The Day We Meet Again

by Miranda Dickinson

  ‘GloamingSound. Not my idea and yes, it’s incredibly lame. We probably need to get whoever makes those dreadful tourist postcard monstrosities to design our logo. I reckon your man dragging his bagpipes up the middle of the mountain road would be perfect.’

  ‘I’m betting Donal isn’t shifting on the name?’

  ‘You know Donal. It doesn’t matter. Just be great to work with him. So, have you heard from Meg about the gig?’

  ‘It’s all sorted. It sounds amazing. She’s put all the stuff together in an email so I’ll send that over to everyone today.’

  ‘And have you asked her about Phoebe? How she is? If she might be at the party?’

  I roll my eyes, even though Niven’s too far away to see it. ‘We’ve talked about the gig.’

  ‘But not about the love of your life who happens to be Meg’s best friend?’

  ‘Funnily enough, no.’

  ‘You dunderheid. It’s a golden opportunity to find out how the girl’s doing and you just run away?’

  ‘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

  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

  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.

  I’m sad that I won’t get to play with Niven for the foreseeable, though. Before I went back to Mull I wouldn’t have counted him as my closest friend but now I think he’s equal to DeeDee and Kim. I love that man. I just hope when he returns to the school on Mull for his job-share post it will make him happy. He deserves a break. Good that Donal and he are working on projects for the fledgling label already. If anyone can make GloamingSound a success, they can.

  When we were loading in this morning Meg took me on a tour of the facilities and something she said when she unlocked our dressing room has stayed with me.

  ‘We’re going for magical. Because magical things can happen at New Year.’

  ‘Usually involving alcohol,’ I’d returned – a lame joke that received a polite smile, but it was a shield because I felt cornered.

  ‘All kinds of magic,’ she’d said firmly.

  Has Meg invited Phoebe to the party?

  If she is here, I don’t want to talk to her.

  I’ve decided. It’s for the best.

  We had the chance to say all we wanted at the Eden Festival. She hasn’t tried to contact me since and I haven’t either, so it makes me think too much time has passed. I need to focus on me next year. Not chasing an adventure. Not searching for answers. Just discovering how the man I’ve found myself to be will move forward. I’ll leave my heart out of it for a while, that’s for sure. Laura, Shona, Phoebe – none of them shining successes and all of them shouldn’t have happened. Until I understand my heart, I can’t risk giving it to anyone else.

  So I’ll do the gig tonight and then I’ll leave. It’s good that we’re returning for our gear tomorrow – there’s no reason to hang around. London is still my home, but I feel the need to get away for a while. So, in two days I’ll be back in Edinburgh for a belated Hogmanay and to celebrate Barney’s birthday with Ellie and Russ.

  Family time.

  Better late than never.

  My brother calls me most weeks. He’s not ready to meet Ellie yet – and he turned down my offer of visiting him when I head back north – but regular phone contact is a good start. The rest will follow when he’s ready. I never understood how anyone could walk out of someone’s life and not look back, until I found my father again. But now I get it. Frank couldn’t be what we needed. He had too many demons of his own to fight. Cal needs time to come to terms with that.

  You can only walk through a door: if the person on the other side chooses not to open it, what can you do? In the end, I think it’s better to seek the open doors and accept those that stay closed. Life, I’m learning, is holding everything lightly; being prepared to let it go. You can’t control how anyone else lives. You can love them, but that’s the only power you have. You can’t make somebody love you.

  That’s why I’m heading off as soon as our last set ends.

  It’s why I’m not holding out hope that Phoebe will be here.

  And why I won’t be seeking her out.

  I’m closing a door.

  Chapter Sixty-One

  Chapter Sixty-One, Phoebe

  I was beginning to feel a bit of a spare part in the main party space, so when Meg dashes over and tells me Osh is in the lighting control booth on the mezzanine level of the venue, I hurry to see him.

  ‘You scrub up well,’ he grins, planting a kiss on my cheek.

  ‘Why thank you. Quite shocked you’re not in jeans tonight.’

  ‘You and me both.’ He laughs as he brushes the jacket of his midnight-blue suit. ‘One of my mates working the cameras asked me if I was going to a wedding later. Cheek.’

  ‘Well, I think you look good.’

  ‘Which is why I’m glad you’re here, Phee. Welcome to my kingdom. Bit hot and stuffy but I think you’ll agree the view is the best in the house.’

  I’ve seen Meg’s work before but this is a step above. Turquoise and blue lights bathe the vaulted glass space; on every table clusters of white pillar candles burn. Silver foliage entwines around each pillar and frames the giant steel staircase leading to the mezzanine. It’s as if the entire room has been transported beneath the clearest waters of the Indian Ocean and it feels as if everything ebbs and flows with a tide.

  From here I can see the main stage, the spread of banquet-style tables and chairs and the three smaller stages dotted around them where magicians, dancers and acrobats will perform as the guests enjoy a five-course dinner. No matter where guests sit, they will see things happen. Everything has been tied into the theme with all the performers dressed in a similar colour palette.

