In the end, I have to move on.
Gabe has been amazing. I couldn’t have got through it all without him. I’ve never seen him step up like this before, and neither have our friends. Meg told me she’d seen the change long before he rescued me from St Pancras.
‘As soon as he came back from the commercial shoot with Osh he was different. I thought he’d met someone out there, it was such a change. But Osh said the only person he met out there was you.’
I like this Gabe. Since he met me at the station he’s been there for me every day. Not fussing, just there. That means more than anything. It helps that he’s in between jobs and still waiting for his feature film to get a definite release date. We’ve talked about anything and everything, like we did in the beginning when we became housemates. If I’ve wanted to talk about Sam, he’s listened without judgement; if I haven’t, he hasn’t tried to address it. Lately I’ve noticed I’ve talked about Sam less and less.
Summer has mostly consisted of rain but then the sun remembers the season and for a week it bathes the city in gorgeous light. I love London at this time of year. Most summers here I’ve been stuck in an office working, but as I’m still figuring out what to do for a job, I hang out with Gabe instead. We go sightseeing, merging with the tourist blur around London’s famous landmarks. It’s almost like being back on my Grand Tour, except that this time I have a friend beside me to share it with. A friend whose current calmness is startling.
I tell him this when we’re stretched out on a picnic blanket on Primrose Hill. The city seems to rise from a haze, making it appear like a mythical kingdom stretched out in the distance. All around us people are enjoying the day, the usual conventions of London life discarded in favour of relaxing in the sun.
‘I am calmer,’ he says, the gentle breeze ruffling his hair as he gazes at the city. ‘I don’t know, Phoebs, it just doesn’t seem as important as it used to. I mean, I know there’s work coming and when the film gets its release date the craziness will start again. And Eric, my new agent, is great, you know. I don’t ever have to chase him. I don’t feel I’m having to manage my career as well as working. That’s such a load off my mind.’
He downs the last of his beer and pulls another two bottles from the bag we brought with us. I accept it because today feels close to perfect and I’m in the mood to celebrate. We bought bits at Borough Market, laughed and joked as we caught buses and hopped on and off tube trains. Gabe decided we should have an epic dessert for our picnic so we made a ridiculous detour across town to Peggy Porschen for cakes. And finally – finally – I feel like I’m coming back to myself. The Phoebe I was when I hid pebbles around the streets of Rome with Giana, or restoring the library with Amanda in Lisabeta’s villa. I should have been able to celebrate my amazing year in Europe instead of feeling like what happened with Sam rendered it all void. Now I feel I can make a start.
I write this in my journal as the London sun gilds its pages. At first, I didn’t bring it anywhere with me but a few days ago I dared to read some to Gabe and he insisted I write while we’re out, capturing the moments when they happen.
‘Make sure you mention me,’ Gabe says beside me, tapping my notebook with the neck of his beer bottle. ‘Magnificent would probably work well in that context.’
‘Good idea. Not sure magnificent is the right word, though. How do you spell knob?’
‘Ha ha. You’re hilarious.’
I nudge his leg with my knee. ‘Thank you for this,’ I say.
Gabe looks at me. ‘For what?’
‘Being here, now.’
He laughs. ‘Slouching around on Primrose Hill, eating all the food? My pleasure.’
‘Not just the picnic. Since I got back from Paris you’ve been amazing.’
‘Well, you’re pretty amazing. So that makes two of us.’ He winks and it makes me laugh. He’s cheeky as anything and knows it, but I love his confidence.
‘We should get matching capes or something,’ I say. ‘Own our amazingness.’
‘Good plan. You’d look good in spandex.’
‘Cheers. Although I reckon your Instagram posse would go off the chart if they saw you in a superhero costume.’
He admonishes me with a grin. ‘Don’t pretend you aren’t one of them, Phoebs.’
‘Busted. I’m a fully paid-up member of – what is it they call themselves?’
Gabe rubs the bridge of his nose. ‘Marley’s Army.’
‘Brilliant.’ Gabriel Marley doesn’t embarrass easily but when he does it’s one of the greatest sights on earth. I give his cheek a playful pat. ‘Aw, Mr Marley, you go so red.’
‘Get off!’ He wraps his fingers over my hand and pulls it away from his face. And he doesn’t let go. He’s smiling when he looks at me, but in that moment I’m aware of the warm breeze, the sun on my skin, the distant dance of laughter on the afternoon air. ‘I do think you’re amazing.’
‘That’s because I am.’
‘You are. And my life has been so much brighter since you came home.’
Nerves skip through my voice when I laugh. ‘You are joking? All I’ve done is cry all over you and talk your ears off.’
‘And I love it.’ The pulse of his fingers pads through mine where they meet. ‘I was a dick before you left last year. No, I was. It wasn’t because I didn’t think you’d go through with it; I was scared you would. And then you left and I missed you. Every day.’
‘You don’t have to say that. It’s okay.’
‘And then when I saw you in Tuscany, you were – radiant. Don’t pull a face, you were. You are. Even after all the Sam stuff.’
I don’t know what to say.
‘Phoebs, I like this. Being with you.’
‘I like being with you, too.’
And just like that, the air changes.
It’s subtle and sweet and the sun has warmed Gabe’s skin when I touch it, and the birds are singing.
And then we’re kissing. And it’s good.
So I don’t pull away because why would I? We melt into each other with the city at our feet and I realise I’m not scared. I’m not debating or obsessing. And I’m not thinking of Sam.
I’m just here, with Gabe. And I don’t want to think any more.
* * *
‘You need a celeb couple name now,’ Osh quips as he hands me a fresh bottle of cider. ‘Especially when Mr Marley’s film gets its release date. What shall we call you? GabePhee? Gabee? PhoeGab?’
‘Stick to directing, Osh,’ Gabe says, flopping down on the grass. ‘You and words were never meant to be.’
‘Unlike our resident Couple of the Month,’ Meg grins.
The sun catches the dome of Brighton Pavilion and the sky is the kind of impossible blue you only get in summer. It’s so good to be here. I watch my friends larking around and lean into Gabe’s warm chest.
‘Happy?’ he murmurs, stroking my hair.
I nod and lift my lips to meet his.
‘Ugh! Get a room!’ Osh protests.
Meg chuckles. ‘They have a room. Problem is, we have to share it with them.’