Sophie's Run (43 page)

With weary feet and gritty heads, the four of us trudged into the direction of the cottage. As expected, it was in darkness and fairly cold, but the shutters were intact and in place. We stumbled inside, switching on our torches until the men had an opportunity to open curtains and shutters. I made an emergency bed for Rachel and arranged Dan’s make-shift sleeping place on the sofa, then Steve and I went upstairs into my bedroom, and everybody caught up on a few more hours’ worth of sleep.

It took another couple of days for island business to return to normal, for the electricity to come back and the ferry to resume running. I used those days to show my friends the island as best as possible and to introduce them to all my favorite people and haunts. We did a fair bit of helping out with broken fences and flooded cellars, and our participation was gratefully received and noted. I also settled my affairs with Greetje, paying outstanding bills, thanking her profusely for everything she had done and begging her to come to my wedding, once we had actually set the date. It was weird and good to have my friends with me as I had to prepare to leave.

Well, obviously I didn’t
have
to leave. Nobody was making me. I could have stayed indefinitely as far as my job, my flat, or my parents were concerned. But I had always considered this a temporary exile, and now that my friendships had been restored, now that the crisis point in my life was well and truly beyond me, now that I was
engaged
…I had to go back. It tore me apart, but it was the right thing to do. Had Steve, Rachel and Dan not been there, I didn’t think I would have managed, or bothered. But they were there, and their presence altered matters, altered my perspective. Suddenly, I was more of a tourist than I had been before, speaking more English, doing strange touristy things.

Greetje was her usual philosophical self when I confided my discomfort at our parting meeting. “Of course it’s awkward,” she told me. “Two very different parts of your life are colliding head-on, and that’s never easy. But you came here for a reason, your mission is accomplished, your time out is over, and now you must go back. That’s how it is.” Her smile took the harshness out of her words, and I hugged her. She grinned even wider.

“I shall be missing you and your hugs. You got the whole island hugging. You must come back some time and keep the tradition going.”

I snorted through the tears that had suddenly welled up in my eyes. I hated goodbyes, and this one was a heart-wrenching one.

“Now, now,” Greetje admonished me. “What’s with these silly tears? You came here in tears, you shouldn’t be leaving in tears.”

“Ah,” I sniffed, wiping my nose on a napkin for want of a proper tissue, “but they’re different tears. These are happy tears. Well, you know. ‘I had a great time’ tears.”

She laughed. “You’re so funny. ‘Happy tears’ indeed. Well, be off with you now and don’t forget to stay in touch.”

And that was that. She waved me goodbye from the steps of her tea shop and I went home to the cottage one last time. The other three would have finished packing their things up, and mine, and doing a spot of dusting and cleaning. We were catching the midday ferry and would be gone from my beautiful island refuge within two hours. It was the middle of November, and all things told, my little escapade, my sabbatical, my time out, had lasted just over two months. It seemed a lifetime.

I stood at the railing where I had stood before, insisting on keeping my eyes on the island until it receded beyond the horizon. Finally, I gave in and we went inside to take shelter from the weather, and the others started chatting and laughing to cheer me up.

And I
was
happy, though I was a little sad at leaving. I was a different person to when I arrived. And one hundred percent more engaged. My lovely Steve, always tuned into my moods, took my hand and planted a kiss on it.

“All right?” he whispered.

“All right,” I whispered back and leaned against him to show my thanks.

At Bensersiel, a big black limo waited for us, causing much excitement among the locals. Dan lifted his hands in an apologetic gesture but said that he had to get back to London as quickly as possible. Not only were the band mid-recording, they were also rehearsing for some upcoming shows, and the lead singer and front man disappearing for a week would have caused a tremendous setback. It wasn’t a problem, he hastened to reassure me, he simply needed to get back now. His boyish grin told me that he had enjoyed his little island jaunt, but his body language also spoke of tension and stress.

The last sound we heard to remind us of Langeoog was the hooting of the ferry as we piled into the car. When the door clunked shut and the engine started, even that was drowned out and it was as if we were entering an alternative universe; one where motorized transport and noise and speed were the norm. It would be as big an adjustment to go home as it had been to settle there in the first place

The limo took us straight to Hamburg airport, and we were all back in our respective homes by the end of the day. Except for me, of course, because I needed to give my tenants notice. So instead of going
home
home, I went to Steve’s flat. It was quite fitting and romantic in a way. My prince had come to rescue me from a faraway island and was taking me to his home and his castle.

Mum and Dad were delighted that I was back in the country and genuinely pleased at my engagement. It turned out that Steve had paid them a visit while I was missing in action and had even spent the night with them, making friends and casually asking my Dad for my hand in marriage, should Steve manage to locate and convince me.

Shortly after we had all returned from Langeoog, Dan had convinced me that it would probably be best if we did some sort of press conference together to appease the curious journos and to stop the never-ending requests for photos and comments. “Love Me Better” was still at number one, and it was weird hearing it on the radio and in almost every shop or pub I went into. Without fail, I would get this weird, “my God, that’s me again” jolt. To be honest, it was quite amazing to find myself at the number one spot even though I had never planned to get there. But the curiosity of the press was tiring, and quite instructive for me as a member of the press myself. I resolved to stop pestering people forthwith if they didn’t ring me back after the third prompting call.

Thus I had let myself be talked into a brief public appearance with Tuscq. To give Dan credit, he had kept the media circus to a minimum, and we had rehearsed the exact story that we wanted to put out there, so it had all been over and done with in ten minutes.

