When I told Mum and Dad about Amanda’s project, they were thrilled.
‘You have to do it,’ Dad said and I could hear his broad grin as he spoke. ‘We’ll come down and ask you awkward questions on a tour.’
I smile as I watch the lush countryside of the West Country flood the train with colour and light. I only half-believe Dad was joking. It’s the kind of thing he’d love to do, revealing to everyone around him that I was his Phoebe.
I wish his Phoebe believed in herself as much as her father does.
It doesn’t help that my best friend doesn’t agree with me taking this job. She refused to say goodbye this morning as I dragged my rucksack out of the house. I’m not running away, whatever Meg thinks.
She took me to task about it last night. We were both packing – she’s off to Coventry for a week for her cousin’s wedding and meeting up with old school friends. With our cases side by side on the sofa it began as a nice evening, talking about our plans. But I could tell she was carefully sidestepping what she really wanted to say. And then, when the cases were packed, out it came.
‘It’s a great opportunity. I just think you could have waited till Gabe got home.’
‘Why?’
‘Because it’s another situation where you haven’t tied the loose ends up before moving on. First Sam, now Gabe.’
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. ‘That’s unfair. I tried to address things with Sam. He didn’t want to talk to me.’
‘Once. You tried once, Phoebs. Then you came home and suddenly you were with Gabe, so you didn’t try to contact Sam again. Which is why things didn’t work with Gabe, because Sam was still here.’ She tapped her temple with her finger.
‘This isn’t about Sam. Gabe was there for me when I needed him. And yes, it didn’t work out, but I didn’t know that was going to happen.’
‘Osh and I did. Anyone could have told you that relationship was never going to work.’
That was the fuse lit. ‘Well if it was so bloody obvious, thanks for telling me, best friend. Because it wasn’t obvious to me.’
‘Don’t turn this on me. You’re the one skipping away from relationships when you get scared, leaving all of us to clean up the mess.’
‘I am not listening to this,’ I said, yanking my suitcase off the sofa. ‘And nobody asked you to have to deal with my mess, Meg. You chose to get involved.’
‘You were going to leave Sam alone at the station with no explanation. What else was I going to do?’
‘I would have called him. I would have tried to explain.’
‘What, like you’ve done since you got back?’
‘Get stuffed!’
‘And there she goes again, scurrying away when she can’t handle things.’
‘She? Who’s she? Tomorrow I’ll be out of your hair and you won’t have to bail me out again. I’m sorry I’ve been such a burden, Meg.’
I intended to slam my bedroom door but she had already followed me into my room. ‘I have never said that, Phoebe. But do you seriously expect me to believe that if Sam had wanted to talk you would have heard what he had to say?’
A rush of icy water doused my fury then. ‘If he’d given me the chance to see him again, I would have jumped at it. But he never did. If we’d been in the same room again, I would have tried to explain.’
The memory of that moment sits uncomfortably with me now. I wish Meg and I hadn’t parted on bad terms. I don’t know what I would say to Sam if I ever saw him again. Not that he was going to give me the chance. He drew a line under us the day I failed to meet him and I was powerless to do anything about it.
Wasn’t I?
Chapter Fifty
Sam
I’m still reeling from seeing the photos of Phoebe and her actor boyfriend days later, when we’re loading gear in the warm September sun into Coventry’s Big Comfy Bookshop. I have to pull myself together. This gig is important.
The independent bookshop in Fargo Village is the coolest venue with an enviable reputation for hosting the best artists and bands on the folk circuit. Michael, the owner, has hinted that if he likes our set this evening he’ll invite us back, possibly to feature in his famous acoustic sessions that have a huge following on YouTube. I would love that.
Several people have arrived already, enjoying cake and coffee and browsing the shelves. It doesn’t bother me to have an audience as we set up our gear.
I’ve almost finished running mic leads when I see her.
At first, it’s just one of those feelings that a person is vaguely familiar but you probably don’t know them. I get that a lot, largely because I see a lot of people in my line of work. And I’m often useless with names, so chances are if I have met you I won’t remember what you’re called until you remind me.
But it’s more than a déjà vu with this woman – because I’m quite certain there aren’t many people I’ve encountered who look like her.
Blonde hair streaked with dark blue. Eyes that seem to peel away the layers of your skin until she can see your soul.
I would know her anywhere.
She waits until the end of the first set before she approaches, but my discomfort has been steadily building all evening and my eyes have kept being drawn to her, trying to gauge her emotions and decipher her motive.
‘Sam,’ she says, her voice betraying the slightest quiver of nerves.
‘You were at the station. St Pancras. 14th June.’
She nods, the soul-stripping gaze lowered for now. ‘I left the rose. For my best friend.’
‘Phoebe.’
‘Yes. I’m Meg.’ She withdraws her hand when I don’t accept it. ‘I didn’t know you were playing tonight. I’m visiting old university mates.’ She looks over to the table where two women smile and nod back. ‘Sam, Phoebe made a mistake…’
‘You’re telling me.’
‘She missed the train and she knew you’d be waiting. But she was a mess, Sam, truly a wreck. I don’t think she could have phoned you then, even if she’d been brave enough. The rose was the next best thing.’
‘So, what, she asked you to buy that rose and write the label and leave it?’
She nods. ‘If it helps, I was furious with her. I thought she should have followed her heart. Because she loves you, Sam.’
‘Why didn’t you talk to me? Tell me what the hell was happening? Because I was completely alone there. And I expected to see your friend – the woman I was in love with? Not some poxy rose and cryptic message.’
‘If you still wanted to talk to her, she’d listen.’ Meg apologises as Shona shoulders her way to the stage a little too firmly. ‘She’s devastated.’
‘Now she knows how I feel. I’m sorry, I have a set to play.’
‘I have a New Year event I want to book you for,’ she blurts, shoving a thick, glossy business card at me.
MEG GÓRECKA
– SENIOR EVENT MANAGER
LONDINIUM EVENTS
AWARD-WINNING CORPORATE AND
MEDIA EVENT COMPANY
‘Where?’ I ask slowly.