November 5th, 1970

    Sylvia had called me on Monday afternoon with a development in her situation. I could hear the nervousness in her voice as she told me she’d made an appointment with a doctor in an Aberdeen clinic to have an abortion.
    Now, three days later, I was waiting for her to arrive at a cafe we’d chosen near the clinic. I had stepped into the small shop nearly forty minutes before the time we’d agreed on, so I could have a cup of tea and try to relax.
    My mind wandered to the conversation I had had with Cameron this morning.

    I was getting dressed after my shower when he walked into the bedroom and watched me. I must have looked how I felt, because he asked if I was alright.
    “It’s hard to keep up appearances,” I admitted. “Pretending to be happy.”
    Cameron put his arms around me and held me close to him.
    “Are you unhappy?” he asked me.
    I saw the worry on his face shook my head. “No, I’m just… tired. I wish things could have happened differently.”
    “As do I, my love.” He looked at me with a soft and empathetic smile on his lips. “We can’t know, but maybe it’s best this way.”
    “Maybe,” I answered longingly. “I hope so.”

    I was pulled out of my reverie when I noticed a familiar face approach the table where I was sitting.
    “Hey,” Sylvia greeted me. Her voice was quiet and sad.
    “Do you want to drink something?” I asked.
    She didn’t sit, but instead shook her head. “We should get going.”
    We left the cafe without more conversation, and walked the few blocks to the clinic in silence. It was only when we came into view of the building that Sylvia spoke.
    “How are you so calm?” she asked incredulously.
    “I went through this before. With a friend,” I lied.
    “Thank you for coming with me.”
    “You’re welcome,” I told her, though I would never tell her how much it hurt to do so.
    We checked her in for the appointment and sat in the waiting room. After nearly an hour, a doctor came out into the room and called her name.
    “I’m sorry,” he told her, “no one else is allowed in the procedure room.”
    Sylvia turned to me and frowned. The worry was clear on her face, so I reassured her.
    “You’ll be fine,” I spoke strongly. “I’ll be here when you come out.”


    Sylvia had opted for the surgery to remove the pregnancy, as it would only take four hours or so from the beginning of the procedure to being discharged. I sat stoically in the waiting room for nearly an hour until a nurse brought me into a separate room.
    She was laying in a bed with a pillow behind her back to prop her up. I could see through the look on her face; she was exhausted and pained.
    “How are you?” I softly asked her once the nurse had left.
    She didn’t speak. Instead, she began to cry as she put her head in her hands.
    I stood from the plastic chair and beside the bed and hugged her, doing my best to be of comfort.


    After Sylvia was permitted to leave the clinic, we went to the nearby train station. She bought a ticket headed to Dundee, where she lived with Clyde, and thanked me once more before saying goodbye and leaving.
    I returned to the coffee shop we had met at earlier in the day. I ordered an espresso and a dark roast coffee, drinking the former in two sips before even leaving the counter. I sat in an empty booth by the window and stared out at the traffic on the street as I sipped the coffee. People were just going about their day, with their own lives as full of joys and difficulties as mine.
    “Missus?”
    I looked away from the window to see a young man standing beside my table. “Yes?” I answered politely.
    “May I sit here? There’s no empty seats and I’d just like a quick cup of tea,” he said shyly.
    I glanced around and saw that he was right, there were very few empty chairs in the shop. “Of course,” I answered. “Feel free.”
    The man sat down across from me and set his cup down on the table. He seemed young, even to me, as he thanked me for the kindness.
    “It’s no bother,” I assured him. “Emily is fine, by the way. No need for formalities,” I quipped with a smile.
    “I’m Steve,” he introduced himself. “What brings you to Scotland? You sound almost American, but not quite.”
    I chuckled. “You’d be right about that,” I told him. “I’m from Canada, but I live here now.”

    “How long ago did you move here? If I might ask,” he added quickly.

    “At the end of June, but I haven’t spent much of that time in Scotland. We were around Europe until a few weeks ago.”

    “A romantic husband?” he asked, his green eyes shining.
    I smiled and suppressed a laugh. “A travelling musician for a boyfriend,” I corrected him.
    Steve raised his eyebrows and asked if he would be familiar with the band.
    “Maybe,” I told him. “Cameron plays keyboards in Amoeba.”
    “Amoeba?” he asked, clearly surprised. He brushed the dark blond hair out of his face and shook his head slightly. “Wow.”
    “Know of them?” I smirked.
    “Yes, of course,” Steve assured me. “I was at the show last week, here in Aberdeen.”
    I allowed myself to laugh, then, and Steve’s face changed to a worried look until I explained.
    “It’s just a little funny. I wasn’t at the last show but now I’ve met you, and you were there,” I noted. “Was it as good as Lee told me, or was he exaggerating?”
    “It was nearly a riot,” Steve assured me.
    “Wouldn’t be the first time there was almost a riot on this tour.”
    “I was lucky to get in, actually. I’m nearly three years past being a minor, but I don’t look it,” he explained to me.
    I nodded knowingly. “Eventually, you’ll be happy to look younger than you are,” I warned him.
    Steve chuckled and we lapsed into silence for a short time. I finished my coffee and was about to stand when he suddenly spoke, reminding me very much of the two teenage boys Cameron and I had met in Manchester in July.
    “Would you think there’s a way I could meet them?” he blurted. “Amoeba, I mean. I could pay to meet them, even, when they tour next. I would-”
    I interrupted him and told him not to worry. “You’re a nice kid,” I said with a smile. “Write your phone number down and I’ll give you a call some time.”


    I walked into the house as the afternoon was winding into evening. I called out to Cameron but didn’t receive an answer, so I simply took my shoes off and hung my light jacket on the coat rack by the door.
    He wasn’t in the kitchen, either, but I needed to steady myself before seeing him as I still felt raw from the events of the day. I ran the tap and filled a glass with water, drinking it completely.
    “You’re home.”
    I put the glass down and turned around. Cameron stood merely feet from me with an indecipherable look on his face. I walked towards him and into his open arms. He held me tight to his chest and I began to weep.
    I felt his lips on my hair before I heard his soft voice. “I know, my sweet. I know.”