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 wouldn’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.