Of course, I couldn’t leave it at that. I tried to push on with the rest of my work day as best I could, but even my lunchtime violin practice wasn’t enough to calm my thoughts, and I found myself putting the instrument down and hurrying back to the computer instead.
From: a.cameron@myemail.com
To: cameron.a@myemail.com
Date: 20 Feb, 14:02
Subject: Sorry
Hi Cameron,
There are all kinds of things going through my head right now. Did you get the email in which I confessed all? Maybe that’s the reason you haven’t messaged yet. Or maybe you’re not going to reply ever again. Has the internet gone down and that’s why I’ve not heard from you for ages? Or perhaps the real reason is that something happened to the expedition ship and I have no idea. After all, why should anyone think to tell me if you’ve become ill, been injured or worse? Maybe I’m jumping to the worst-case scenario there. If something had happened to an expedition ship in Antarctica, I’d probably have heard about it on the news.
Maybe the simple truth is that you’re angry at my deception. I don’t blame you. I’m angry at myself too. It wasn’t fair to either of us, and if it’s the reason you don’t want anything more to do with me, then I understand. I know I’m placing a lot of faith in one phone conversation and a dozen or so emails exchanged. But I want the opportunity for us to meet for real. Maybe there’ll be no spark in person, it’ll fizzle out and we’ll go our separate ways. Or maybe the opposite will happen. Either way, at least we’d have tried.
Still hoping to see you at Edinburgh Castle.
Love,
Amy x
I didn’t actually hit send on the second email. If Cameron hadn’t already been frightened off by my confession, this unfiltered angst would definitely do the trick. But the very act of writing it was therapeutic in a way, allowing me to continue with the pretence of chatting with him even while I feared I’d never hear from him again.
The poor refresh button on my keyboard took a battering as I kept pressing it in the hope that a reply would land from Cameron. But as the afternoon wore on, there was nothing, and my hopes started to fade. Excluding the postcard, which didn’t count because of when it had been sent, the last message I’d had from Cameron had been on Valentine’s Day. Had I been ghosted? Had he grown sick of me before I’d even confessed? It was probably what I deserved, but that didn’t make me feel any better about it.
For the next few days, I buried myself in work and other distractions in an attempt to forget about the deafening silence from Cameron. Well, I say that, but in reality, I still ended up refreshing my emails approximately every thirty seconds, despite my best intentions. I felt like I was living in limbo. Not only was the situation with Cameron unresolved, I was also on the sad countdown to Cass’s departure from the country. Whenever I thought about one source of unhappiness too much, I forced my mind onto the other, but as both were upsetting, I didn’t exactly have my most productive week. I went about on automatic pilot, my mind elsewhere as I envisaged the journey Cameron could be making towards my home city in a few days. I decided it was better to imagine him doing that rather than dwelling too much on the other likely scenario, that he’d changed his flights and was heading as far away from me as possible.
Several times, I started writing more emails to him, but out of self-preservation, I didn’t add his address so they languished in my drafts folder rather than following in the wake of my other missive. If he was deliberately ignoring me, sending a stream of further messages could only damage my cause. Besides, I needed to retain some dignity. I did cave and try ringing him a couple more times, but once again nothing happened. I googled how to find out if someone had blocked your phone number, but got so many contradictory answers that I concluded it was better for my state of mind to decide that he hadn’t taken such a drastic measure, even though I feared I was lying to myself.
The unsettling sense of uncertainty reminded me of the turbulent days after the fateful concert when I’d decided to give up the violin. I knew if I wasn’t careful, it would be all too easy to slip back into the self-preserving habits I’d established then, habits which had been intended to stop me from getting hurt, but which had ultimately imprisoned me. I was determined not to let it happen again.
With that in mind, I called another rehearsal of the Drowsy Maggies and booked us into the Cellar Bar for our first official gig later in spring. I spent a happy, yet tear-filled evening helping Cass and her family with the final bits of packing, and met Leonie for a pre-matinee brunch. I even managed to arrange a quick coffee catch-up with Meg and Jodie. In fact, I’d almost begun to believe my head’s dogged assertion that I’d recovered my equilibrium, when the email landed with a ping and sent my heart into a spin again.
