‘And once I get it set up, I could offer tasters for kids – or adults – to learn an instrument while they’re staying. You could even do retreats for people. You know, like how writers and artists go to stay for a week somewhere beautiful, free of distractions? People could stay here and see whether after a few daily lessons they want to take up learning when they go home.’
‘I love it.’ She cupped my cheeks and tiptoed up to kiss me on the forehead. ‘If it’s going to be part of the business, we can expense the building work – no need to wait.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Absolutely.’ She hurried over to the fridge beneath the bar and pulled out a bottle of champagne. ‘This calls for a celebration.’ She popped the cork and I grabbed two glasses.
‘What are we toasting to?’ I asked.
‘To never giving up on our dreams.’
‘To never giving up,’ I agreed.
Chapter Twenty-Two
If I was going to start teaching again, I needed to get my guitar. That meant going back up to London to see Peter. And since I had an invite to Lisa and Geri’s New Year’s Eve party, it was the perfect opportunity. Most of the staff were back from their bout of flu so Mum could spare me from the hotel for a couple of days.
I was looking forward to getting some closure with Peter and letting my hair down with my friends before I started executing all the plans Mum and I had scratched out in the bar a couple of days ago on the back of a delivery note, while drinking bubbly. It was definitely worth celebrating…even if a certain someone was on my mind every time I saw a plane flying overhead. There are a hugely inconvenient number of planes up there.
I may have watched that video of Nick and I dancing together at the festival a couple of times too, because I liked to torture myself. Lisa had been right: I had looked happy, from what I could see. Mainly it was a blur of our coats and hair and flashing reindeer antlers, seen through someone’s wobbly camera work, but there was the bit at the end… Oh, it got me every time. As he spun me under his arm and I looked up at him and he looked down at me, his gorgeous smile wide and all for me.
If only someoneheknew had seen him and tagged him, I could have found him through social media. And yes, I had done a miserable stalker-like search and come up with nothing. It looked like he didn’t have an account at all, which was ironic considering I’d accused him of being a social media influencer.
It was time to give up before I creeped myself out.
I packed a bag with my new party dress and a set of comfy pyjamas for the inevitable New Year’s Day hangover and started the one bus and three trains journey I needed to get back up to the city. The south of England was still half covered in snow, like a slice of birthday cake wrapped in a paper napkin, the white icing all crumpled to the edges. I plugged in my earphones and tried to enjoy the views as it changed from rolling hills and quaint villages, into the world of high-rise buildings, industrial estates and Starbucks.
The song in my earbuds dipped in volume as the train approached Gatwick and I happily took my eyes off the sight of all the planes lined up on the tarmac to check the notification that’d just come in on my phone.
Noelle: Have you called Nick yet?
Me: I couldn’t find his number.
Noelle: How are you feeling about it?
Me: Gutted, but what can I do?
Noelle: Good question. You still going up to London for your friends’ NYE party?
Me: Yup. I’m gonna dance my blues away.
Noelle: I strongly approve. I’m going to text you a bit later. I need coffee, I’ve only just got up, but you need to keep your phone on you okay? No losing it.
I raised an eyebrow at the strange note of urgency in her last message but promised her, nonetheless, I would try not to lose my phone again. I loved that our friendship was growing so easily, another good thing to have come out of the chaos of Christmas.
When I got to Geri and Lisa’s nearly an hour later, they grabbed me in a massive hug as though we hadn’t seen each other in years rather than months. Lisa showed off her ring, which did suit her absolutely perfectly and we had another massive hug before we got down to the business of setting up their small terraced house in Fulham for the party.
Geri was bustling around panicking about everything and Lisa was completely chilled and doing her best to calm her fiancée with little hugs and kisses and pre-party beverages. My extra pair of hands were greatly appreciated and while I helped move furniture and set up the drinks, we filled each other in on what had been happening over the last fortnight. It was so nice to talk to them again properly and unbelievably cathartic to explain all the insanity that had been keeping me occupied. We hung a disco ball in their dining room, so it was flashing primary and neon colours over the neutral palette furniture and when Geri finally settled down and started to review the playlists there was an hour to go until the party was officially due to start.
That meant it was time for me to make a call on Peter. I changed into my new shimmery black dress, donned some glittery make-up, teased my hair out and slipped into my heels. It felt so good to get dressed up properly, and though I wasn’t doing it to impress Peter – no way, no how – it was nice to feel that I would be looking my best when I turned up at his door. I grabbed my jacket, my Oyster card and a good luck hug from my girls. It was time to go get my guitar.
Peter’s flat was on a road just off from Fulham Park Gardens, so it didn’t take long to get to. I’d met Geri at a gym midway between our two homes, a couple of weeks after I first moved in with him. Normally I would’ve walked or cycled the distance but I had my high heels on and my feet deserved a rest, so I caught the 414 and was there in fifteen minutes, just before half past eight, the time I’d agreed in the short, sharp texts I’d exchanged with Peter.
The apartment was in the basement of a terraced orange-brick house. It looked dark when you peered down at the door from the road, but it was surprisingly light inside. It was odd approaching it, following my familiar route, a little like sleepwalking. I hoped I wasn’t going to wake up in a nightmare. Just as I was about to descend to the door, I noticed a big black shape leaning against the railings and decided to check out what it was.
Within seconds I could tell it was my guitar. The bastard had put my guitar out on the street like a bag of rubbish. I grabbed the black case by its worn handle, gripping it tight as though someone still might run up and mug me for it. I mean, you never knew. Then I stomped down the stairs to his front door and pressed his bell over and over, letting that annoying ding-dong play constantly inside the flat until he opened the door.
‘Christ, what?’ Peter scowled out at me from a slice of the doorway. The scent of his usual going-out aftershave rolled over me like a fog and I struggled not to cough. I waited for the gut-punch. The moment when seeing him looking quite good, I had to admit, with his crisp white shirt and freshly shaven jaw, was going to hurt.
