December 13th, 1971

     I had bought a journal before we began the tour, to keep track of the cities Amoeba played in and any other interesting happenings. I figured it would be a useful aid to memory when writing letters— there was no doubt I’d be writing many in the coming months, having had so little time off since the North American tour.
    Only two nights had been written about so far; Friday’s tour opener in Newcastle and the Lancaster gig the following day. After yesterday’s show in Sheffield, we got a night’s sleep at a hotel before heading onto the bus for the ninety mile journey to Birmingham, the site of tomorrow’s performance. We’d all checked in to the hotel around an hour ago, and the band was set to film a promotional video in an hours’ time.

    December 12th - Sheffield!
    Overnight drive from Lancaster — nearly peed laughing at a sign an hour before arriving here: a town called Broadbottom (Wide-Ass), where tailors are extremely popular! HAH! Show itself went great; clear excitement in the hall and the guys are glad to be back out there. Audience RAVED.

    “What are you up to?”
    I looked up from my journal and saw Cameron approaching me, having just come into the room. “Adding last night’s notes,” I explained. I put the pen down and stretched, grateful to have checked into the hotel early.
    “You’ll be the official historian, soon enough,” he teased. Cameron placed his hand on my arm and leaned down to kiss me. “You’ll be alright on your own?”
    I nodded, hoping to reassure him. “I will. Go on and set fire to those cameras,” I told him with a smile.
    “A television taping isn’t nearly as exciting as a stage show. You’re sure, Emily?”
    “I can’t spend two days in this city without going to see her,” I rationalized.
    “You could,” he mumbled.
    “But I won’t. She might not even pick up the phone,” I reminded him. “If she doesn’t, I still did my part.”
    My logic seemed to pacify Cameron enough; he gently squeezed my hand and gave me another kiss before leaving the room. I knew why he was worried and I didn’t blame him for it, but I knew I had to talk to her. I flipped to the back of my journal where I’d tucked the letter, and took it out to read.

    Dear Emily,
    I hope you and Cameron are doing well. I’ve missed you all very much. I heard on the radio that Amoeba is in America, I’m very happy about it and wish them all the best of luck!
    I wish I could give you good news about myself, but I’m afraid there isn’t much. Clyde and I are separating, there isn’t anything that can be done anymore. I found a job as a secretary in Birmingham and moved over in the spring. I’ve been keeping afloat— bobbing along, as they say.
    It’s been quite the adjustment, living here since everything changed. If you’re ever in the area, let me know? I’d be happy to hear from you.
    Regards and warm wishes,
    Sylvia

    She’d written the letter in October, though I’d only read it a few days after arriving back in Scotland. I couldn’t immediately decide what to do, but once I saw Birmingham on the tour schedule, I wrote to her and said I’d call her when I was nearby.
    I couldn’t deny being in the area; the postal code on her letter was only a short drive from the hotel. I hesitated to call, but I knew it was the right thing to do. So what, if she was an indirect reminder of my miscarriage? Things would remind me of it for the rest of my life, and I would be an idiot to avoid them all.
    I picked up the telephone handset and dialed her number, sighing heavily as the first ring sounded.
    She answered on the third ring. “Hello?”
    “Sylvia, hello,” I greeted. “It’s Emily. How have you been?”
    “Emily! I’m doing well, but I just got your letter last week. They told me it was held up in the warehouse,” she blurted. “Are you in Birmingham?”
    “Yes, we arrived a few hours ago. The show isn’t until tomorrow, but getting to town early is never a bad idea,” I added. “Do you have anything lined up for today, or would you like to have coffee somewhere?”
    I smiled at the sound of Sylvia’s laughter. “Schedule or no schedule, I’ll make time,” she assured me. “How does one o’clock sound?”


