I don’t want to go out today, but reading isn’t occupying my mind enough. I wander around the apartment trying to find something to distract me. Tobi and Luc have left a stack of DVDs and magazines on the coffee table – I sort through them but nothing appeals. I’m restless, as though there’s something I ought to be doing but I haven’t worked out what yet.
Two weeks into my Grand Adventure and I’m having an off-day. I’ve been to all the places on my list and have found some new ones, too. I can’t understand it. I have one of the most amazing cities in the world on my doorstep but today I don’t feel like exploring at all.
Of course, what I should be doing is firming up details for the next leg of my journey. Thing is, I can’t decide whether to go to Rome first or Florence. I’ve found Airbnbs in both and narrowed my list down to three in each city. They’re all within my budget and perfectly acceptable but – I don’t know – there’s something missing. It’s probably the idea of staying somewhere alone, or with hosts I don’t know. Which is daft, considering I didn’t know Luc and barely knew Tobi when I arrived in Paris. They’ve just become such good friends and the rhythm of life here suits me – striking out on my own during the day and returning to Tobi’s cooking and Luc’s funny stories about his workplace in the evening. Large parts of this year will be going from one unfamiliar place to the next and I’m okay with that but I’ll miss the friendship.
Today isn’t the day to decide, though. Not while I’m in this mood.
When I’d pictured this year I never expected to have boring or indecisive days. The Phoebe Jones of my imagination left all of that stuff in London and marched confidently though every one of her 365 European days. But you can’t leave yourself behind. All of the doubts and insecurities and ridiculous hang-ups that characterised me at home are still with me.
And anyway, I know what the real problem is: I miss Sam.
Neither of us is sticking to the rules we agreed for communication. One of us should be sensible, but it gives me hope because he isn’t in a hurry to forget me, or parcel me into neat boxes of time. The flipside of this is that every bit of communication makes me long for him more.
I jump as my mobile buzzes. It’s happened a few times lately: just when my heart has been longing for him he’s appeared on my phone. What was it he called it back at St Pancras? Spooky.
On the wide love seat by the window I sit and open the message. It’s a photo of Sam on a hillside with the sea in the distance. His dark curls are being whipped up at the front by the wind and he’s wearing a sweater and coat, despite it being July. I’m in a T-shirt today and although all of the windows are open, the apartment is stuffy with heat. Another reason I’ve chosen not to go out today.
Feeling the now familiar rush of adrenalin, I type a message back.
Where are you? xx
The dancing dots underneath the bubble of my message jig in time with my heart. And then his reply appears:
On the hill behind Ailish’s house. I can see the Iona ferry from here xx
You look amazing – sorry, IT looks amazing xx
Cheeky xx
Sorry xx
I wait while he types the next message. I can’t hide my smile.
Firstly, I don’t believe you are sorry. Secondly, carry on xx
That laugh of his dances through his words.
You look cold xx
Probably because it’s freezing here. Niven’s right, too many years living in the South have made me a wuss. He’s swanning around in a T-shirt today. Not even a goosebump on him. I’m a disgrace to my Caledonian race xx
He’s mentioned so many names in our conversations. Kate, Donal, Ailish, Lexie, Addie, Ivor – he talked about a Niven but I can’t remember the context. I can’t bluff my way out of this.
Who’s Niven again? (Sorry!) xx
Old university friend. Another musician. You’d like him. You’d probably fancy him. He’s a proper heartbreaker xx
I only have eyes for you, Sam xx
Cute. All the same, I won’t send you his photo until we’re back together xx
He might not fancy me xx
He already does. He saw your picture on the Mull ferry xx
Oh, so now we discover the truth. It amuses me that Sam is nervous that I might prefer his friend. This is too good a chance not to rib him.
Oh right, so Niven gets to see me but I don’t get to see him? How is that fair? xx
It’s safer this way, trust me xx
I’m just thinking of what to say to that when another message arrives. Must be something about being a fiddle player – he types so quickly!
I dreamed about you last night xx
How cute is that?
Did you? Hope it wasn’t a nightmare xx
Oh come on, how could it ever be bad? It was awesome. So amazing I spent an hour trying to get back to sleep so I could stay in it xx
That good? xx
THAT good xx
Wow. No pressure for the next time I see you, then xx
None at all. You’re a dream lady xx
His cheekiness is endearing but I need a minute to regroup. I leave my phone on the window seat and head into the kitchen. It isn’t that I don’t like the flirting – I do, so much – but I want to make sure that isn’t all we talk about.