  ‘It’s amazing. Meg is so good.’

  ‘She is. I’m trying to persuade her to work for me as a production designer, but she said she likes knowing exactly when she’ll be paid too much to leave. Security is for wimps, I say.’

  He picks up the lighting sheet and studies it, although I know he’s already spent hours programming the light and effects sequences to run to the last millisecond. The paper undulates a little in his hand.

  ‘Relax, Osh. This is going to be brilliant.’

  ‘Hope so. Also hope this is the last lighting gig I have to do for a while.’

  ‘Have you heard about the commission?’

  ‘I’ll get confirmation on the sixth, but I’m optimistic. Everything’s ready. We just need that little green light and that hefty cheque from Warner Bros.’

  ‘It’ll come.’ I sit in the chair next to his and look at the control desk. It’s a complete mystery to me – countless flashing lights, sliders and buttons, all linked to a screen filled with rainbow coloured squares. I could imagine a Star Trek captain sending their ship into hyperspace at a control unit like this.

  Osh discards the sheet and picks up a tablet with an identical configuration on its screen to the one above the control desk. When he taps a square several sliders move by themselves on the desk and the colour in the event space morphs from turquoise blue to silver-green, a projector sending waves of pale gold light dancing across the room like sunlight viewed beneath the ocean.

  A rush of emotion takes me by surprise. Osh catches sight of my reaction from the corner of his eye and smiles.

  Magic.

  ‘Cool, huh?’

  ‘It’s beautiful.’

  ‘That feeling? The one you have right now? That’s why I do what I do. For those moments. It’s smoke and mirrors and I know how it all works. But the moment you see the effect, that’s the magic.’ He gives a self-conscious smile. ‘Sorry.’

  I reach over and squeeze his hand. ‘I’m so proud of you.’

  ‘Ugh, give over. You sound like my mum. But thank you.’ A light flashes on the tablet and the large screen, drawing his attention back to the desk. ‘Hang on, I just have to sort this. Do you have your mobile on you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Would you be okay to stay here and move things if I call you? Won’t be long – I don’t want to keep you from the party.’

  Right now the opportunity to be present at the party without actually being in it is very appealing. ‘No problem.’

  He beams at me. ‘Great. You’re a star!’

  * * *

  When he dashes out I allow myself to relax. This might just be the perfect solution. All my friends think I’m at the party, so they won’t bug me. I’ve done enough adventuring this year. Tonight I’m happy to be an observer of other people’s stories.

  I’ve thought a lot about what Gabe said earlier. Have I accepted the Edinburgh job because of the link with Sam? Why did I choose Edinburgh?

  The job, for sure, but I saw similar roles at Cardiff, Warwick and the University of Gloucester in Cheltenham. I can’t in all honesty claim to have considered any of those.

  Maybe it was because of the way Sam always talked about Scotland. Edinburgh helped make h
im who he is. He discovered music there and a man who looked out for him like his own father should have done. It isn’t Mull. But it might be close enough to visit if I ever decided to go. I fell in love with the Island through Sam’s eyes.

  Gabe’s right, isn’t he?

  I’m going to Edinburgh because the heart of the man I fell in love with beats there.

  Why couldn’t I see my choice for what it was?

  I look down over the fast-filling room, its beautifully dressed guests bathed in sea-coloured light. And I remember Sam’s descriptions of silver-sand beaches, of the ocean that changes every hour, of vast sweeping hills and mountains, and the shock of machair peppering the moorlands. Colour and drama and life. More than I’ve ever found in London. And suddenly, he is everywhere – in my memories, in this place, in my future that calls me into next year and beyond.

  I can’t escape him, even though I wanted to.

  Sam Mullins is as much a part of me now as he was last New Year’s Eve. And I have no idea how to move on.

  My phone rings and as I answer I see Osh wave from the stage.

  ‘Hey, can you find the third set of sliders from the left? There should be a bit of blue tape on the desk beneath them.’

  ‘Got them.’

  ‘Great. Move the middle two in that set up to the next mark.’

  I do as he says and a warm golden light floods the front of the stage.

  ‘Perfect. You’re hired. On my way back up, dude.’

  I smile and stand up to look at the new wash of light.

  And that’s when I see the tall figure moving across the stage, violin in hand.

  And I lose my breath.

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  Chapter Sixty-Two, Sam

  I shouldn’t be on the stage yet, but my A string was dodgy so I’ve restrung it. Not the best time to make a change, but it’s preferable to losing the string mid-gig. Plus, I need to keep busy.

  A guy in a blue velvet suit that looks like it’s been nicked from a 1980s lounge singer is pacing the stage, a tablet in one hand and the other pressed to a hands-free earpiece. He backs towards me as he talks and I have to put my hand out to block him from the line of instruments behind me. At the last minute he looks over his shoulder and stops, raising the tablet as a sign of apology. I sincerely hope he’s working here. The last thing I need is a stage invasion from random drunks before the gig even begins.