All the same, the sight of my friend in white spa slippers skipping off for his treatments every hour is taking some getting used to.
‘What?’ Niven asks, when he returns from something called a Body Buff, which is what I imagine mechanics perform on cars before they are re-sprayed.
‘You are such a knob.’
He flops down on the slatted beech lounger beside me and gives a satisfied stretch. ‘Aye, but it’s taken your mind off her, hasn’t it?’
It’s certainly helped. ‘Please tell me this place has a bar. I’m going to need alcohol after staring at you in that all day.’
‘Are you referring to my gorgeous complimentary robe or my rather fetching budgie smugglers?’ he asks with a suggestive little wiggle that garners laughter from a group of passing hens. ‘Ladies, you’re welcome.’
I shake my head but my smile feels good. ‘It’s a shocker you’re still single.’
‘Can’t handle the McNish magic, that’s the problem.’ He grins back, clearly proud of himself for making me smile. ‘And anyway if we’d gone for the obvious and been holed up in some cruddy caravan in the middle of nowhere getting blind drunk and maudlin, how would that have helped?’
‘Good point. Thanks. I think.’
‘My pleasure. I could get used to this, you know.’
‘Is this what you did after Ruth left?’
He shoots me a look like I’ve just asked him if the pool is filled with treacle. ‘Come somewhere like this on my own? How sad would that have made me look?’
I glance down at our matching towelling robes and we both laugh.
‘Fair enough. No, I opted for full on maudlin. It wasn’t pretty. And it didn’t help.’
‘I wish I’d known,’ I say, something I wanted to tell him all last year but never quite managed to. ‘I wish I could have been there for you. Like you’ve been for me with Phoebe.’
‘Hey, don’t sweat it. I didn’t tell anyone for a long time. Not even Kate, and she’s like the bloody mafia for finding out stuff like that. I think…’ He stares out across the blue and purple spotlit pool. ‘I just needed to sort my head out first, you know? Just me and the crap. So much of Ruth and me was lived out in full view of everyone – well, you know the Island. You fart in Dervaig and people on the Ross know about it by teatime. I just couldn’t deal with that straight away.’
That makes sense. It was a little like that when Laura and I split. Not because London is like Mull for gossip, but the music scene is similar. Everyone knows everyone else. I remember not wanting to leave Syd’s flat because it felt like the moment I set foot outside I’d see someone who knew, someone I’d have to pick over the details of it with. It was too much.
* * *
Later, we are nursing beers after dinner in the surprisingly well-stocked bar and are, unsurprisingly, the only men here. If there are other guys they are all hiding in their rooms, which is understandable. We’ve had to run the gauntlet of drunken hens although they’re harmless really. All happy enough and having fun with their celebrations.
‘Are you ready to go back to teaching now the tour’s over?’ I ask.
Niven exhales a long breath. ‘Yeah. For the time being. But I’ve loved this, Sam. I’d all but given up on the dream of being a gigging musician. It’s made me wonder what else I could do.’
‘Could you do supply teaching, maybe? Fit it in around the gig work?’
‘There’s not much call for supply teachers on Mull, not enough to make it regularly viable at any rate. Which means I’d be looking at the mainland and then you have to factor in ferry crossings, accommodation and the rest. I just don’t think that would work, not if I stay living where I am. Might look to doing some recording, though. I’ve added some great kit to my home studio. With everything digitised these days you can work remotely from pretty much anywhere. I need to think about it. Figure out what I really want.’ He narrows his eyes at me. ‘As do you.’
Smooth move, McNish.
‘I’m going back to the studio,’ I say. ‘There’s more than enough work there. And we have the corporate gig on New Year’s Eve that will give me a fair chunk of cash to see me over the winter.’
He sniffs. ‘I’m not talking about that.’
The muscles across my back tense. I wasn’t paying enough attention to see that ambush coming. ‘We said all we had to.’
‘Yeah, I don’t think you did. I mean you heard her say sorry, which you needed to hear. And you saw her again, which you wanted to do. But it isn’t over, Sam.’ He pokes his chest with his finger. ‘In here.’
‘Right, so what do I do, hmm? Meet up with her again? Go over all the same ground?’
‘You might learn something if you did.’
I shake my head and down the rest of my beer. ‘And on that note, I’m off to bed.’
‘No – dude – just hang on. I meant she still cares about you. Otherwise why would she still be beating herself up about missing the train?’
‘I don’t think…’
But he’s like a dog with a slipper and isn’t letting up yet. ‘And what about the woman we met at the bookshop gig, eh? Phoebe’s friend.’
‘Meg.’
‘Yeah, Meg. She told you how gutted the girl was. I suppose she was lying, too?’
I don’t want to be challenged on this. Of course Meg had no need to lie – she could have attended that gig and never tried to speak to me. And it’s her we have to thank for the New Year’s gig. Her events company, that is. And yes, maybe part of me wants to believe that Phoebe and I could have another chance, but the way it went at the Eden gig gave me no hope. I was defensive and both of us were unprepared to meet there, but we didn’t have a great reunion or declare undying love. A door slammed when Phoebe wasn’t by the Betjeman statue in June.
‘Niven, just leave it, yeah? I don’t have any answers.’
He rolls his eyes. ‘Fine. Burn your bridges. But next round of beers is on you and tomorrow you’re having one of those Swedish massages. Maybe the therapist can pummel some sense into you.’
I grin at him as I head to the bar but I’m annoyed. I spoke to Phoebe. I heard what she said. And it made no difference. What more could I have done?
Chapter Fifty-Seven
Phoebe
‘A weekend away?’ Meg glances at Osh as they watch me from the sofa.
I’m packing my overnight bag in the living room, pretending that the letter inviting me for an interview at Edinburgh University isn’t folded up in the pocket of my holdall.
I’m nervous and excited and I swear they can see my hands shaking. I didn’t think I’d hear back so soon, let alone get an interview. I printed my CV yesterday while they were all out, feeling like I was engaging in illegal espionage.
‘Bit sudden, isn’t it?’
‘I just fancied a change of scene,’ I say, careful not to meet Osh’s stare. ‘It’s only a weekend.’
‘Where are you going?’
‘Lake District.’ I could just tell them the truth but the moment I say Edinburgh they’ll think this is about Sam. This is absolutely not about Sam.