I climb the stone steps from the street, remembering the butterflies I’d battled when I came to the station eighteen months ago. Back on that morning the staircase and the building rising from it were washed in the first, brave, pink-gold light of dawn. Everything sparkled. And despite my nerves, I was excited. I’d made it – I hadn’t given in to the fear that might have cancelled my trip. I’d walked through the arched entrance into the station, reaching the giant statue of the lovers first, skirting their feet and heading for the Eurostar entrance with its champagne bar, where the barman was already setting up. On my way, I must have passed the Betjeman statue, but my head had been filled with a rush of plans, questions, expectations and contingencies so I don’t remember seeing him. Not until the delay – and the crowd – and the dark-haired man with the smile in his eyes, who met me by the unassuming iron statue.
It’s a very different place now – too early for the dawn, the first day of the brand-new year barely an hour old. The orange floodlights on the fairy-tale building give it an otherworldly glow, casting deep shadows across the steps as I climb. And yet its familiar face welcomes me, as it must have countless weary travellers over the years.
* * *
Rest a while here, friend.
* * *
The rainbow bench dedication returns to my mind as I reach the top step, gazing up at the building that rises reassuringly tall above me. I imagine its carved arches and square tower reaching out to receive me. I’ve avoided even passing this place but now I’m not scared of the weight it will lay on my heart. I’m just saying hello to another old London friend. One that shared a moment in my life I will never forget.
Because that’s the thing, isn’t it? What happened here on 14th June 2017 was a lovely serendipity. At the point when I’d been so terrified of losing the adventure I’d set my heart on, I met a friend. A wonderful friend. More than a friend – a man who decided, having known me for hardly any time, that I was the love of his life.
Sam didn’t see all the frustrations I’ve wrung my hands over, the countless times I feel I’ve fallen short. He didn’t see the physical attributes I wish were different, or the parts of my character I’m not proud of. He just saw me. And I was enough to make him fall in love.
Even Gabe can’t say that. I don’t think he even believes in love at first sight. I didn’t think I did, until Sam Mullins grinned around the shoulder of a kind-faced iron gentleman in St Pancras station – and my world changed.
I don’t think I’ll ever experience that again.
What happened here was magical. Having Sam in my life for a year was even more so. Regardless of how it ended, it will always be ours. That part of him will always be mine. I should celebrate that.
And maybe, believe I was worthy of his belief in me.
I am enough. No matter what anyone thinks. It’s taken too long for me to understand that, but I’m going to let it guide me from now on. I’m going to trust my heart.
I take one last look at the building’s grand façade and turn to walk down the pillared walkway through into the station.
There’s someone I have to see.
Chapter Sixty-Six
Sam
There are no cabs. And I’ve drunk too much to take the van. I’m stuck.
I glance back at the venue and briefly consider going in again. But if I do that I’ll end up trapped, facing conversations I don’t want to have. I’m tired and I need to rest so I can think clearly tomorrow.
Stuff it. I’ll just walk and hope I can hail a taxi on the way.
It’s a decent night, at least. Last year on Mull the snow fell so thickly while we were playing the Hogmanay ceilidh that we all ended up sleeping in the bar, with blankets and pillows. That seems like an age away now. I smile when I remember it, and decide I’ll call Ailish tomorrow. Perhaps I’ll make it a tradition to visit her and Niven at New Year. Maybe I can persuade Donal, Kate and the kids to join us, or we’ll meet somewhere in the middle. And with Barney’s birthday so close to Hogmanay, I can come home via Ellie’s, doing my uncle bit. I’m going to like being an uncle. And having a sister.
It’s a good night for a walk. Not too cold, with a fine mist that’s a pleasant balm against my skin. I drank more than I’d planned and the fresh air is a medicinal boost. Hopefully it’ll mean I’ve a clearer head in the morning.
Would Phoebe see me again? She’d be completely within her rights to refuse. I was a git. Twice. I can see that now, months too late. I mean, she called me on the day she missed the train – admittedly far later than I thought we’d be speaking – but she didn’t hide away from what had happened. I didn’t understand then because I was angry and hurt and I felt like I’d been lied to. All of which were legitimate. I’m still not completely sure I understand, but if she panicked and realised too late that she couldn’t go back, what choice did she have? Even if she’d braved a later train, I might have been long gone and still not willing to listen.
What would I have done in her situation? Would I have called immediately, tried to own my mistake? I know the answer to that, and it isn’t pretty. I would have run away, like I’ve spent most of my life doing.
Too late, I see a black cab speed past me. Damn it. Keep your eyes on the road, Sam. Next one I see, I’ll make sure I flag it down. I have no intention of walking all the way home.
Why am I only thinking about Phoebe’s side now?
Perhaps enough time has passed for me to stand back and see it. Or perhaps it’s because the tables have been turned tonight. Phoebe believes I don’t care about her because she thinks she saw me choosing Laura instead. And I didn’t go after her, knowing my mistake, knowing how hurt she’d be. The band could have played Auld Lang Syne without me. I had enough time to find her. But I panicked. Like she’d panicked last year. It’s a total mess.
A large group of very happy revellers cheer as they approach me. ‘Give us a tune, mate!’ one of them yells, raising a two-thirds-empty bottle of Jack Daniels.
‘“Amarillo”!’ another shouts.
‘You can’t play “Amarillo” on a violin!’ their friend chimes in but it’s too late. The group are already singing it at the top of their lungs and they continue happily until they are out of sight.
Who said there was no joy left in this world?
I like that people are happy – even if it’s only on a drunken night out they won’t remember most of in the morning. It’s too easy to think the world is ending and everyone is angry. There’s a lot to be scared about, but more not to. It’s where you decide to look, I think. Being on Mull reminded me of that. People just get on with their lives there, so I did the same. And there was more to enjoy and experience than obsess over.
Since I came back all I’ve done is be angry. Picking at it over and over again so it keeps bleeding. That’s not me.
So if – if – I get to see Phoebe again, I’m going to apologise for not appreciating her bravery in calling me the day we were supposed to meet.
And if she won’t see me?
I stop walking.