Naturally, I went back to work and Rick slipped me back into the ordinary schedule as if nothing dramatic had occurred. I kept my office, but my door was always open, now. Naturally, there were a few whispers here and there but Rachel and I overcame them together by being totally nonchalant and debonair about it all. Within a couple of days, it was almost as though I had never gone away. Apart, of course, from the big purple ring on my finger. Steve insisted, though, that we had to pick a proper ring before Christmas. Rachel thought it was very sweet. “You are made for each other,” she laughed. “You’ll always come round to each other’s views.”

Speaking of, Rachel had returned from her Sophie-retrieval-mission to find the most unexpected news on her Facebook wall.

“He found me, he found me, he found me,” she sang as she bounced into my office one morning and sat irreverently on my desk.

“Who?” I could only ask, knowing from her face that this was a significant development.

“Alex! He sent me a friend request.”

I was momentarily confused, but quickly I remembered. “What, Alex?
The
Alex? Your thunderbolt-and-lightning Alex? The one that got away?”

“The very selfsame one.”

“Wow.”

We contemplated this momentous event in silence.

“Did you accept?”

“Of course,” she squealed. “We’ve even been chatting. A bit. He lives in Manchester, would you believe it…”

“So he is alive and back in the country,” I confirmed, just to be absolutely sure.

“He is.”

“Wow. And have you—” I couldn’t even finish my sentence before Rachel started speaking.

“I have,” she cut in quickly. “Totally and unreservedly. Apologized, explained, and groveled. He’s not great about it, but it was
him
who found me and made contact, so he wants to get over it and…we’re…we’re working on it.”

I got up and gave her a hug. “That’s so great,” I told her, looking at her intently. She had that sparkle in her eyes, the one that said she would get herself into trouble.

“Just do me the one favor,” I begged her. “Take it easy. Take your time. Give him time.”

“I am, I will, and I am,” she sing-songed as she hugged me back. “But I know…if I’ll let him come to me, he will. I know, I know,” she raised her hands to deflect my impending response. “Gently does it, I know. I’m not going to mess it up again if I can help it.”

We grinned at each other.

“Is he as gorgeous as you remembered?” I teased her.

“More so. Ruggedly handsome…” she gave a mock swoon, and I playfully prodded her arm.

“Get away with you, we’re meant to be working.”

So things somehow got back into their own swing, and it looked as though finally, finally, everybody’s life was back on track.

Oh yes, there was one more loose end. How could I not have mentioned this before?

It involved the small business of the single. The song, the one that had gone platinum. And Tuscq performing it at the big New Year’s Eve gig at The Arena.

Ever since my return to London, I had been looking forward to this gig. Actually, “gig” didn’t quite capture it—it was
the
end-of-year event to attend, and The Arena had been sold out for months. In honor of old times, Dan had put me on the guest list, and Steve, too. He had suggested turning up some time around five for the tail-end of the final rehearsal, just before the sound check. After all these years of knowing him, even after having been on tour with the band, the prospect still filled me with excitement. I guessed I was a rock chick at heart, and always would be. Steve jokingly said that I would probably still go out rockin’ with Tuscq when I was a granny using a walking frame, and we had both found the prospect hilarious; all the more so because it was most likely true.

At the same time, Steve had no hesitation or qualms about coming along and rockin’ out with me, and that was one reason why I loved him so very much. So we made our way to The Arena from his flat by Tube, in no particular hurry, knowing that we would be early anyway, knowing that we had a free pass to enter whenever and wherever we wished. I proudly wore my VIP pass around my neck all the way.

And still I was taken aback by the fact that there were literally thousands of fans camped out in front of The Arena waiting for the doors to open. Of course I knew that Tuscq was a global phenomenon—who better than me to appreciate the stature and glamour of the band first-hand? But there were always fans more keen, more eager than me, and it never failed to surprise me.

Steve took one look at the crowd and frowned. “Now what?”

I giggled. He was obviously new to the scene. I took his hand and whispered, “Follow me.” We skirted the crowd until we hit the security fence on the far side of The Arena, where I sweetly and confidently beckoned a security guard to come over. I merely had to wave my VIP pass in the air before he invited us to hop on over the fence and let us in.

The band greeted us with great cheers. However, the tension was palpable and I recalled that it wouldn’t be likely to ease until they were due to go on. We had arrived before the sound check but Dan insisted that he wanted to rehearse one more song, one final time. So the band surrendered to their leader and all of us obediently trudged on the stage, Steve and I included, just kind of swept along in their slipstream. If the roadies were surprised, they didn’t let it show and quietly relinquished the stage to the maestros. I made a move to lead Steve off stage and into the auditorium, but Dan motioned for us to stay where we were. Which happened to be a pretty awkward spot quite central on the stage, but
still
I didn’t latch on to his plan.

As the band launched into the opening chords of the final song Dan had so desperately wanted to rehearse, I hummed and swayed along. That was only natural—I was a huge fan, after all.

When a roadie pressed a microphone into my hot and sweaty palm, I accepted it without thought. And why not indeed. If I was already on the stage, I might as well—

Sing!

What me? Here? Later tonight?

In front of
twenty-three thousand
people?

I nearly passed out with shock as realization had
finally
hit me.

Stupid, of course. I should have seen this coming. It had been totally obvious. Even Steve thought I had realized Dan’s grand plan, which is why he hadn’t bothered to bring it up. He hadn’t wanted to make a big deal of it, lest I should suffer from some kind of stage fright or something. He had thought I was okay with it.