‘Phoebe.’
I look up from my journal to see a large steaming cup held by a concerned Canadian. Luc is so tall he has to duck beneath the trails of ivy in the courtyard garden to stand by the bench where I’m sitting, and I have to shield my eyes from the bright lunchtime sun to see him. ‘Thank you. You didn’t have to bring me tea.’
‘I did. Because this is the best thé au citron in Paris. And also because Tobi says you are sad and you won’t tell him why. So I thought you might tell me.’
‘I’m not sad.’
‘Okay.’ He sits beside me. ‘Heard from Sam lately?’
Ouch. I thought I was doing a good job of playing the happy tourist around Luc and Tobi. I’ve been out in Paris every day and have almost finalised the next part of my European journey. Most afternoons I’ve returned to read in the lovely garden and most evenings I’ve chatted and laughed with my hosts late into the night. I didn’t think my feelings about Sam were visible to anyone but me. Shows what I know.
‘I get a text every few days. He’s been playing gigs with his mate Niven and he’s writing new songs. He’s promised to send me one.’
I sound defensive but I don’t mean to be. Yes, Sam has contacted me. We’ve even attempted to flirt a couple of times, but the great three-word elephant looms in between us, casting its shadow over everything.
‘I told him I loved him,’ I say, my words rising to meet the carefree clouds in the Parisian sky.
If Luc has an opinion, he’s careful to hide it. ‘Ah.’
‘I didn’t mean to. I mean, I do love him, but… I just said it before either of us were ready.’
‘But he feels the same? You said at the station he seemed to.’
‘I thought he did.’ I close my book, hoping this ends the conversation, and take a deep breath. The air tastes of cool green leaves and lemon steam. ‘Anyway, I’m moving on soon, so that’s what I should be thinking about. If Sam and I are meant to be together, this will all work out. If we aren’t…’
Luc nods and there’s no need to finish my sentence. Far above our heads tiny white clouds traverse the summer blue. ‘You’ve decided where you’re headed? Is it Florence or Rome?’
‘Florence first, then Rome. It makes sense to do it that way. But I won’t go there straight away. I plan to visit a few places in France first.’
‘Tobi and I know an artist in Rome. We met her on our honeymoon.’ Luc turns to me. ‘Hey, I could contact her, if you like? See if she might let you stay for a while?’
It’s so out of the blue that it takes a moment to take it in. If I could save even a few days’ worth of accommodation costs it would be a huge help. Not to mention staying with a friend of Tobi and Luc.
‘Really? You wouldn’t mind?’
He sparkles at my reaction. I love how Luc transforms into a delighted kid whenever he makes someone smile. ‘It would be my pleasure! Besides, you know Tobi and I will worry about you when you’re out there. Rome is crazy, especially if you visit alone. If you’re with our friend it will be much better.’
It doesn’t solve everything, but it is enough to take my mind off Sam – for now.
A postcard from Sam arrives the next day. It has a cartoon of the Loch Ness monster firing a cannon from Edinburgh Castle painted in colours so garish they make my eyes ache. Sam wasn’t kidding when he said Scotland excels in the weird and wonderful when it comes to postcards. Each one he’s sent is more bonkers than the last, whereas I’ve tried to find a more beautiful one each time. I wonder if this is another sign, another difference between us. Is he taking this whole thing seriously? If he isn’t, no wonder he backed off when I said I love you.
I don’t read it immediately, waiting until I’m wandering slowly around the beautiful galleries of the Louvre to pull it from my pocket and turn it over. I love this space, so much so that I’ve kept returning. The unrushed, unhurried air within is so markedly different from the tourist buzz outside. It’s cooler and quieter and I love it.
Returning to the galleries has made me feel less like a visitor and I’ve been able to write in its serene stillness – perhaps the biggest surprise of my time in Paris. I’ve written an entry in my journal every day and when I read the pieces back at night I’m proud of what I see.
The Louvre is the perfect spot to people-watch, too. Growing up on a fruit farm in the middle of the rolling Worcestershire countryside I didn’t get to observe other people much, unless you counted my teenage shifts in the farm shop, which were more a case of serving people as quickly as possible while trying to avoid eye contact.
