‘And now?’
‘It’s over. I just want to get on with my life.’
Meg picks up a beer mat from the table and spins it between her fingers. ‘Did you say everything you wanted to Sam? I mean, if you’d made a list of what you wanted to say before you saw him again, could you have crossed off every one?’
‘I said all that he’d let me.’
‘That’s not what I asked.’
‘I don’t think I could have said any more.’
She holds up the mat. ‘Fine, fine. It’s just that you were both in shock about seeing each other and he was understandably hurt – could he have had more to say?’
‘If he did he wasn’t saying it.’ I can tell she isn’t buying my explanation, but it’s all I have. ‘There was just a long silence. I said goodbye and left.’
‘So, he might have had more to say.’
‘He didn’t say anything. And he didn’t stop me leaving. What else could I have done?’
I’m glad when our food arrives to break the tension. And it seems Meg is, too, although I sense she isn’t finished with this.
It’s good to have her back in my life, but so many other loose ends remain. I’m rudderless again, trying to work out what to do next.
* * *
Gabe is home and while we’re being civil to one another, it isn’t an easy place to be. Increasingly I’m finding excuses to be out of the house during the day.
Today I’m at the British Library. I became a member when I returned from Cornwall, needing a safe place to be. Books, as always, are my salvation. And it’s while I’m there that I see the job advert.
It’s in a newspaper somebody left in the Members’ Room. I was between books and picked it up while deciding what to read next. I’m so glad I did. The job on offer is a one-year research fellowship in the oldest English Literature department in the world. Edinburgh University is undertaking a transatlantic project studying the impact of Scottish literature in the UK and USA, working with the Edinburgh Book Festival to promote Scottish writing around the world. There’s also the chance to be involved with the famous literature festival itself. I would adore that.
In the little café just outside the library, I huddle in a corner and call home. Dad answers and within a minute the warmth of his enthusiasm is making me grin like a kid.
‘What’s the money like?’
‘Not bad. I mean, it’s not a fortune, certainly not by London standards, but I could make it work.’
‘Would they offer you board at the university?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Hang on a mo.’ I hear the rustle of paper and imagine Dad sitting at my brother’s old pine desk which my father pilfered for his own office when Will went to university. ‘Where is it?… There’s so much crap in these drawers… You didn’t hear me say that, okay?’
‘Your secret swearing is safe with me.’
‘Good girl. Right, here we are. Now, how serious are you about applying for this job?’
‘Very. If I can make it work.’
‘Excellent. I’m going to call Alan and Sandra, see if we can sort you out some accommodation. Hang tight, sweetheart.’
An hour later, Mum and Dad’s friends offer me accommodation at their holiday barns and B&B an hour outside the city for a much-reduced rent. In return, I would help them with the writing weekends they host there and the general running of the holiday business. I don’t mind hard work and if it means I get to do something I really love, I’d be up for the challenge.
With everything in place, I apply for the job, cross everything and wait.
Chapter Fifty-Six
Chapter Fifty-Six, Sam
It turns out Niven McNish’s idea of a great weekend away is in a spa hotel near Abergavenny.
I do not know my friend as well as I thought…
Sitting with him in matching towelling robes beside a pool mostly populated by hen-weekend parties is hilarious, though, so maybe that’s the best therapy I could have asked for. It’s exactly what I need after seeing Phoebe again. I still don’t know what to do with that. I’d told myself I was over her; that I didn’t need to know why she never met me. But now that I have answers – and an apology, even if I don’t completely believe it – I don’t know how I feel. Although admittedly, it’s hard to think about that when I’m beside an aqua-therapy pool wearing very little and covering what dignity I still possess with a magazine the woman on reception gave me because ‘you look like you need to read’.
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 t
o 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
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.
‘Send us a postcard,’ Meg says.
‘No point, it’s only a weekend, right, Phee?’
‘Exactly.’ I give Osh a hug,
‘You off, Phoebs?’ Gabe appears in the doorway, an expensive suitcase beside him. He’s going to LA to start work on a new film and will be there for the next three months. It feels wrong to admit, but it will be a relief when he’s gone.
‘Just leaving now.’
‘Great. I’ll walk with you.’
It’s only when we’ve turned the corner from our street and we’re walking awkwardly side by side towards the tube station that he steps in front of me and we stop.
‘You’re not going to the Lakes, are you?’
There’s no point arguing. ‘No.’
‘Hm. I thought so. That would be because you’re really going to…?’
