The Day We Meet Again

by Miranda Dickinson

  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.

  We take our final bows and leave the stage. As we pass through the star curtain the first crashes of dance music begin.

  I wonder if she went home? Maybe I should stay till the end of the party, find Meg and ask for her help. She might be able to get Phoebe somewhere I can talk to her before I go up to see Ellie, Russ and Barney. I want to explain. I know exactly what she thought when Laura kissed me.

  Bloody Laura.

  I saw her as we were playing the last song, snogging the face off some guy. She’d recovered remarkably well considering how heartbroken she’d looked forty-five minutes ago. I hope the bloke thinks better of it when the hangover wears off. Poor git.

  Back in the dressing room there are fresh beers and a round of bacon sandwiches from the caterers. That settles it: Meg is officially our best booker. I wonder if she brought them over while our set was coming to an end. Is she anywhere near?

  ‘Well, personally I reckon we rocked,’ Niven says, swaying a little. I’d better make sure I get him in a cab soon. He’s on the sofa bed at DeeDee and Kim’s tonight then catching the train back up to Oban tomorrow.

  ‘We did,’ I smile. ‘Great to gig with you.’

  The rounds of New Year hugs ensue until Niven swipes a fresh bottle from the cooler, holding it high. ‘A toast!’

  Kim rolls her eyes and Chris chuckles.

  ‘Not another one, dude. We need to get you back.’

  ‘Ach, away with you, Mullins! It’s New Year. Lighten up!’

  Outnumbered I open a bottle too and we toast a great gig. Then Chris and Niven sneak back to the stage to pack down what they can, and I pack my fiddle away, my heart heavy despite the party raging around me.

  ‘Will you be okay getting Niven back?’ I ask DeeDee, who is pulling jeans on under her black sequinned gig dress. ‘I’m worried he might wander into the city and get himself lost.’

  ‘Leave him to me. You’re welcome to crash at ours too, if you like? We’re closer than your place.’

  I should wait for Meg.

  But I’ll still see her in the morning when we come to load our gear out. With a little sleep I might know what to say to her – and she might be in a better place to hear it. Meg is my last link to Phoebe. I need to get her on my side. I owe it to myself to do it at the best time.

  ‘Cheers, Dee. But I need my own bed tonight.’

  ‘Old man! Go on, go home to your Horlicks and your pipe and slippers, eh? Leave us kids partying.’ She gives me a kiss on my bruised cheek, then apologises when I wince.

  I grab my things and head out – just as the Goo Goo Dolls’ ‘Iris’ booms back from the venue.

  Her song.

  I remember Phoebe’s surprise when she received the video of me and Niven playing it, the joy in her smile in the photo she sent me of the moment I surprised her. I’ll talk to Meg in the morning, when I’ve worked out how to ask for her help.

  But now I need to get home.

  Chapter Sixty-Five

  Chapter Sixty-Five, Phoebe

  I run until my feet hurt. Then I walk.

  The streets aren’t empty because London never is. Every bar and restaurant is packed. We must be getting close to midnight, judging by the level of expectation that radiates from every place I pass.

  I couldn’t have stayed there. Not knowing Sam has somebody for the coming year and seeing him on stage with everyone celebrating. I don’t feel like I’m on the cusp of a new beginning. I feel like I’m commemorating a death.

  When I’m in my new home, with my new job, things will be brighter. Maybe even in a few hours when the year has turned and I can breathe again, it won’t all look so bad. But in the dying moments of this year, it’s okay to feel sad. I don’t need anyone’s permission and I won’t be spoiling the moment for anybody around me. I just need to acknowledge how I feel.

  Mark it, Giana would say. I had an email from her yesterday, wishing me a bright new year. And I think her approach to everything is what inspired me the most on my European adventure. Acknowledge everything you think and feel because then fear can’t squeeze in. If you believe being angry or scared or hurt is something to hide, you give fear the right to own it, to remind you of it when you’re trying to move forward. I’m sad now – devastated, actually – but that’s okay. I’ll learn something from this if I acknowledge that’s how I feel.

  For the next few hours, when the only person to notice is me, I’m going to be sad that I missed Sam: sad that we had chances to move forward that we didn’t take; sad that we didn’t get to talk this evening. There is so much else I can celebrate about the time he was part of my life, so it isn’t the defeat it might have been. All the same, once this moment is over, I’ll be glad to leave for my new life.

  A yell from an open doorway makes me turn and I see a crowd of people on their feet, looking towards a TV over the bar. The camera is zooming in on the famous clock. One bloke raises his hand and the people yell a countdown.

