I looked it up online. I wanted to honour the language of the land that birthed Sam.
When I start to descend the stairs I look out over the party. I can’t see Sam. He was by the stage a moment ago, so he must be close by. But where?
The dance floor is packed with enthusiastic bodies, drinks held aloft, jostling for space as they dance and yell at each other. Trying to move through them is like navigating a crushing, sharp-edged tide. I lose count of the elbows that jab into me, the feet stamping too close to my own. The ground shakes with an insistent beat and booms with sub-bass notes that reverberate through my body. It’s dizzying, making thought difficult and movement almost impossible.
I finally emerge at the edge of the stage where I last saw him, but he isn’t there. Looking out over the bobbing sea of green, silver and black-clad people I scan across for a glimpse of dark curls. For what feels like an age I search until I think I see him, over by the bar that looks like it’s been carved from ice. Bracing myself, I push, squeeze and weave my way through the mass of guests until I reach the other side of the dance floor. Out of breath, I emerge into a small pocket of air between the dancers and the banqueting table.
It is Sam.
At that moment, he turns towards me.
My heart constricts. My breath becomes shallow. And all I can see is him.
Like it did when we kissed in the packed concourse of St Pancras station eighteen months ago, the sound around us dims. The movement and the noise, the light and the activity become secondary as my feet take me shakily to him. It’s not the day we were supposed to meet again. It’s not the moment we met again by chance in a Cornish late summer festival. Yet here we are.
I raise my hand.
He does the same.
Neither of us are smiling. Not yet.
We begin to close the gap between us, oblivious to the guests jostling past. I don’t know what I’ll say; only that this is my very last chance to tell Sam I love him. That I never stopped loving him. And to thank him for changing me – for changing how I see myself. Through his eyes I saw what I never realised I could be. I think he felt the same.
We’ve almost reached each other now. I can see his chest rising, his hand reaching out. My hand reaches, too. I don’t care if it will end with a hug or a handshake. I just want us to touch.
And then a body steps between us. A woman. Her long blonde hair trails down her bare back, an emerald green silk dress draped around the rest of her body. I move to the side, but she isn’t walking past us. She’s going up to Sam.
Numb, I watch as her arms slide up around his neck and her lips close on his. His hands lift to frame her waist and… I don’t want to see any more.
The noise of the party crashes back around me. The room is too hot, too loud, too short of air. I have to get out.
He wasn’t looking at me. His hand wasn’t reaching for mine. I am an idiot. Of course he didn’t see me. I became invisible to him the moment I missed the train to London.
I hurry to the cloakroom, the assistant taking too long to find my coat. And then I throw it on, turn my back on the party and my friends and the woman in the green dress and Sam bloody Mullins.
And I run.
Chapter Sixty-Four
Sam
It was only a moment. It happened so fast. By the time I’ve pushed Laura away, Phoebe has gone.
I was going to tell her I love her.
‘I can’t do this now. I have to go.’
Laura is all coy smiles and flicking hair, her body dancing a little in green silk that is somehow managing to cling to her skin. She’s working through every move that once caught my attention, confident that one of them still has power. But she’s wasting her time. I’m not the man I was when we were together. I can’t ever be that person again.
‘Aw, Sam, don’t be like that. It’s New Year’s Eve. One little kiss is allowed.’
‘Please, just let me go.’
‘Thing is, I came with a date. But he’s boring the hell out of me.’ The same choreographed emotion, the slight pout and downturn of the lips. Head bowed a little, eyes peering up at me. ‘And then you took the stage. I think that’s what they call fate, Sam.’
I look over her head. Phoebe’s gone. And Laura won’t move out of my way. I don’t want to shove past her but if she doesn’t take the hint soon… ‘There’s someone I have to see.’
Her hand is back on my arm, her fingernails painted bright green. I hate that colour. ‘So speak to them later. They’ll still be here. Nobody worth bothering with leaves a New Year’s party early.’
I shrug her hand off me. ‘They’ve gone now. Cheers.’
She pops out her bottom lip in an infantile attempt to pacify me. ‘Problem solved, then. Now we have time to talk.’
It’s like I’m back where I started. I remember Laura’s feeble attempt to get back in my life the night before I left. I didn’t want her then; I sure as hell don’t want her now. She’s made me miss the one person I really wanted to see. Because DeeDee is right. And Niven. And Ailish. I’ve tried running from this, but I can’t escape Phoebe.
‘No, Laura, I don’t want to talk to you. Ever. I need you to understand, I am not interested. I won’t ever be interested. So you can take your act and go and find some other poor sap who’ll fall for it. We are done.’
She laughs but tears well in her eyes. ‘We will always have this, Sam. You’re in love with me.’
‘Not any more. I’m in love with someone else.’
But I’ve lost my chance to tell her.
It’s almost time for our second set. The DJ is building up to playing Big Ben’s chimes that he’s cued up on the decks and I have to be on stage, ready to play, by the twelfth chime. There’s no time to go after Phoebe.
Laura lifts her head, her tears on show for everyone close enough to see. Then she slaps her palm across my cheek, the sound so loud it summons an audience. I say nothing. As the room begins to buzz with anticipation of the New Year, I leave my ex sobbing by the bar and hurry back to the stage.
‘Okay people, it’s almost time. Let’s have a countdown. Ten… nine… eight…’
Out of time. Out of chances…
‘Seven… six…’
My cheek stings. I deserved that, but not for Laura’s sake…
‘Five… four… three…’
Phoebe could be anywhere now. And she thinks I have someone else…
‘Two…’
I hop onto the stage to the collected glares of my friends and pick up my fiddle. Idiot! Stupid pride, stupid fear!
‘One…’
There’s no going back now.
‘Happy New Year!’
The cheer makes my ears ring as the venue bursts into celebration. Confetti cannon explosions, streamers and balloons dropping from the net suspended over the dance floor, whooping and hugs and kisses, yells and tears.
Niven nods and we begin to play ‘Auld Lang Syne’. But every note drops on me like another nail driven into the coffin.
It’s too late. A New Year has begun. A year Phoebe won’t be part of.
* * *
The set passes by in a blur. I can hardly feel my fingers on the strings. At least our audience are happy.