The Day We Meet Again

by Miranda Dickinson

  I could run. But he’s seen me and I owe him an explanation. So I force myself forwards, pulling the sleeves of my crew hoodie over my hands. I feel cold, but it’s not because of the weather.

  ‘I didn’t think you’d still be here,’ he says. He isn’t smiling.

  My heart might as well have lead weights tied to it. I feel it drop to my boots. ‘We all volunteered to help free the catering truck.’ The thick splatters of mud are slowly drying on my jeans, but I’m suddenly embarrassed by the state of me. I must look like I’ve been dragged through a peat bog.

  ‘I guess it worked, huh?’

  ‘Hope so. I’m not intending to add, “truck rescue” to my CV any time soon.’

  He doesn’t laugh, or smile, or do anything that resembles the Sam I’ve carried in my head and my heart this year. He could be anyone tonight. I don’t know him. I swallow hard, emotion gagging my throat.

  ‘Sam, I want to explain.’

  He looks away, raising a hand to rub the back of his neck. ‘There’s nothing to say, Phoebe.’

  ‘Maybe. But I didn’t think I’d ever see you again and now I have. So if I don’t say this now, I never will. And I’ll always wonder.’

  Sam glances behind at the line of flight cases. ‘Then let’s sit down.’

  At least it’s an invitation.

  Words twist and fly in my mind. Trying to tether them is like attempting to catch the tail of a hurricane. I made a huge mistake. I threw away my chance to be with you…

  ‘I’m sorry.’ The words don’t even come close to what I want to say. I take a breath, try again. ‘I’m so sorry – for abandoning you, for not being brave enough to own my mistake.’

  ‘And not contacting me since.’

  I hang my head. ‘I tried…’

  ‘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 bee
n 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…’

  ‘Stop. You don’t have to say this…’

  ‘Yes, I do.’ My breath shudders. ‘I can’t get away from it. Even with the mess of Gabe and coming here, I still wanted you.’

  The moon is passing behind clouds when I seek help from the sky, its light diffusing into a halo. I try to hold in my tears, but it’s pointless. One star pulses bravely, refusing to disappear.

  Say something, Sam.

  Anything.

  He doesn’t. Just breathes out one long breath. As if he’s trying to expel everything he ever held inside for me.

  I’ve just told him I am his. If that’s not enough, no other words will be.

  He doesn’t stand, but he will soon. I don’t want to be the one watching him walk away.

  ‘Anyway, I need to go,’ I say. Emotion strangles every word. ‘I’m glad I got to see you. Safe journey home.’ It’s all so ridiculously formal, but how else do you escape a conversation when you’ve offered yourself to someone who doesn’t want you? In another time, had I been the person I wanted so much to be, I would be in his arms. That hurts more than not seeing him. A few steps and I could be there. But there’s a line between us I can no longer cross.

  The gravel of the path crunches under my boots as I walk back to my car, the first chill of the night catching me. I pull up my hood to keep the breeze out and my tears in.

  Sam doesn’t follow me. He doesn’t call my name.

  I don’t look back.

  Whatever I’d hoped might happen, hasn’t. I’m still alone. But I have been brave. Now everything’s out there, perhaps I can move on.

  And when I sit, in tears, behind the wheel of my car in the staff car park, I realise something else.

  I can’t stay at Eden.

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Chapter Fifty-Four, Sam

  I’m yours, Sam.

  No, you aren’t, Phoebe.

  I should have been waiting for you.

  Yes, you should. But you weren’t. And that was my answer. That and the note Sir John had for me. Time enough to arrange someone to get to the station, buy a rose, attach a note and leave it – but not time to call me? Even just to say goodbye?

  I thought I’d put this behind me. I was so close to forgetting Phoebe Jones ever existed.

  So why can’t I get her voice out of my head?

  I haul another speaker up the ramp to the studio’s equipment lock-up. Niven passes me on his way back to the van and smiles like he knows. Probably because he does.

  ‘Stop moping and step it up, you great soft Southerner.’

  ‘I’m getting old, Niv. My strength isn’t what it was.’

  ‘Bollocks to that. You’ll still be skipping round like a goat when I’m crumbling to dust in a care home.’

  I didn’t talk to anyone about seeing Phoebe at the festival as we drove back to London where the rest of band were catching their trains. Shona picked up on my mood, but I managed to evade her questions. Niven, however, knows me too well to be fobbed off. He’s like an annoying terrier biting your heel – you can tell him to sod off but he’ll keep doing it until you give him what he wants. I finally told him yesterday after his questions damn near drove me to distraction.

  I didn’t want to talk about her. But I’m glad it was Niven who heard it.

  ‘You didn’t think you’d see her again,’ he’d offered, as we’d hunched over beers in the darkened hotel bar. ‘Must have been some consolation to be able to say all the stuff you wanted to?’

  ‘I wish I hadn’t seen her. It would have been easier to forget.’

  ‘I know, man. But life has a way of crapping all over your plans.’

  ‘Don’t ever try to write fridge magnet mottos for a living. You’ll starve.’

  ‘… From which beautiful roses can grow. See?’ He’d held out his hands like a court jester expecting applause and I had to laugh because Niven trying to be sincere is hilarious.