It’s a battle not to race back to my phone, but I take my time making coffee. Is Sam checking his phone or has he gone back to his mum’s friend’s house? My drink is made and I have no more reasons for delay, so I return to the window seat. The courtyard below is looking lovely today. It’s tempting to go down there to message Sam again, but it was so stiflingly hot yesterday that I abandoned my attempt to write my travel journal after twenty sweaty minutes. At least here a small brave breeze is finding its way through the window.
There’s a message from Sam waiting on my phone.
Did I tell you I found a guitar at Ailish’s? Found it in the wardrobe in my room. It was her son Aidan’s when he was a teenager. Thought he’d impress girls with it but found out having a car was more effective and far less hard work xx
So girls like guitar, do they? xx
Yup. Well-known fact. Piano and guitar are like catnip to girls xx
How about violin? xx
Worked for you xx
Ah, but I’ve never heard you play xx
Crap. Better brush up my guitar skills, then… xx
Our messages make me feel like the whole of Paris can hear us flirting.
So you play guitar as well? xx
I do. Haven’t played for a while but I want to write some stuff while I’m on the Island. It needs new strings but I reckon I can get a decent tune out of it xx
You’ll have to send me a song, Sam. I’d like that xx
I will. Anything for you xx
You’re brilliant. I love you xx
I take a breath.
It’s what I’ve wanted to say for the last two weeks and I was going to wait until I knew for certain, but who am I kidding? I knew the moment we met. I’m in love with Sam Mullins. And while I probably should have built up to it a little, or waited until we next spoke, it’s said now. It’s why I’ve been restless today, why his messages have meant so much. I love him. Why wait a year to say it?
I wait for his reply, for the dancing dots that mean he’s composing a message. After a minute they appear on screen, then disappear. Another thirty seconds and they do the same. Why is he hesitating? How many times do you have to type I love you, too before you dare to send it?
The screen remains blank beneath my last message now. I stay where I am, convinced that he’ll message back, or call me. Maybe he had to go to the house to use the Wi-Fi calling thing he’s done before. It probably is something we should say out loud to each other. I must’ve taken him by surprise and now he’s making sure his reply is everything he wants it to be.
But what if I scared him?
My stomach twists.
What if – oh hell – what if he doesn’t feel the same?
My fingers ache and I realise I’ve been gripping my phone too hard. I let go, the blank screen falling to my lap.
Why did I tell Sam I love him?
An hour passes, then two. I move to my room and try to read but the lifeless screen draws my eyes back whenever I try to concentrate. The longer the silence, the more scared I become.
Reply, Sam. Or call me.
Three hours after my last message, I can’t bear it any longer.
Sam, are we okay? Xx
I wait. My heart leaps when the reply dots start to dance.
We’re fine x
Two words, one kiss. It feels cold. I know he probably typed it in a hurry and the lack of his usual second kiss is just a mistake, but I feel sick. I don’t want to be that person but I can’t let this go until I know how he feels.
I didn’t mean to scare you xx
Another painfully dragging minute. I steady my breath, try to distract my attention from the clock at the top of my mobile screen that seems to have frozen.
You didn’t x
This is what I hate about messages and emails – you have no idea what the other person is really feeling because you can’t see it in their expression or catch subtle changes in their voice. I could call him but I am not going to make this any worse than it already is.
Are you sure? xx
His answer is almost immediate, which should ease my nerves. But when it arrives it feels dismissive. Even the return of the elusive second kiss in his reply isn’t reassuring:
Yes. Stop worrying. Have to go now, Niven’s coming over xx
I throw my mobile to the pillows on my bed and put my hands over my eyes. Why does it feel like the air just changed between us? It was one impulsive comment in a thread of messages that were already careering in that direction. I feel judged. I never expected that from Sam.
If we were in a normal relationship this would probably have been our first argument. We would’ve sulked for a few days but then called or met to clear the air. Being so far away from him, his words are the only clues I have to go on. I can’t read him because I don’t know him well enough yet.
Lurching from one emotional rollercoaster to the next isn’t what I came here for. I had far too much of that in London. I get up, stuff my phone in my pocket and head for the door. Paris is on my doorstep and I can lose myself in its beauty for a while. Concentrate on me.
I’ll deal with everything else later.