  ‘Ten… nine… eight…’

  Sam will be on stage now.

  ‘Seven… six…’

  The band will be standing in their positions, too.

  ‘Five… four… three…’

  Up in his lighting booth, Osh will be ready to tap the switch that releases streamers and balloons over the partygoers and fires three huge confetti cannons from the edges of the stage.

  ‘Two…’

  I couldn’t have stayed at the party. To be so close to Sam knowing we couldn’t be together would rip me to shreds.

  ‘One…’

  I hurry away, not wanting to see the moment the year turns. But all around me the sound of cheers and ‘Happy New Year’s and the crack and thud of distant fireworks fill the air.

  It’s over. The year is done. And I’m completely alone.

  It must have rained while we were in the party. Puddles pepper the dark pavement and roads, the late-night lights dancing in them as I pass. It’s beautiful. I am going to miss this city. Just when you think you know everything about London, it surprises you. Part of my heart will always be here.

  Happy New Year.

  I think it will be.

  Now that moment is over, it’s better. Before Big Ben’s chimes I couldn’t see anything but what was passing, but now that’s just part of history.

  I could go straight home, but it’s nice out tonight. There’s only a hint of chill in the air. I’ll have a better chance of being positive while I’m walking, too; ruminating in a cab or on a night bus won’t do me any good. This is okay – this walk can be my goodbye to London. One last night spent hanging out with an old friend I love.

  I’ve just let myself wander, like I did in Paris, Florence and Rome, so it’s not until I look up that I suddenly realise where I am.

  No.

  I didn’t even think I was anywhere near here.

  I gaze up at the red brick magnificence of the St Pancras Renaissance Hotel. Light glows from its windows, the damp January air making it look like each one has been smudged around the edges. It’s still a magical building. It still means something to me.

  There’s one place th
at was part of my adventure I haven’t returned to: one friend I’ve yet to see again. I avoided him when I came back from Paris. I haven’t dared visit since. But as tonight is supposed to be my goodbye walk in London, this feels like the right time.

  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

  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.

  If she won’t see me, I’ll be better. I won’t make that mistake again.

  ‘Excuse me,’ a woman says, stepping out in front of me.

  Crap, she’s seen the cab before I have. Where did she come from, anyway? The street was deserted a moment ago.

  I must have said something out loud because she turns to face me, arm still outstretched.

  ‘I’m sorry, were you wanting a taxi?’

  ‘I was. But I wasn’t fast enough. Next time, eh?’

  The black cab swings to a halt beside us, the driver lowering the passenger side window.

  ‘Evening. Where to?’

  The woman gives me a brief smile. ‘Would you like to share? I w
ouldn’t normally offer but it’s New Year and these things are like gold dust. I’ve walked a mile already to find this one.’

  See? Life can still surprise you. One less thing to be angry about. ‘Would you mind? That would be great.’

  She beams. ‘Fantastic. Where are you going?’

  I lean in and give the driver my address, then climb into the cab.

  ‘Thank you,’ I remember to say, when I am in my seat.

  ‘My pleasure.’ She turns to the driver. ‘And St Pancras Renaissance Hotel for me, please.’

  All around me, the city swims.

  Chapter Sixty-Seven

  Chapter Sixty-Seven, Phoebe

  I’m the only person here.

  But it doesn’t matter.

  I’ve just come to mark the moment with an old friend.

  He’s still gazing up. His trilby is still tilted on his head, the breeze from the platform still billowing out the hem of his mackintosh. Of course he hasn’t changed. But in the early hours of a new year, it’s comforting. It would be easy to think everything is different. Perhaps I should notice what’s remained.

  My friends. My love of books. Mum and Dad.

  And London – even though the city is constantly on the move. In my heart it will always be home.

  It isn’t the day I said I’d be here. But now that I’m standing by Sir John, I have the strongest feeling it’s the day I was meant to be here. If he knows, he isn’t saying. I wonder how many other secrets he’s tucked away beneath that trilby.

  It’s done. I’ve finally come full circle on my Grand Adventure. I could never have guessed how it would pan out or what I would experience.

  How do I feel now it’s ended?

  I touch the nook between Sir John’s neck and shoulder, where Meg hid the rose for Sam when I couldn’t be there.

  Gratitude. That’s the overriding emotion. Even though there are moments and actions and decisions I might want to change, I’m grateful I had the chance to experience them at all. In the end, maybe that’s all that’s important.