‘Edinburgh.’
He nods. ‘For Sam?’
I groan and look up. A bright mackerel sky arcs over the city. ‘No, for me. I have a job interview at the university.’
‘I get it. You’ve got to go where the work is, Phoebs. I just hope you’re not leaving because of me.’
‘No. This is my gig.’
‘Good. So, Edinburgh,’ he says, as if tasting the word for the first time. ‘It’s a long way from London.’
‘Not as far as LA.’
‘True,’ he concedes. ‘I take it you aren’t catching a train, then?’
‘No. I’m going to Heathrow.’
The beginnings of a smile dance across his lips. ‘Which is, coincidentally, where I am heading.’ He offers me his arm. ‘Shall we?’
* * *
I think the interview went well. Certainly the Head of English was impressed with my PhD and I answered every question she asked. I don’t know if I’ll be successful, but even securing an interview is a significant step. And if nothing else, I’ve been able to enjoy this wonderful city. Edinburgh is breathtaking.
Of course, I’ve thought about Sam. Coming here to search for his father and finding not just Frank Mullins but a whole new family, too. He said he went because of what I’d said. I wonder if he still thinks that now?
Walking Edinburgh’s streets today, I wonder if I’m crossing any steps made by Sam. It’s a ridiculous thought, but he lived in the city as a child and now he has family here. What would he think if he knew where I was considering living? Would he be threatened? Or would he support the idea? Either way if I’m here he can’t bump into me like he could do in London. His business is there, and his friends, so even now he has family in Edinburgh, it’s unlikely he’d be tempted to move here.
If I get the job, this won’t be about Sam Mullins. It will be completely mine: a new start, a new challenge and a new era. And if I don’t get this job there are plenty of similar opportunities at other universities across the UK I could apply for. This one is a test. Regardless of the outcome, it feels like a success.
* * *
A fortnight later, I receive a job offer. I’m amazed and terrified and more than a little stunned. But I accept immediately. I’ve been treading water since I came back from Europe. It’s time to change that.
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Chapter Fifty-Eight, Sam
I throw myself back into work at the studio. It’s nice to be in one place for a while but I’m starting to think that I might always fluctuate between wanting to stay put and needing to be out on the road. Maybe that is inherited from Frank.
For a long time I’d had him painted as a laughing cavalier – only caring about his own needs and everyone else be damned. But I think he wound up in impossible situations and ran away from the messes he created because he just didn’t know how to make them right. That urge to run when stuff gets complicated is deep within me, too. But I hope I’m more aware of the devastation listening to that impulse can cause.
London begins to get colder as we head into November, its streets warmed by the Christmas lights that always bring back a sense of childish glee in me. And then December blows in and Christmas approaches.
* * *
I call Niven on Christmas Eve, even though I will be seeing him in a couple of days when he comes down for our New Year gig. I’ve roped in DeeDee and Kim on vocal duties, Chris is playing drums and Niven’s persuaded Shona to play, too. That’s going to be awkward, but my New Year’s resolutio
n is to face the problems I’ve created head-on. We haven’t spoken since the end of our tour in September, but I’m taking the fact she’s agreed to the gig as a good sign.
‘Actually, I have a bit of news,’ Niven says, ‘About my job.’
My instant reaction is to worry. ‘What’s happening?’
‘Donal and me are starting a label.’
‘How did that happen?’
‘Donal has several bands who’ve paid, up front, for whole album recording sessions. And he’s about to sign development deals with three more. Some big producers in London have heard some of the stuff he’s engineered and one of them has put up money to invest in the label. The plan is to get a music publishing deal with one of the big names, which will then bring in more work.’
‘Wow.’
‘I know. Anyway, my school has been told to reduce the staff by one teacher. The Head didn’t want to make anyone redundant but Julie Pritchard is starting a print business on the Island and was wanting to cut her hours. Long story short, Julie and I spoke to the Head and we’re going to job-share. So, three days a week I’ll be at the school, the other two plus weekends I’ll be producing stuff for Donal. I’m expanding the studio at my place and turning one of the outbuildings into a live room with accommodation above it, so we can offer bands and artists the chance to record on Mull.’
‘That is brilliant! You might tempt me up there.’
‘I was wondering if we could do a collaboration thing with you and Chris? Might be good for all of us.’
I love that idea. More than that, I’m glad Niven has found something to get his teeth into. ‘So what’s your label called?’
The Day We Meet Again Page 28