4. Chapter 3
J enna
The sea air was sharper in Brighton than it ever had been in Abergele, briny and cold as it whipped against Jenna's face.
She tugged her scarf tighter around her neck, her hands buried deep in the pockets of her coat.
The bustling streets of Brighton unfolded around her, but she barely noticed the couples strolling arm in arm or the sound of a street performer strumming his guitar.
She couldn't shake the memory of Sasha's words that morning.
You just have to find her again.
Jenna wasn't sure if she even knew who "her" was anymore.
The last time she'd felt anything close to herself was in Abergele, sitting on the worn steps of the council estate where she'd grown up, sketchbook balanced on her knees, the scent of salt and wildflowers in the air.
Back then, she'd dreamed of escaping-of leaving behind the needle-strewn streets, the shadow of her mother's addiction, and the endless whispers about her uncaring, alcoholic father.
But escape had come at a price.
She paused outside the small café on the corner, its warm yellow light spilling onto the pavement. The sign above the door read The Velvet Brew, and the thought of a hot drink was enough to pull her inside.
The café was cosy, its walls lined with mismatched bookshelves and local artwork. The hum of conversation mingled with the soft clink of cups and the hiss of the espresso machine. Jenna ordered a cappuccino and found a seat near the window, her fingers itching for the sketchbook she'd left at home.
The truth was, she hadn't been back to Abergele in years.
Not since her mother's funeral when she was almost thirteen.
Not since the half-hearted condolences from neighbours who barely remembered her name.
Not that her life with her mom was anything worth remembering.
She'd thought leaving would sever the ties completely, but the place still lingered in her mind, a ghost that refused to be exorcised.
"Mind if I sit here?"
Jenna looked up, startled. A man stood by her table, a steaming cup of tea in his hand. He was tall and broad-shouldered, his dark hair flecked with grey at the temples. His smile was warm, but there was a guarded look in his eyes that Jenna recognized all too well.
"Sure," she said, gesturing to the empty seat.
"Thanks. It's crowded today," he said, settling into the chair across from her. He extended a hand. "I'm Callum."
"Jenna," she replied, shaking his hand briefly.
They lapsed into silence, the kind that felt oddly comfortable. Callum didn't seem in a rush to fill the quiet, and Jenna found herself relaxing for the first time in days.
"Brighton local?" he asked after a while, his tone casual.
"Not originally," she said, wrapping her hands around her cup. "Abergele, actually. But I've lived here for... twenty years now."
"Quite the change," Callum said with a small smile. "Abergele's beautiful, though. My sister lives out that way."
Jenna blinked, surprised. "Really? "
"Yeah. She's in Rhyl, actually, but close enough." He leaned back in his chair, studying her. "Do you go back often?"
She shook her head. "Not anymore. There's... nothing left for me there."
Callum nodded; his expression unreadable. "Sometimes that's the best way to move on. But sometimes, the things we leave behind have a way of finding us again."
The words lingered in the air, heavy with unspoken meaning. Jenna wasn't sure if he was talking about her or himself, but she didn't ask.
They parted ways after finishing their drinks, Callum with a polite nod and Jenna with a faint smile. As she stepped back onto the street, the wind biting at her cheeks, she couldn't shake the feeling that their conversation had stirred something inside her-a flicker of curiosity, of possibility.
The walk home was brisk, the sea air clearing her head. When she reached the house, she paused on the doorstep, her fingers brushing against the key in her pocket.
For the first time in years, she wondered what it might be like to go back. Not just to Abergele, but to the person she'd been before.