What Might Have Been (30 page)

53

S
arah had walked aimlessly for what had seemed like hours. Strangely, and to her relief, she hadn’t been crying, though whether that was because the past week’s tears had completely dehydrated her, she wasn’t sure.

She hadn’t wanted to go home: while Grace would have been there, Evan might have turned up – assuming he wasn’t currently standing over David’s prone body with one foot on his chest and his arms raised in triumph. And while she was interested to note that the overriding emotion she was experiencing was relief, Sarah had a suspicion that the feeling would be short-lived.

To her surprise, she found herself passing London Bridge station, and on a whim, made her way round the familiar corner and towards the club. As she stepped off the pavement, she almost bumped into Mel coming the other way.

‘He’s not here,’ he said. ‘Though I’m surprised you are.’

‘Mel, I . . .’ She shivered against the cold. ‘Is that offer of a bourbon still on?’

Mel smiled, and shifted the crate of Jim Beam he was carrying from one shoulder to the other. ‘I think I might be able to
find som
e.’

Sarah followed him towards the club’s entrance, waiting as he unlocked the door and flicked on the bank of light switches. As the club lit up, Sarah walked inside and took her usual stool.

‘So . . .’

Mel set the crate down on the bar. ‘You know he went to see your other half?’

‘Yeah. I was there.’

‘Ah.’ Mel retrieved a bottle from the crate, cracked open the seal, and poured some into a couple of glasses. ‘And do you
know wh
y?’

‘Christ knows.’ Sarah took a sip of bourbon. She wasn’t sure it was a good idea on top of her earlier vodka, but if she ever needed a drink, it was now. ‘Probably to spill the beans all about us to get him to call off the wedding.’

Mel smiled and shook his head. ‘Not really Evan’s style.’

‘Well, whatever he was doing there, it did the trick.’

Mel widened his eyes. ‘So the wedding’s off?’

‘It sure seems that way.’

‘I’m . . . sorry?’

Sarah shrugged, still surprised at her lack of emotion. ‘Don’t apologize. It wasn’t your fault.’ She narrowed her eyes at him. ‘
Was i
t?’

‘Not this time.’ Mel grinned. ‘And where does this leave you and Evan?’

‘How can there be a “me and Evan”, Mel?’ she said, the tightness in her throat almost preventing her from speaking. ‘I can’t risk him running out on me like he . . . well, like he did a year ago, and like he did with Jazzed. He may not know it, but life can be tough. Relationships, jobs, musical careers – they can be hard work. And you can’t just . . .’ – she searched for the right phrase – ‘. . . bugger off when the going gets tough.’

Mel thought for a moment. ‘Listen,’ he said. ‘I haven’t told you this, right?’

‘Told me what?’ said Sarah, when he didn’t continue.

‘Evan and Jazzed. The reason he . . . well, the reason it all stopped wasn’t because he ran away from anything. Quite the opposite, in fact.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘They – he and Finn – made a bit of money quickly thanks to the TV thing, and they were young, and, well, Evan’s always had a sensible head on his shoulders, but Finn? Success kind of went to his head, and the route it took was up his nose, if you see what I mean? And the two of them were like brothers – not that Finn would listen to anyone back then – and Evan didn’t want to lose another member of his family, so he pulled the plug. Sacrificed his career to stop things going out of control – after all, he reckoned if Finn wasn’t earning anything, then he couldn’t fund his habit, then Evan paid for a long stint at The Priory, so Finn could get clean. Even moved in with him so he could keep an eye – I suppose you could say Evan went from musical career to musical carer . . .’ He smirked at his own joke. ‘And after that? Well, things had changed. Finn didn’t want to play for a long time, and Evan didn’t want to play as Jazzed without him, and by the time Finn was better, everyone had forgotten about them anyway. So Evan loaned Finn the money for the café, and, well, the rest you know about.’

‘But I thought . . .’

Mel shook his head. ‘Evan didn’t hate the fame, or the money. He just hated what it could do to you – or rather, what it could do to people he cared about.’ He paused, and downed a mouthful of bourbon. ‘But more importantly, Evan doesn’t run out on anyone. Unless they tell him to. And even then . . .’