    I took a taxi to the address Sylvia had given me; it was a small pastry shop in Birmingham’s Jewellery Quarter. She worked nearby as a lawyer’s secretary, she had explained, and rented a small apartment only a fifteen minute walk away. Consequently, she’d already chosen a table and ordered a small tray of pastries by the time I walked in.
    “Emily!” Sylvia jumped up to greet me, smiling widely. “I’m so glad to see you!”
    We hugged, arms tight around each other, before sitting down. “Me too,” I grinned, “And you’re looking well! How about a coffee?”
    Our banter slowed when the drinks were brought to us and as we sipped, I noticed how much happier Sylvia looked.
    “I’m happy for you, Sylvia. Really,” I added, seeing her scoff at me. “You’ve got a good job and you’re optimistic. You picked up and moved on, and I’m proud of you for it.”
    “Thanks, Emily. It hasn’t been easy and I didn’t have much of a choice, but I did it.”
    “Was it bad? When you left, I mean.” I took a sip of my coffee and shrugged slightly. “We didn’t hear much after the blowout, but I took no news as good news.”
    Sylvia shook her head. “It was so hectic. Chaos from day one,” she told me with a deep sigh. “But I won’t give you a headache with the whole story.”
    “I’ve got time,” I assured. She looked at me questioningly, so I reiterated. “If you want to share it, I have time for it.”
    “After the big scene,” she began after a long pause, “barely a word passed between Clyde and myself. It’s odd to say his name again,” she admitted. “I walked on eggshells for two weeks, maybe three, until he asked what had happened. He wanted to know why and when, and how we’d kept it secret.”
    “Did you tell him everything?” I wondered aloud.
    “Yes,” she mumbled. “He asked if we’d had the decency to use a condom. You know I hadn’t been on the pill,” she added quietly. “I said no, and when he asked if I was pregnant I said no again, though I guess I hesitated too long before answering…”
    She shook her head, looking at her hands in shyness, before continuing.
    “Clyde just looked at me with such anger and said ‘but you were.’ So I told him the truth. But he truly frightened me, Emily. He walked out the front door and threw things as he left, knocking everything off the shelves. He broke dishes and picture frames, then just left.”
    It had taken another week for Clyde to speak to her, and it was only to announce his decision to divorce her, as he’d found a lawyer who would slate the reason as “irreconcilable differences.” Clyde told her to leave the house with her things, as he was the legal owner, though not before giving her a thorough ragging. ‘He blamed me for it, and only me. He called me a slut, and told me he wished he’d fucked every flirty girl that he’d rejected because he was married. I won't say I didn't hurt the man, but I wasn't exactly unscathed.’
    I felt sorry for Sylvia. It had been a hard year for her, and her whole life had been uprooted. She did have a part in the failure of her marriage, but it wasn’t solely her fault.
    “I moved out as fast as I could,” she said to me. “I knew it would only be more depressing to delay it, so I arranged things over here and left the week before Easter. Haven’t heard from Clyde since, and I’m glad of it.”
    “We didn’t hear anything from him, either,” I mentioned. “Even up to when we left for the tour, and that was in August.”
    “How was the tour?” she asked, eagerly changing the subject. “I heard the band did an outdoor show while in America, that must have been exciting!”
    “The festival was a great time,” I replied excitedly. “It was two nights, and the guys killed it! We got to spend time with my sister as well, when we got to Montreal at the end of the tour, and Lee is like a puppy dog around her.”
    “Is he really?” she chuckled. “The guys are all doing well, I hope?”
    “They’re all good,” I assured her. “The new kid on drums, he’s nineteen. I joke about being his grandmother but it honestly feels like it sometimes.” We both laughed, but I continued. “He’s a good player though, and a nice kid. We met a friend of his while we were in California, too. I’d assumed it was a male friend but then this gorgeous woman walked in and Willie almost dropped dead.”
    She gasped, her eyes widening. “Don’t tell me he slept with her, Emily.”
    “No, they didn’t. But she did kiss him,” I gossiped, “and he does have certain emotions about it.”
    “Now that’s hard to believe,” she retorted, though she urged me to keep going.
    I briefly mentioned Dale, then brought up Lee again. “My sister is smitten with him and he’s all googly-eyes with her, but neither one will say anything to each other.”
    “Why not?”
    “I don’t know but it’s absolutely infuriating,” I chuckled.
    We continued chatting for another hour; I told Sylvia about James and how nice it had been to see Cameron with an old friend, while she filled me in with her recent happenings. It was nearly five o’clock when the waiter— who’d been refilling our cups without fail— informed us that the shop would be closing for the night and we’d have to be on our way.
    I asked the waiter to call for a taxi, and paid the bill before heading outside. I had pondered a question all afternoon, but finally decided to ask Sylvia if she’d like a ticket for tomorrow’s show.
    “No, no I couldn’t, Emily.” Sylvia shook her head. “I enjoy their shows, but I think it would dredge up too many memories. But thank you.”
    “I figured I’d offer,” I explained. “But I understand where you’re coming from.”
    As I spoke, a taxi came to a stop in front of us and the driver asked if I’d been the one needing a ride. I gave him the hotel’s name and address, then hugged Sylvia.
    “Keep yourself safe, alright?” I told her. “I’ll send you a postcard now and then.”