“I’ll miss you too, Mum but I’ll call you every day.”
“And I’m here too for the next couple of weeks Liz,” Cal says.
“Thank you, darlings, I’ll be alright.” She lays a hand on each of our shoulders. “Just double-check everything you agree to, not that I don’t trust Bernie. He seems like a lovely person, but these business people can be ruthless.”
“Don’t fret, Mum. Mr Bovey said we can call anytime.” I give her the biggest hug but dragging myself away as the clock ticks ever closer to the moment I leave, is hard.
Cal and I walk hand in hand, laughing about the girls who approached me last night, talking about the gig we played and remembering the moment we met up again. It’s all so normal as if we’re not about to say goodbye, but we are trying to ignore the inevitable.
On our way, we pass one or two locals who caught the gig last night. They call out, “Great show, man,” and “loved you last night.” It’s great to hear, I appreciate it, but I don’t want to stop and talk. It leaves less time holding, talking and laughing with Cal.
The running engine of the coach outside the Dunbar is a signal our time is at an end. I sense the excitement in the air from the guys who are saying goodbye to friends and family, but it’s yet to hit me. I’m sure it will, butright now, I can’t get past leaving my girl behind. As Cal said, this isn’t forever, which is the part I have to hold on to.
Cal is in my arms, my hands around her waist, hers around my neck. I delve deep into her beautiful blues. “The time will go by quickly.”
“And it’s just a few weeks, maybe less,” she says optimistically.
“Exactly, in fact, we could take this week by week.”
She smiles her beautiful bright wide smile I love. “You know, we could. Let's say to ourselves, I might not see you this week, but maybe the next?”
“Sounds perfect.”
“Come on, you two. We’ve got to get on the Motorway. I don’t want to get held up for hours in weekend traffic,” Bernie shouts over, then remembers how hard this is for us. “Take care, Cal. Good luck at uni.”
“Thanks, Bernie,” Cal replies, and Bernie nods in acknowledgement, leaving us with our goodbyes.
I cover Cal’s lips with mine, relishing her sweet, soft touch. “Fuck, I’m going to miss you.”
“Hey, remember, I might not see you this week, but maybe next?”
“Sure,” I say, knowing it will be more like months before I get to taste her again. My forehead falls to hers; I take in a heavy breath. “I love you, okay?”
“I love you too. Now go—be famous.”
I kiss her one last time, her lips sticking to mine as we part, then I walk towards the bus, my heart thumping against my chest in protest. Why is this so hard? Why is my heart splitting in two? Why does this feel more like a last goodbye rather than a temporary situation?
I take a seat on the couch, and the guys are in high spirits.Obviously, I’m excited about what’s ahead, and I should join in with their banter, but I just don’t have the energy.
As the coach pulls away, I stare out the window to find Cal. She waves with her bright smile still in place until the coach turns, and I lose sight of her. I keep staring, knowing once we get around this blind corner, she should come into view again from the other side of the road.
As soon as we’re clear, I seek her out, hoping to catch her beautiful smile for the last time in a while. That’s when I see her frozen in time, still staring towards the open road, tears streaming down her reddened cheeks. It’s the moment I realise she’s been wearing a brave face all this time. It’s also the moment my heart splits completely and shatters into a thousand pieces.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CALLA
It’s beentwo weeks since I waved goodbye to Ash and I’ve just a few days left before returning to university.
Fourteen days ago, I went through the hardest goodbye I’ve ever faced. I can’t even compare it to saying goodbye to my grandparents when they left for Greece. Yes, I was sad to see them go, but this grief-like state I find myself in is on another level. It’s a sadness so painful, it burns my insides while my heart literally weeps with the memories. I’m so in love with him, it simply hurts.
After he left, I couldn’t handle going back to the festival as planned. I’m sure Angie wasn’t thrilled at being left alone with Scott. Still, her understanding was appreciated, especially when they both arrived at my door at 9pm. They insisted they weren’t bothered about missing Florence and the Machine, which I know is a lie. Angie has loved them forever, but she was sacrificing her dream of seeing them live for me. “Some things are more important,” she said while barging her way in, fish and chips in hand, while Scott held out a bottle of Jack Daniels. “This won’t drink itself, and you look like you could do with a stiff drink… or three.”
I welcomed them in, thanking them every few minutes, crying the next. It was a pretty horrendous night for me but thank God they were there. They have no idea how grateful I was for their selflessness—no idea at all.
My days have seemed so long without Ash, my nights worse. Now he’s in New York, I have visions of him clubbing with the boys, living his best life. I wonder if he misses me when he’s out having fun.
We text most days but haven’t spoken in a few. The time difference sometimes makes this difficult. The last time we spoke was brief; Ash talked between studio rehearsals and grabbing food. From what he said, they’ve continuously worked in the studio and recorded their first single. Now they’re getting as many tracks down towards their new album as possible.