‘Even then?’

‘He comes back.’

Sarah stared at him. ‘Christ, Mel,’ she said, eventually. ‘Why didn’t he say?’

‘Say what?’ Mel reached into the crate and began unloading the bottles. ‘That Finn used to be a drug addict? Why would he risk that getting into the papers and ruining Finn’s life for the second time? He’s got kids. A business. And like I said, snitching’s just not Evan’s style.’

‘So why did he go round to David’s, if not to tell him about us?’

Mel rolled his eyes. ‘Some noble bollocks about making David tell
you
about the lap-dancer he shagged on his stag night, from what I could gather.’

‘He
what
?’

Mel face-palmed. ‘Crap. I’ve done it again, haven’t I?’ he said, bending down to stack the bottles under the bar.

But when he stood back up, Sarah was nowhere to be seen.

54

E
van was sitting on his sofa, trying to make sense of what had happened earlier, but so far he wasn’t having much luck. He’d left David tucking into his curry and run out after Sarah, but by the time the lift had arrived and he’d reached the ground floor there was no sign of her, so he’d sprinted round to her flat, ignoring Grace’s protests as he’d barged in and hunted in vain for her there. And now, apart from trying her mobile every five minutes – as he’d been doing for the last half an hour – he didn’t know what
else to do.

His favourite Chet Baker album was playing loudly on the
stereo
– a bootleg tape of a concert Mel had given him years ago – and he tried to lose himself in the complexities of the music, hoping he’d find some answers there. Surely Sarah wouldn’t marry David now, not after
that
, and if that was the case, he’d half-achieved what he set out to. Though where it left him, he wasn’t sure.

He stared at the untouched mug of coffee in front of him. He’d had enough caffeine over the past few days to last him a lifetime, and besides, his sleeping patterns were almost returning to normal, which was a shame, seeing as he was supposed to head back to the U.S. in a few days for a meeting Johnny had set up to talk about the reunion. Evan knew he had to go, and although he hadn’t quite shared his agent’s enthusiasm, he also knew there was no way he could stay in London without Sarah. He could only hope that she couldn’t stay here either, and maybe New York would provide the final lure for her. Assuming he ever heard from her again.

He still didn’t know how to feel about the baby. It
had
been his. Perhaps it had been the only thing that ever was in this whole mess . . . The thought made him well up, so he grabbed a piece of kitchen towel from the roll on the coffee table in front of him and blew his nose, feeling ridiculous. Mel had warned him this would all end in tears, though in truth, Evan hadn’t expected them
to be his
.

A banging sound from his front door disturbed him, so he picked up the remote and turned the music down, his first thought that David had finished his curry and come round with a pair of duelling pistols, until he realised David didn’t know where he lived. Unless that ‘Sally’ woman was actually a private detective.

Leaping off the sofa, he rushed down the hallway and threw the door open. Sarah was standing on his doorstep, but without knowing why she’d come round, Evan didn’t dare to touch her, couldn’t allow himself to hope. He remembered the last time she’d been here, the last time they’d kissed, and knew he wouldn’t be able to stand it if it
was
the last time they kissed.

‘Can I come in?’

He swallowed so hard it made a noise. ‘Sure.’

‘I just need to know something.’

‘Anything.’

Sarah followed him into the lounge and sat down on the sofa, and Evan perched on the arm of the chair opposite, not daring to look at her hands, hoping she’d taken the engagement ring off, but too scared to check.

‘Earlier. When you said you knew why you loved me.’

‘I did. Do.’

‘You didn’t tell me.’

‘You really want to know?’

‘Of course.’

He took a deep breath. ‘Because I recognise all the signs. In me,
and
you.’

‘How?’ She flopped back in the chair. ‘What makes you such an expert on love?’

‘I’m a musician,’ Evan said. ‘It’s my specialist subject.’

