‘It’s too late,’ I say because I can’t disagree with him, can I? Every time I’ve spoken to Meg the question has danced on my tongue. But I just don’t think I can go there again.
‘It’s never too late, Sam,’ Niven says.
I wish I could believe him.
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Phoebe
‘Come to the party tonight,’ Meg says again.
She’s standing in the doorway to my room, putting on her earrings and looping a long string of smoky glass beads around her neck. I remember so many Saturday nights like this when I moved in with her, Gabe and Osh. Meg is the only person I know who can conduct a full conversation while getting dressed and never miss a beat. She takes a pair of ballerina flats from under one arm and balances one-legged to slip them on her feet.
‘I don’t think so. I still have stuff to pack and…’
‘It’s New Year’s Eve, for crying out loud! Nobody packs on New Year’s Eve.’
I look around at the barely organised chaos of my room. I’m sure I didn’t have this much stuff when I left for Europe. I still have three days to get everything together for my move to Edinburgh but the need to do it now is strong. And yes, I’m completely using it as an excuse.
This year began with the greatest intentions in the most beautiful place, but I don’t like how it’s ended. The only reason for raising a glass tonight is to wish the year good riddance.
‘It’s a lovely offer but I’m not in a party mood.’
She groans and strides into my room, stepping over the piles of books and clothes covering the floor. Kneeling beside me, she pulls her mobile from the pocket of her little black dress – because of course her event outfit must have pockets – and taps the screen.
‘Right. I wasn’t going to do this but you leave me no choice.’ She holds the phone like a mirror and waits until a tone sounds. ‘Hey. She doesn’t want to go to the party.’
‘Phoebe Jones missing a party? Put her on.’
Meg twists the screen towards me but I already know who will be there before I see his face.
Gabe is tanned and appears to be sitting on a golf buggy by a huge warehouse. ‘Phoebs. What is wrong with you?’
Despite everything, he can still drag a smile from me. ‘Hey you. How’s Hollywood?’
‘Amazing! Wonderful!’ He rolls his eyes. ‘I am surrounded by Botox and loons.’
‘Living the dream, then?’
The twinkle in his eyes travels right the way across the Atlantic. ‘Always. So, why is my gorgeous Phoebe not going to the party?’
‘She needs to pack, apparently,’ Meg says, leaning in so she appears in the inset box on screen.
‘Pack? Pathetic, Phoebs. Path-et-ic.’
‘I just don’t feel like it. I wish everyone would respect that.’
I see his expression become still. ‘Okay. Meggie, would you give us a mo?’
‘Be my guest. Happy New Year, stud muffin.’ Grinning, Meg hands the phone to me, her work clearly done. Then she heads out to attack the million-and-one things on her to-do list before her important event can take place. I’m in awe of her composure this close to the party. I’d be a wreck of nerves.
I am a wreck. But nerves aren’t responsible.
‘Okay, what’s this really about?’
‘I don’t want to go.’
‘To the party or to celebrate?’
He’s got me. ‘Both.’
I see him take a breath. ‘Go to commemorate, then.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Go to mark the year. Good and bad. You achieved so much – Europe, Eden, this new job. Mark that stuff. And the bad – the mistakes, the train, Sam,’ he lowers his head, ‘me… Commemorate that it happened. Celebrate that it’s over.’
‘Gabe, you weren’t a—’
‘No. It’s a mistake we both made. I’m not sorry, though, and neither should you be. It was fun – for a while – wasn’t it?’
My smile feels weighed with sadness. ‘For a while.’
‘And we’re still here, darling. We survived. Most friendships wouldn’t. I wasn’t ready. You’re still in love with Sam.’
‘I’m not…’
‘Phoebe…’ He leans closer, the Californian sun a halo-like blur around his hair. ‘At least be honest with yourself. You never stopped loving the guy. Why else are you heading north?’
‘Because I have a job,’ I say, my indignation tempered by a heavy awareness that Gabe might be onto something. How can he still do that after everything that happened with us?
‘Yeah, I know. But also because Edinburgh was a connection you felt with him. Him finding his father there – and doing it because of you.’
‘That’s not why I want to live there.’
‘Maybe not. But of all the universities where you could have done that job, you chose Edinburgh. Where Sam still has family. Where he last needed you.’ He raises a tanned hand to rub his forehead, the way he does when he feels embarrassed or vulnerable. ‘Someone has to say it to you, Phoebs. And I’m too far away for you to hit me.’
And then, I understand. ‘You’ve all been talking about this, haven’t you?’
‘Of course we have. Did you think we hadn’t noticed? We love you, Phoebe. We want you to be happy. I want you to be happy.’
‘Gabe, I’m so sorry we…’
‘We were stepping-stones, kid. You as much for me as I was for you. I will always be proud that you were mine for that time, okay? But I’m prouder that you’re my friend. And I want that beautiful, fearful, wonderful heart of yours to find what it really wants.’
Tears sting my eyes and I can’t reply. I thought the damage between us was irrevocable and I’ve blamed myself for using him when all I’d really wanted was to be with Sam. This means everything.
‘Go to the party. Celebrate. Been a hell of a year, Phoebs.’
Chapter Sixty
Sam
Niven and the others have started early. Good thing we don’t have to load everything out tonight when our set ends. One advantage of huge corporate gigs like this is they are set up for two days at a time and nobody bats an eyelid if you leave all your gig gear till the morning. The last event I did like this, party stragglers were still dancing at 9 a.m. when we returned to collect our equipment.
Meg has done an amazing job. If she’d have us again for one of her events, I’d accept like a shot. Everything has been considered and having played so many gigs where you feel like an afterthought, I appreciate the effort. Not often the band gets a whole Portakabin with free chilled beer and food laid on before a gig. I’ve changed into my gig clothes in stinking toilets and broom cupboards more often than not. Having a pre-gig room like this is better than playing the O2.
‘To Meg and her huge corporate-client expense account!’ Niven declares, raising his bottle to the cheers of our bandmates.
Shona joins in but doesn’t make eye contact with me. I’ve burned my bridges there, I think. Kate reckons she’ll forgive me eventually. I’m not so sure. I don’t know if I’ve altogether forgiven myself yet. Whatever happens, this will be our last gig together for a long time.