From: cameron.a@myemail.com
To: a.cameron@myemail.com
Date: 25 Feb, 14:40
Subject: Re: Confession
Hi Amy,
We’ve had some signal blackout. A brief message to say I’ve now got your email. Actually, I’ve got a confession of my own to make. It’s difficult to know where to start. Can we still meet on March 1st? I’ll explain then.
C
I stared at the words on my phone screen until the letters started to look weird. A confession of his own? What exactly did Cameron mean by that? And how was it possible that a message less than fifty words long could make me feel so disconcerted?
‘Are you alright, Amy?’
Harry’s voice sounded like it was coming from a long way away. I looked up, suddenly conscious that I had been standing in the open doorway of my flat for quite some time.
‘Um, I’m not sure,’ I said, the shock at the brief but explosive contents of Cameron’s reply getting in the way of the polite pleasantry I should probably have responded with.
Harry nodded. ‘I think perhaps a cup of tea is in order.’ He ushered me across the hall into his flat and settled me down on the sofa while he quietly bustled around in the kitchen making the drinks. Fraser prowled along the arm of the chair and gently settled himself down on my lap, while Eliza arched her back, casually brushed past my leg, then curled up a hair’s breadth from my feet.
‘Both of you coming for cuddles, well almost, I am honoured,’ I said.
Harry placed my drink down on a coaster.
‘Aye, they’re good listeners, cats,’ he said. ‘They have the knack for knowing when you’ve got something on your mind. Be careful, the mug’s very hot.’
I think it was the way he wasn’t pressing me for details which encouraged me to open up.
‘At least they’re honest. If they like you, they’ll show it. And if they’re annoyed, they won’t bother pretending not to be.’
Harry sat down in the armchair opposite and took a sip of his tea before responding. ‘Am I to infer from this that you’re in the unfortunate position of dealing with someone who’s not what you thought they were?’
I let out a short laugh. ‘Probably. Although let’s face it, that makes two of us.’
He raised a questioning eyebrow, and I found myself explaining the history of my correspondence with Cameron.
‘A surprising message to receive,’ he said, when I finally stopped speaking. ‘What do you think he means by it?’
I shook my head. ‘I dread to imagine, but whatever he’s getting at, it was a pretty poor response given my own lengthy confession. I poured my heart out to the guy, yet all he could come up with in reply was an enigmatic excuse about needing to explain something in person.’ I sighed. ‘As if that’s ever going to happen.’
‘You don’t think he’s coming to Edinburgh?’
I picked up my mug of tea before I answered, contemplating my response.
‘No, I don’t think he is,’ I said eventually. ‘And if I’m being completely honest with myself, I’m not sure he ever intended to. The whole thing’s a mess. How do I even know he is who he claims to be? Sure, he’s sent me lots of flowery emails about penguins and snow and stuff, but for all I know, he could be some fantasist sitting alone in his bedroom getting off on pretending to be a glamorous photographer type swanking around Antarctica. And frankly, is that any worse than what I’ve done?’
Harry had a thoughtful expression on his face. ‘Of course, these days, I’m given to believe it’s always best to exercise a degree of caution about meeting people online. What else do you know about him, aside from what he’s told you?’
‘Well, this is the problem. He went on and on about steering clear of the socials and keeping a low profile because he values privacy or something, but it’s all a bit too convenient, right? I did a proper deep dive, but I’ve never even found a picture of him online. How suspicious is that? He’s probably married. Or worse. Knowing my luck, he might be about to send me another message with some sob story about being stuck abroad and oh by the way can I lend him the very expensive airfare to Edinburgh. I knew he was too good to be true. Somehow he worked out that I was a soft touch, a pathetic loner in desperate need of a friend, and this whole thing has been one big build up to a romance scam.’
I fiercely wiped my eyes, angry at myself for being such a fool and allowing myself to be taken in by an appealing fantasy. I was also embarrassed and ashamed at getting emotional about it. What must Harry think of me? I really hoped he wasn’t feeling sorry for me. I didn’t deserve it, and I couldn’t bear the thought of being an object of sympathy. I’d brought this situation upon myself.
‘I think this calls for shortbread as well as tea,’ said Harry. ‘Let me get you some.’ He went back into the kitchen area and pretended to be absorbed in searching through the cupboards. I was grateful for his tact while I tried to pull myself together.
