Field Notes on Love(57)

    When she’s gone, he slumps into one of the seats in their room and watches the landscape change as the train starts to climb into the Rocky Mountains. They pass rivers and ranches and fields of cattle, sheer rock faces, and streams dotted with fly fishermen, all of it slightly unreal, like something out of an old Western. Every so often, the brief darkness of a tunnel closes in around them, and it feels for a few seconds like there will never be light again.

In thirty-four hours, they’ll be in Emeryville, California, which is just across the bay from San Francisco. He was meant to arrive with Margaret, of course, then spend a couple of nights in a hotel near Fisherman’s Wharf before driving down to Stanford. When they broke up, he assumed she’d head straight to Palo Alto, and it occurs to him now that maybe the whole reason she’s in San Francisco is to see him.


We need to talk.

I miss you.



Without really thinking, he opens his phone and finds the last picture he and Margaret took together. They’d gone to Brighton for the day, and she insisted they take a selfie near the water. But as they did, a seagull flew so close to their heads that they both shouted and jumped away. Only its tail feathers made it into the corner of the photo; the rest was the two of them with their mouths open, half laughing and half screaming, Margaret’s blond hair streaming behind her as she started to escape toward the edge of the frame.

“Birdbrain,” she said, shaking her fist in mock anger.

    Later she made him give her a ride on his back because the wedge sandals she’d insisted on wearing were hurting her feet. Then she complained about the food at the café where they had lunch, and had a strop when he wouldn’t leave the arcade until he beat his Skee-Ball record. They were both tense as they walked back to the train, annoyed with each other in the way they always seemed to be lately after spending a certain amount of time together. But then another seagull flew past, this one high above them, and Margaret frowned and muttered, “Birdbrain,” and that made them both dissolve into laughter all over again.

He pulls up her text messages.

Okay, he types, then slowly erases it.

To his surprise, a video call from Alfie pops up on the screen, and when he picks up, Hugo is even more astonished to see all five of his siblings jockeying for position in the frame.

“Hey, mate,” Alfie says, his face looming larger than all the others. “Just figured we’d ring you up to see how you’re getting on.”

Maybe it’s his fight with Mae, or maybe it’s just that he’s never been away from them for this long before, but the sight of their faces is overwhelming. To Hugo’s horror, he feels his eyes fill with tears.

“Don’t go falling apart on us now,” George says with a grin. “I thought you were meant to be this big world traveler.”

Isla, who is standing over George’s shoulder, beams into the camera. “He misses us.”

“Right, but who do you miss the most?” Alfie asks. “Like…we want rankings.”

“I miss all of you,” Hugo says, and he means it.

Poppy elbows Alfie aside, her braids swinging as she moves closer to the screen. “Is the other Margaret Campbell there?”

    “Yeah, let us see,” Oscar says, craning his neck.

George peers over his shoulder. “We’d love to say hello.”

“She’s just over in another car right now,” he says, trying to keep his voice light, but they know him too well for this, and he can see their faces shift.

“Why?” Isla asks cautiously. “What happened?”

“Nothing. It’s fine. Or it will be.”

Poppy’s face shifts, and she looks at him more seriously. “You like her, huh?”

Hugo’s instinct is to laugh or make a joke, but he feels too worn down to pretend right now. “Yeah,” he says. “I do.”

“Knew it,” says Alfie.

“I know it’s a bit weird for you because of Margaret,” Hugo says, still talking mostly to Poppy, “and I didn’t exactly plan this. But I just—”

“Hugo,” Poppy says, tipping her head to one side the way she always does when she’s considering something. “If you like her, I’m sure she’s great.”

He lets out a breath. “She is. And I do.”

“Okay then,” she says, all business now. “Whatever you did, just apologize.”

Isla nods. “But not in that blustery, flustery way you usually do. Say exactly what you did wrong and be heartfelt about it.”

“And tell her how you feel about her too,” says Oscar, out of nowhere. They all turn to him in surprise, but he just grins. “What? I think it’s important to be honest.”

“What if it doesn’t work?” Hugo asks, and there’s a catch in his voice.

“It will,” says Poppy, and though she can’t possibly know that, there’s something so reassuring about it that he simply nods.

    “Right,” he says. “Thanks.”

“Let us know how it goes,” Isla tells him, and the others bob their heads. All except Alfie, who clears his throat exaggeratedly.

“You know,” he says, “this wasn’t actually meant to be a group therapy session. We were ringing to let you know we made an appointment with the university tomorrow.”