Here, everyone exists in their own space, inviting you to watch from a distance like the artwork on display. I see friends and couples, excited school kids and elegant pensioners; brand new acquaintances and rendezvous with people hoping to be more than friends. All of them move through the space to their own rhythms at their own speed. But as I watch, it hits me: all of the people passing by know where they are going. Everybody here knows where their next steps will take them. I thought my next steps would bring me closer to Sam. Now I’m not so sure.
After a while, I find a quiet place and read Sam’s card.
Hey you,
This is the most horrific postcard in the whole of Caledonia. You’re welcome!
Things are okay here. Music and walking, hanging out with Niven and being force-fed cake by Ailish. I’m going to have to take up running or something or else I’ll be rolling myself back to London like an overstuffed haggis.
Let me have your address when you know where you’ll be staying. Also, can I call you? Things have been a bit weird – I’ve been weird, I know. I don’t think I can explain on a postcard or in a message. I need to talk to you. Text me a good time to call, please.
I really do care about you, Phoebe. I want this to happen for us.
Speak soon
Sam xx
Sam wanting to talk is a step forward. So why don’t I feel reassured?
After dinner I call the only person who will understand. Meg sounds tired but within seconds she’s sparkling down the line, telling me about the huge events she’s being hired to manage. It’s so good to hear her voice and slip back into our familiar patter. But pretty soon, she susses me.
‘Anyway, you didn’t call to be appraised of my diary, did you? So, what’s up?’
I finally admit the truth. ‘I told Sam I love him.’
I can hear her slow inhale. ‘That’s – fast.’
‘I know.’
‘Fast for you, I mean.’
‘Yep.’
‘And he said…?’
‘He didn’t. He hasn’t…’
‘Oh, Phee…’
‘I mean, he’s still contacting me – more than before, actually, which is a bit strange. And then today I received a postcard that said he wants this to happen for us. Whatever that means.’
‘It means he’s trying to apologise.’
‘You think?’ I want it to be true more than anything.
‘I don’t know the guy but if he was trying to put you off I doubt he’d say something like that in a postcard. How long have you been worrying about this?’
I smooth down the corner of a page in my journal that’s bent itself over. ‘Almost a week.’
‘You’re such a berk, Phee. Why didn’t you say anything?’
‘I didn’t want to admit that things weren’t brilliant with Sam and me. You know, after making such a big deal about meeting him at the station.’
‘What possible difference could that have made?’ Meg’s frustration grazes my ear.
‘I know what you think about it. And the others, if they know, which I’m guessing they might.’
The pause on the other end of the line confirms my suspicions. But why shouldn’t Osh and Gabe know?
‘Are you having second thoughts, Phee? Because it’s okay if you are. And nobody will judge you for it.’
‘Gabe would love that,’ I say, surprising myself. Where did that come from?
‘He’s a wind-up merchant. You know he is.’
‘I just don’t want him to know about this.’
‘I won’t say anything. Besides, he’s still reeling from you being away…’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Nothing. We all want you to be happy, Phee, Gabe included. And we might be hundreds of miles from you but that doesn’t mean you can’t talk to us about stuff.’
I close my eyes. ‘I feel a bit of an idiot.’
‘No more than the rest of us. All the time.’
‘Yeah, right.’
‘I’m serious. You seem to think we’ve got it sorted, but the truth is we’re all just blundering around from one thing to the next. Everyone is. Osh has just had a short film commissioned but I spent most of last night talking him down from a huge panic attack about it. He’s chased that commission for months but yesterday he’d convinced himself he was going to stuff it up and never work again. And Gabe did the table read for his play on Monday and wouldn’t speak to the rest of us for two days because he thinks it’s going to make his career nosedive. None of us knows what we’re doing.’
It doesn’t make me feel better that my friends are having a hard time. ‘I’m not sure the whole Sam thing is on a par with that.’
‘It’s something you care about and you’re scared it won’t happen. I’d say it’s exactly the same. Give him time. You’re both away for a year, so why does every decision need to be made in the first few weeks?’
I wish I could hug her. ‘You are wise, Meggy.’
‘I’m glad you noticed. Just focus on the next part of your journey and let Sam have space to work out what he wants. You have so much amazing stuff to look forward to, Phee. Don’t wish it away before it happens.’
When the call is over, I grab my guidebooks and map. It’s time to plan exactly where the next leg of my journey will take me.