‘Here you go,’ he said a few minutes later, offering me a plate. ‘I took the liberty of selecting the fruit and lemon variety. They’re my favourite.’
‘Thanks. And thanks for listening.’ I took a bite of biscuit, and waited for the sugar to work its magic. ‘Sorry for ranting. It’s not been the easiest of weeks.’
‘It sounds like you’ve been dealing with a lot. But I am honoured that you felt able to confide in me. What do you think you’re going to do?’
I stared at him. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Are you going to meet this Cameron chap? Forgive me for being an old romantic, but perhaps all is not lost. Despite all that we’ve discussed, you could still go to the Castle for the meeting time on Wednesday. It’s a public space, and there are always plenty of people around. As long as you take sensible precautions, there’s no reason why you couldn’t wait and see if he turns up. You won’t know what the real situation is until you can speak to him in person.’
I shook my head. ‘No. It’s time to be realistic. My mind is made up. He’s put me through the wringer enough already. It’s too risky. Whether he shows up or not on the first of March, I don’t care. I definitely won’t be there.’
From: a.cameron@myemail.com
To: cameron.a@myemail.com
Date: 26 Feb, 01:26
Subject: Re: re: Confession
What do you mean you have something to confess? Just tell me now, because I’m imagining all sorts of stuff. I was honest with you in my email. Please do the same for me.
I hit the discard button and started another email of a rather different tone.
From: a.cameron@myemail.com
To: cameron.a@myemail.com
Date: 26 Feb, 01:28
Subject: 1pm 1st March
Hi Cameron,
It’s only a matter of days until you want us to meet at Edinburgh Castle. Will you actually be there? I’m saying it like I want you to be, but if I’m being completely honest, I don’t know what I want anymore. Perhaps you’re already en route. If you really have been in Antarctica, that is. I don’t know what to think anymore. I looked up the journey from Ushuaia to Edinburgh and it looks torturous. All those lay overs and then worse, all those hours in the air. I thought my friend Cass had a rough journey ahead of her flying to Sydney with one stop on the way, but I think you win. I’m not really treating it as a competition. I’m just filling the page, pretending I’m talking to you like normal as I try to work out how I feel. When you sent that brief reply to my confession, it didn’t sound like you, and that threw me even more. It’s funny, even before we had that one and only phone call, I could ‘hear’ your voice, recognise the cadence of your emails and sense your tone. I thought I would recognise an email was from you even if it had no signature and wasn’t from your address. I’ve made a lot of assumptions, and now I don’t know if I can trust my judgement at all.
If you are heading to Edinburgh Castle, enjoy it. I don’t think I’ll be there. I promised you honesty, but more importantly, I’ve promised it to myself. Even the thought of the meeting is making me anxious. Right now I have to prioritise looking after myself. It’s better if I don’t risk further hurt.
Good night.
Amy
The second message also went straight into the bin, then I signed out of my emails before I made the mistake of actually replying to Cameron. I hated that I was lying in bed over analysing things in the middle of the night. Accepting that there was zero chance of me getting to sleep any time soon, I decided to do something positive to distract myself. I’d already given Cass the jokey Scottish souvenirs, but it would be nice to create a more meaningful bon voyage gift as well.
I pulled on an extra hoody to counter the late night/early morning chill, then set to work compiling an online photo book for her and the family so they had something to remember their old life in Edinburgh with. We’d had some good times together. I knew we would have more in the future, and that the big move was the right decision for her, but I was still going to miss my oldest friend.
I sent the link for the virtual photo book to Cass’s email address, then on impulse started compiling another one, this time featuring the highs and lows of my musical career. As I spooled through the images taken over the years, I thought I could detect the growing shadows in my expression as the anxiety started to take over. If only I’d spoken about what was going through my mind at the time, rather than keeping my fears to myself, how different my life could have been. Once again, I reminded myself to stop focusing on my regrets. But it was a relief to come towards the end of the album and add the photo which Leonie had captured of me busking, and then the series of stills of me ‘conducting’ my fellow musicians with my bow, my face full of laughter, during the opening night of the Cellar Bar. Whatever challenges the next few days brought, I needed to try to remember that sense of joyous freedom.