells of warm spice and welcome, and I just want to stay there.
‘Of course I am. I wouldn’t be anywhere else.’
Around us people hurry and meet and chatter but I don’t move, the safety and warmth of being held by him too wonderful to let go. I spent the entire journey from Paris braced for a lonely return, imagining nothing but coldness and anonymity awaiting my arrival. For the first time since the day I was meant to meet Sam again, I feel safe. And completely not alone.
It’s a long time before I break the embrace. He doesn’t try to pull away until I do. When I see his face, his smile is wide and his dark eyes are full of me.
‘Welcome back, Phoebe Jones,’ Gabe says, taking my hand. ‘Shall we go home?’
Chapter Forty-Four
Sam
I thought I’d be prepared for the phone call from Ellie about Frank. I knew his death was imminent, but the shock of recent weeks distracted me.
‘He went in his sleep,’ Ellie tells me. It’s little comfort. I can hear she’s in tears and they mirror my own.
‘Were you there?’
‘We’d just left. I missed him by five minutes.’
‘I’m so sorry.’
‘But actually, Sam, I think he knew. He wouldn’t have wanted a fuss. I reckon he waited till we’d gone and then gave himself permission to go. I mean, that was Pa all over, wasn’t it? Running away on his own terms, not minding anyone else. Except, I think he knew what he was doing this time. I think knowing we had met and you’d sought him out was a load off his mind. He must have lived most of his life scared we’d all find out about each other.’
It will only be a brief funeral and I am invited. But I won’t go. I’d rather draw a line under it all. I’m staying in touch with Ellie, of course. But my story as far as Frank Mullins is concerned is done.
Besides, life is a bit tough right now. I’m beginning to struggle, and I never struggle where music is concerned. Work is long and hard at the studio and I just can’t seem to find my excitement for it. Every day drags. Chris is at his wits’ end with me, I know. I feel bad for not pulling my weight.
And then, my friends step in.
I thought we were just going out for dinner but as soon as DeeDee, Kim, Chris, Syd and me are seated at the table it’s clear they have an agenda.
‘Sam. You’re miserable,’ DeeDee says.
‘A nightmare, let’s be honest,’ Kim agrees. ‘You need to snap out of it.’
‘Pardon me for having a crisis,’ I begin, but one look from the girls silences me.
Chris leans in. ‘Mate, it’s good having you at the studio, but you’re doing my head in. Everyone’s noticed. I don’t want us to lose business because you’re depressing our clients.’
I stare at him. He’s never the sort to voice his opinions unless you’re debating the merits of microphones and compressors. ‘What do you want me to do?’
‘Find a tour,’ Syd says. ‘Any tour. Get yourself on it, get out of London for a while, clear your head. You ain’t no use to us here, right now.’
‘But the studio…?’
‘We’ll manage. We’re good, Sam, just take some time for yourself, yeah?’
‘Maybe call Phoebe and sort that out,’ Kim begins but DeeDee shushes her. Unrepentant, she shrugs.
DeeDee reaches her hand across the table to me. ‘You need to find your happy, babe. It ain’t here.’
I’m furious they dragged me out to stage a public intervention, but more annoyed that I know they’re right.
I need to get out for a while.
It isn’t running away. Is it?
So when Niven contacts me a few days later to say he’s taken a six-week sabbatical from his job at the school and is putting a band together for a month-long tour, it’s the break I’m looking for. He’s asked Shona, too, so it will be like old times. It’s exactly what I need. Everyone around me breathes a collective sigh of relief. And as we prepare for the tour that will take me away from London and thoughts of Phoebe, I begin to feel happier. It’s only a temporary fix, but it will buy me time to work out what I really want.
* * *
I travel to Leeds to meet Niven and the guys to rehearse for a few days. His pal is managing the whole thing while Niv’s in charge of the band. If our rehearsals are anything to go by, this tour is going to be a corker.
Shona is there, with two lads from the pub sessions in Tobermory who are taking a year out from university to play music. It’s a good set-up: the calibre of band where you aren’t fretting over charts because everyone’s played the songs a hundred times before.
Then our tour begins – and what a tour crammed into four weeks. Leeds, Sheffield, Manchester, Cheshire, North Wales, Lincolnshire, Bristol, Coventry before heading to Bromsgrove, Stratford-upon-Avon and ending up at the Eden Music and Arts Festival for the big finale.
It’s the freedom I want at the time I need it most. Great to be with Niven again and Shona, too, who is still the most outrageous flirt on the planet. Secretly, I like it. If Shona knows she doesn’t care. Her humour and sense of fun is infectious. Niven has to take us aside at one of the earlier gigs because we give each other raucous giggles during what should be a heartfelt ballad.
The rhythm of touring again draws me in – load the van, on to the next venue, unload, play, load again, drive… From one county to the next, one set of toe-tapping, approval-nodding audience members to the next. People are great and I’m impressed by the renewed enthusiasm for live folk-music I see. Even five years ago these venues we’re playing would be half full. I keep thinking of the Mull music club’s young musicians and how much brighter their prospects for live gigs are now compared with when I started out.
With every song played, every set completed and every bow taken, I feel I’m coming back from wherever I’d let myself disappear to.
Music takes me by the hand and gently saves me again. And the future doesn’t look as cold or empty.
Chapter Forty-Five
Phoebe
I’m not really aware of the days passing. They all seem to merge into one. I tried phoning Sam a few times, but each attempt went straight to voicemail. I haven’t left any messages. He’ll see that I’ve called. The longer it goes without him responding, the stronger his silent answer. And I’m starting to wonder if Gabe saw something in Sam’s behaviour that I didn’t. How serious could he have been if he wouldn’t even give me a chance to put things right?