  ‘Can you not mention roses? I’ve developed a dislike for them lately.’

  He’d rolled his eyes at that. ‘Russian things, roses – promise me you’ll never get romantically entangled with a lady brewer or whisky distiller. I am not avoiding alcohol if it all goes tits up for you.’

  ‘Noted.’

  ‘Listen, mate, you think you’re over her. But in my experience, it takes longer than you’ve had. I saw how you were about Phoebe. You don’t love someone for an entire year and then forget her in eight weeks. It just doesn’t happen like that.’

  ‘Make me feel better, why don’t you?’

  ‘Thing is, Sam, you come alive when you talk about Phoebe. Even now when it hurts. That isn’t going to go away overnight.’

  I wish he hadn’t said that. And I wish I didn’t know he was right. See, I’ve tried to be angry with her and tell myself she was never going to be there. And that we didn’t have a hope. Twelve months apart was too long to really know what we wanted. I thought I was okay with that.

  I just didn’t expect her to be so… beautiful.

  Covered in mud, her hair half out of its band and her face flushed from the shock of meeting me again, she was still as stunning as the day I first saw her. And that’s what kills me. Because I know I’m not over this.

  ‘Can I say something?’ Niven is waiting by the equipment store.

  ‘Be my guest.’

  ‘Right. Tell me where to get off if you like and please, don’t hit me – but I don’t think you can blame Phoebe entirely for what happened.’

  I can’t believe I’m hearing this. ‘How do you work that out?’

  He sighs. ‘All that time you were searching for Frank, she kept asking how you were. She offered to help.’

  ‘She did help. I went to Edinburgh because she told me to.’

  ‘And did you tell her that, eh? Did you say, Phoebe, the whole reason I found my father is because of you?’

  ‘Yes.’ I’m sure I did…

  ‘Okay. But did you tell her what you were going through before that happened? Did you share the journey? And yes, you may roll your eyes because I sound like a life coach. But the fact remains, Sam, there was a hell of a lot you didn’t tell her.’

  I dig my hands in my pockets. It’s exactly what Phoebe told me. I don’t want to hear it, but it’s not a coincidence they both said the same. ‘That was my prerogative.’

  ‘Aye, it was. Also your prerogative to tell her you loved her. Which you did – at the last possible moment.’

  I glare at him, but I don’t have an answer.

  ‘Pal. Does it not strike you as odd that the instant she returns from Paris, Mr Handsome-Ass Actor is straight on the scene?’

  ‘She wanted him.’

  ‘Not enough to make it work.’ He lowers his voice, clapping a hand on my shoulder. ‘Or maybe he was in the right place at the right time to catch the fallout.’

  ‘What are you saying?’

  ‘Well, it’s easy to look like a hero when the one she really loves doesn’t let her in. I mean, all he had to do was show up and open up. Perhaps she wasn’t running into his arms. Perhaps she was pushed there.’

  That can’t be right. I did tell her what was going on – once I understood it. But then I remember her expression when the video call froze. Frustration with
me. Hurt. I tried to dismiss it then, but what if Niven is right? Could I have made her run to Gabe?

  I slump against the equipment-store door as the realisation hits.

  ‘There it is.’ Niven’s smile is scant comfort. ‘Hey, you know what we need? A bit of time off. Just a couple of days to blow away the cobwebs.’

  A little time somewhere else would be good. All the stuff with Phoebe has exhausted my head.

  ‘What did you have in mind?’

  Niven chuckles as we walk back to the van. ‘Ah now, you just leave that to me.’

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Chapter Fifty-Five, Phoebe

  Amanda understood. Her team, too. And the project was almost at an end anyway.

  So why do I feel like it’s another failure?

  Two weeks after the festival, I slink home, avoiding eye contact with everyone in the train, in case they see me and judge me for running away. As I hide from my imagined accusers, I make a promise to myself: the next time I leave home it will be for something I really want to do.

  I call Meg from the train and ask her to meet me at a bar near Victoria station. I’ve let things slide between us for too long and it’s time to put that right.

  She is red-faced when she appears and I wonder if she has run from the tube to be here. I don’t even have time to say I’m sorry before she hugs me.

  ‘I’m so glad you’re back,’ she rushes. ‘I’m sorry for what I said.’

  ‘Me too. It’s been a mess.’

  We order food and I’m aware of Meg watching me. ‘How are you?’ she asks when the waiter leaves us.

  ‘I don’t really know. I said what I had to, so that’s something. I just have to work out where to go from here.’

  ‘Will you stay in London?’

  ‘Who knows? Although I can’t imagine going away again yet.’

  ‘How was Sam when you saw him?’

  Reliving it is painful, but I want Meg to know what happened. ‘He could hardly look at me. And he didn’t try to stop me when I left.’

  ‘Did you hope he would?’

  ‘I hoped he might fight for me, just a little.’ Like I hoped he would listen to me when I called him from Paris, or later when I returned home. I shake my head. ‘I made one mistake in an entire year. One. And it was game over for him. But I was there for him that whole year. Waiting for him. Until I saw him at Eden, I think I still was.’