‘Did you? When?’
Countless times. Except he doesn’t have a record of the aborted calls or the abandoned text and email drafts that litter my phone. And then, when I did finally call, Shona answered.
‘I – wanted to…’
‘Well. Thanks.’ He picks at a thread at the edge of one of the rips in his jeans where his knee juts through. ‘I’d say it’s the thought that counts but I wasn’t looking for thoughts. I needed you.’
I needed you, too, I want to yell. But it sounds like an excuse. ‘Sam – I…’
‘You weren’t there.’
I make myself look at him. ‘I know.’
‘But I was. For a long time, actually. I waited for three trains to come in. Even when I found your note.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘It doesn’t…’ He groans and twists to face me. ‘Okay, you know what? It does matter. It matters that in all the time we’ve spoken and written postcards and done every other dumb thing to keep in touch this year, you never told me you weren’t going to be there. Never once.’
‘Because I didn’t know.’
‘We said we’d be honest, Phoebe. However shitty it might have been to break the news you could have told me. You could have saved me from… not finding you.’
Meg had watched him. She wasn’t going to tell me what she saw, but I insisted. I had to know the full extent of my mistake. She said she’d watched his heart break. He’d sat down between the statue and the glass wall, staring at my message. And he hadn’t moved for a long time. That’s the image that’s haunted me for months.
‘He looked – more than defeated. Broken. I’ve never seen anyone visibly shatter like that. Like I could see the pieces of him falling away. It was awful… I’m sorry, Phee. You asked.’
I want to tell him why I didn’t get on the train and how much I regret not being at St Pancras on the day we were supposed to meet again. But how can I, when I still don’t understand it?
‘I made a mistake,’ I say, watching the stillness of his eyes as he listens. ‘I just – couldn’t get on the train. You’d only just said you loved me. It made me wonder how strong your feelings really were, that it had taken you a year to work out what I knew immediately. I should have talked to you. I should have asked the question. But by then it was too late: I knew I’d failed. I panicked, Sam. And I’ve been trying to work out why ever since.’
‘It’s simple, isn’t it? You don’t love me. That’s okay. It was always going to be a possibility. I had the opportunity to be with someone else, too. I had to make a choice.’
I stare at him. ‘It wasn’t because of someone else.’
‘No, I think it was. I saw the photos of your big celebrity premiere, Phoebe. Peacock-blue dress, diamonds – you looked stunning, by the way. Like you were made to be on that red carpet. Gabe’s a good-looking guy.’
How had he seen that? I’m ashamed that I wasn’t going to tell him. Since Gabe and I broke up I haven’t thought of what happened much, only that I’m glad I realised it wasn’t going to work. But Sam knows and now I look like a liar – again. ‘We got together when I came back. Briefly. But it was a mistake. We broke up just after that photo was taken, believe it or not. I didn’t miss the train because of Gabe. I missed it—’
‘Because of me?’ His laugh is bitter, his eyes unsmiling. ‘Is that supposed to make me feel better? Because it really doesn’t.’
‘No.’ I drop my head to my hands. It’s all coming out wrong and I hate the pain I see when he looks at me. I hate that I put it there. ‘I missed the train because of me.’
My last word carries all the air out of my lungs and for a moment I can’t speak again. There isn’t an echo out here in the coolness of the night, but my confession reverberates around my mind.
Sam blinks. I can’t claim to know what he’s thinking, but I don’t think he was expecting that. I wonder if he’s about to say something – there’s a held breath between us and I’m not sure if I should wait for his reply. But he doesn’t move.
I think he’s waiting for more.
What more can I say?
‘You didn’t tell me about Frank…’
He swears and looks away.
‘You didn’t, Sam. I wanted to be there for you. Not to pry into your business, but to support you. I kept waiting for you to be ready. But every time you just pushed me further away.’
‘I had stuff to work out. You have no idea.’
‘No, I didn’t. And that was the point.’
His voice is low and controlled when he speaks. ‘I told you I’d found him.’
‘The night before we were supposed to meet. But you didn’t tell me all the rest of the time we were talking. And okay, it was your prerogative to deal with it alone, but we were supposed to be in love and heading back to start a life together.’
‘So what happened, Phoebe?’
‘I had been so sure – of you, of us. All year. It was set to happen exactly as we’d promised but then… Then I was too scared to get on the train. I thought I knew myself after everything I’ve experienced this year, but in that moment it all left me.’ My hands are damp and I hug them to me so he can’t see them shaking. ‘I can’t ask you to believe me. But it was clear in my mind: Sam doesn’t deserve someone who has doubts.’
‘Maybe you should have let me be the judge of that.’ His voice is so low I can barely hear it over the hum of music from the stage. But it hits me like a kick.
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Yeah, you said.’ Sam lifts his head back and closes his eyes. I’m scared to watch, but I have to see what I’ve done. ‘It’s just words, Phoebe. You feel bad: I get it. You weren’t expecting me to rock up here today and you’re embarrassed. We’re both adults. We can make up our own minds.’
‘I should have caught the train.’ It bursts out of me and I can’t halt it.
He shakes his head but I have to say it now. Even though this will be the last time I see him.
‘No – just listen. I’m not saying this to change your mind. I want you to know. Every second since I missed the train, I’ve wished I could have been brave. Been standing by the statue when you arrived, like I’d promised. I should have been waiting for you. I should have believed you when you said you loved me, no matter when you’d said it. I should have loved you enough to not feel aggrieved when you chose to look for Frank alone. I know it changes nothing. I’m not asking for forgiveness, either. I don’t want to feel better about what happened. I hate that I hurt you, Sam. But I should have been there—’
‘Phoebe—’
I don’t want to cry here, or prolong our last goodbye, so I scramble to my feet, shoving my hands into the pockets of my hoodie. ‘If I had been waiting by Betjeman, I would have told you I was yours. Completely.’
‘I don’t think…’
‘I would have told you that I wanted to be in your life, that no doubt could stop me wanting to be with you…’