Читать книгу The Day We Meet Again - Miranda Dickinson - Страница 19
ОглавлениеSettled onto the Glasgow train after two quick changes at Sheffield and Manchester, I must have dozed off because I jump when my mobile rings, cracking my forehead against the carriage window in the process. The woman in the seat opposite is kind enough to hide her amusement behind her magazine.
Smooth, Sam. Very smooth.
The sight of my two best friends pouting at me from the screen makes me smile regardless of the injury their call has caused.
‘Hey,’ I say, resting back into my seat. Beyond the window a landscape of purple-crowned Cumbrian peaks stretches out beneath lead grey clouds.
‘What happened?’ DeeDee demands. ‘Kim and me saw the news. Was it a bomb?’
‘No idea. Nobody seemed that bothered so I’m guessing not.’
I can hear Kim in the background and picture her, hands on hips, barking questions at DeeDee. ‘I’m asking him… Kim wants to know if you got a train.’
‘On it now. Just heading through the Lakes. Tell Kim it looks like rain here.’
Another off-speaker discussion ensues, followed by an angst-heavy sigh. ‘Okay, look, why don’t you just tell him yourself, hmm? Sam, putting you on speaker so Miss Kim can yell at you instead.’
‘Hi, Kim.’ I can’t hide my smile. They are such a double-act and always appear to be three words away from a row, but it’s all love as far as they’re concerned. They aren’t related but they’ve sung together in bands for so long they might as well be family. It’s spine-tingling stuff when DeeDee and Kim sing, like they’ve developed a magical symbiosis that they just couldn’t recreate with anyone else. But not so much when they’re arguing.
‘Samuel. We heard it was a terror alert.’
‘I don’t think so. They would have evacuated the station if it had been. Anyway, I’m fine. I’m on the train now.’
‘Do your friends know?’
‘Not yet. I’ll text them when I’m nearer Glasgow, just in case there are any other delays ahead. Anyway, they’ll just expect me to rock up when I’m there, so it’ll be no problem.’
There’s a pause and I can hear another barked exchange, this time in urgent whispers because, of course, I’m on speakerphone and can’t hear them.
‘Something I should know?’ I ask.
I hear a loud tut from DeeDee. ‘We weren’t going to tell you…’
‘Laura came,’ Kim finishes.
I stare out at the blur of moorland grass streaking past on the sidings. ‘When?’
‘About an hour after you left. She had a suitcase with her.’
‘Kim!’
‘What?’
‘You didn’t have to tell him that! I thought we discussed this…’
‘Hang on, what?’
I wait for DeeDee and Kim’s debate to stop, leaning my head back and closing my eyes. I don’t feel angry, or hurt – just weary. I felt weary most of the time I was with Laura and during the six months since we broke up.
‘The Russian kicked her scrawny butt out, didn’t he? And who can blame him?’ DeeDee’s tone is heavy with disgust. Part of me would love to have been there to witness her reaction when Laura turned up. But mostly I’m just relieved I wasn’t. ‘She was all poorlittle-rich-girl, with her red eyes and privileged whining. Like we’d just agree you should take her back. Like she was entitled to that.’
‘Why did she come to yours?’
‘She’d been to Syd’s first and assumed you’d be here.’
‘Was she trying to move in?’
‘She wanted to go with you.’ Kim’s laugh is bitter. ‘Can you believe it? Syd refused to tell her where you were going and what time your train was, so she came to us. Like we were ever going to help her!’
Well, today is certainly the day for revelations. It doesn’t surprise me that Laura and Artem didn’t last – especially as I know how many times she’d tried to get back with me (and the three times I’m ashamed to admit that I gave in). And yeah, maybe I’m a little bit glad. It feels like a justification for my mistrust. She wasn’t worth the pain I’ve endured in her name. Not that I’m the kind of person who revels in someone else’s misfortune, but Laura had it coming.
I thought last night’s appearance at the studio launch was a one-off. More fool me, eh?
She’d managed to press so obviously against me as DeeDee took a photo of everyone in the studio. The designer off-the-shoulder sweater she wore pulled just a little too far down, the obvious lack of a bra. I knew exactly what she wanted me – and every other bloke in the room, available or otherwise – to be looking at. Subtlety is a foreign language to my ex. I’d walked away as soon as the photo was done, but in the crush of the studio with so many friends, colleagues and hangers-on gathered for the launch party, it was impossible to avoid her. Before I knew it, she was back – alone: her Russian boyfriend nowhere to be seen.
She’d performed one of her famous sighs, the kind that used to summon me to her side, desperate to make her happy. Only now it just made her look ridiculous. ‘Oh Sam. Why can’t you just be happy for me?’
‘Why are you here?’
‘Artem wanted to come.’
‘Oh, Artem wanted to be in the same tiny room as your glowering ex? I’m sorry, I find that hard to believe.’
‘Well, he did. Despite everything, he respects you.’
I didn’t want to shout, or give her the satisfaction of making a scene at my launch party. I took a breath, hauling back my anger. ‘Look, I didn’t invite you.’
‘I heard you were leaving,’ she blurted out, casting a careful glance about her to make sure no one else heard. ‘And I wanted to know why.’
‘That’s none of your business.’
‘It’s because of me, isn’t it?’ Her hand was on my arm and there were too many bodies around us for me to shake it off. I went cold at her touch.
‘No. Because not everything in my life is about you.’
‘Wait – Sam – this isn’t over with us. I know you!’ she’d called after me, but by then I was pushing through the studio party guests towards the exit. And I didn’t look back.
‘She honestly thought you’d want to be with her,’ DeeDee continued. ‘Honest, babes, we told her where to go.’
‘Thanks. Sorry you both had to deal with that.’
‘Don’t worry. It was amusing. Kim tore a strip off the woman.’
I wince at that. I love my friends but I don’t ever want to not be on their side. One is terrifying enough; having both of them taking issue with you could likely stop your heart. ‘Ah. Thanks – I think.’
‘We told her you were going to Aberdeen.’ I can hear the smile in Kim’s voice. ‘So good luck to her if she thinks she can track you down.’
When the call is over, I take a deep breath and watch the world pass by. I never told Laura about my father, or where I grew up. She only met my university friends once when they came down to London for a gig I was playing at the Royal Albert Hall with a band of new-folk artists. Beyond that, she never asked about where I’d come from.
Which is odd, because Phoebe Jones asked within the first hour of meeting me.
I pull up the photo I took of us just before I left her at the barrier. She is beautiful, of course. But then my gaze slides to me. I look different. I think of all the selfies with me that Laura posted on Instagram – countless squares of a picture-perfect couple all taken at an identical angle for maximum effect. I never smiled in any of those images like I do in this single, hurriedly snapped photo with my arm around Phoebe.
Have I ever smiled like that before?
I stroke Phoebe’s face on the screen, remembering the warmth of her against me, the scent of her perfume and the touch of her hand on my arm. That’s what matters now. Not the past – or anyone from it trying to get back in. And I’m going to hold on to this feeling until I see Phoebe again.