Sarah searched his face with her eyes. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘The one thing that every song is about.’ He smiled. ‘
Love
. And I’ve heard all of them – well, almost all of them –
really
heard them. The people who write those songs, who make us cry with their
lyrics
, who tear at our emotions with those melodies, they know what they’re talking about. Their words come from experience. From deep inside. They’ve loved – and lost, in a lot of cases. And perhaps at first I didn’t understand. Maybe back then, I thought they were just words set to catchy tunes. But play them time and time again, and it’s like immersing yourself in a foreign language. Eventually, you begin to understand it – and only then can you really hear what they’re
saying
, because you’ve learned how to listen.’ He paused as Chet Baker appropriately began singing
Like Someone In Love
, saw he had Sarah’s full attention, and realised this speech was the most important solo of his life. ‘For the past year, since I left, all I’ve done is listen, and listen hard. And eventually, that taught me to listen to something else.’

‘Which was?’

‘My heart.’

She looked at him in disbelief. ‘So you realised you loved me from a
song
?’

‘Not just
a
song, Sarah.
Every
song. Though perhaps not Sting’s
If You Love Somebody, Set Them Free
, which if I’m being honest after the year I’ve had, and despite playing it every night on the tour, isn’t a piece of relationship advice I’d particularly agree with . . .’ Evan grinned sheepishly. ‘But every other song. To the point where I almost couldn’t play anything anymore.’ He nodded slowly, then decided to take his best shot. ‘Tell me your father wasn’t the same.’

Sarah’s mouth dropped open. Suddenly she understood why, after her mother had left, her father hadn’t wanted to pick his sax up for the best part of a year. When he eventually had played – and they couldn’t have afforded for him not to – there’d been something missing; even at her young age, Sarah had been able to tell. And if Evan cared about her even a part of what her father had for her mother . . .

‘Evan, I . . .’

‘I fell in love with you a year ago, Sarah.’

‘After one night?’

‘After one second. And I’m sorry I’ve put you through all this.’ He shook his head. ‘I should have said something. Earlier, I mean.’

She half-smiled. ‘Why didn’t you?’

‘That’s what I’ve been trying to explain. Because I just didn’t know it. Didn’t recognise the feeling. And besides . . .’

‘Besides?’

‘Well, your little announcement kind of took the wind out of my sails.’

‘My announcement?’

‘About having a boyfriend.’

‘Ah. That.’

‘Yes.’ Evan met her gaze. ‘That.’

‘You understand why I said what I said to you at the Tate? The first time?’

Evan shrugged. ‘I think so,’ he said, though in truth, he feared he might never really understand Sarah’s motivation back then, or even why she’d behaved how she had regarding the baby. But there were some things he knew might always be beyond him – if men and women actually understood each other, then he suspected half of the songs he made his living out of playing would never have been written. In any case, it had made sense to her, and that would have to be enough for him.

His mobile buzzed from where he’d left it on the arm of the chair, and Evan’s eyes flicked towards the screen, where Mel’s
number
was flashing insistently.

‘Do you need to get that?’

‘Unless it’s you finally returning my calls, then no,’ he joked, letting it ring through to voicemail. He’d have to call Mel back soon with some news, of course, but as yet, he still wasn’t sure whether the news was good.

They sat there in silence for a moment, then Sarah got up and walked over to where he was sitting.

‘That was quite a speech. Maybe a year late, but quite a speech.’ She bit her lower lip softly. ‘Your timing . . .’

He shrugged. ‘It’s a gift.’

The briefest of smiles flashed across Sarah’s face. ‘Well, I hope you’ve still got the receipt,’ she said, taking his hand. ‘David and me. We’re . . . It’s . . .’

For the first time, Evan noticed she wasn’t wearing the ring, and his heart soared. ‘Over?’

She nodded. ‘Over.’

As she leant down to kiss him, the faint taste of bourbon on her breath, the tape deck clicked into auto-reverse, and Evan let the music take the place of anything he wanted to say. Sarah had begun crying silently, so he stood up, took her in his arms, and held her until she stopped.

‘What now?’ she asked eventually, and Evan smiled to himself. For the first time in his life, he knew the answer to that.