Elderwood Sound (Puffin Bay #8)

1. Zoey

Zoey

T he sloping drive from the main road down towards Puffin Bay always made me feel like I was taking off over the sea, wings about to soar like I was one of the gulls. It wasn’t that it was particularly steep, (although the view at one point could sometimes contain the pale sands of the bay) it was the knowledge that for the next few days, I was as free as one of the birds that glided and danced in the air here – without care or contractual obligations, no one to answer to except nature herself.

I’d been coming here to escape my life for the last fourteen years; the house I’d rented back then belonging to a songwriter I’d worked with in the early days, when the furore around me hit its first peak and I’d felt the gravity of burn out. That house had become a home, although it’d eventually become the songwriter’s main residence and I’d taken to rooming with Caleb Tominey, whose flat was my current destination.

I slowed the car down, taking in the rows of houses, sometimes interspersed with farmer’s fields, the gulls flying low against a sky that was pooled with greys and blues, the season changing yet again. It was familiar and it was not. Every time I returned there were subtle changes, a new development here and there, a new resident to the town who wanted to update the house they’d bought, a new shop that’d replaced someone retiring.

But the bones of it remained the same.

The road started to turn, winding down towards the coast and my destination for the next few weeks while I tried to get some songs written and jumped off the rat race for a while. Some people I knew retreated to the Caribbean or L.A. or a more exotic destination, staying where they’d have a private chef and trainer, or whoever else in their entourage they couldn’t cope without.

I escaped. Freedom had been a rare commodity since I was seventeen, or even younger when I remembered what my mum had me enrolled in. Singing lessons, dancing lessons, acting lessons, auditions – they all continued even after I signed my first recording contract and then were added to: interviews, rehearsals, impromptu gigs, photoshoots, meetings with people who could enhance my career. Weekends didn’t exist anymore and evenings weren’t my own.

Puffin Bay became a refuge. The island had once been home to royalty, so if doing the weekly shop next to a princess was a normal occurrence for the islanders, seeing a tweenager’s wet dream walking along the promenade wasn’t going to raise any eyebrows.

I pulled up in the Puffin Inn’s car park, my car unlikely to be noticed. It was neither flashy nor new, slightly dinted from when the corner of a wall moved at the wrong time, and a scrape on the driver’s door which I’d never gotten round to sorting out. I wasn’t a car person, although I had a pristine something or other in red that was gifted as a part of a PR thing back in London in the garage. I hadn’t driven it and had no intention of sliding behind the wheel, especially not at the moment.

A whip of wind toyed with my hair when I opened the boot, pulling out one of the two big suitcases, forgetting how heavy it was.

“Need some help, Princess?”

Cheetahs had moved less quick. I spun around and faced my oldest and bestest friend, the boy who’d moved in next door the summer I’d first come to Puffin Bay and charmed everyone he ever met, including half the female population under twenty-two.

“Caleb!”

He just about managed to keep his balance. His arms wrapped around me, more solid than ever before, and his chin scraped my shoulder with newly designed stubble, or maybe he’d just not bothered shaving for a few days, which was more likely to be the case.

“Maybe next time give me warning.” He released me carefully. “You’re late.”

“As always.” I knew my grin couldn’t get any wider. “Tell me you didn’t expect me to be on time.”

“I really didn’t. Experience has taught me to add on two hours to whatever ETA you give me.” His eyes went to the suitcases in my car and the one on the floor. “Is this a permanent move?”

I laughed, shaking my head. “I wish. A couple of months. I have some stuff in London just before Christmas that I can’t get out of, so you’ll be rid of me mid-December at the latest. Is that okay?”

Caleb shrugged, smiling like he always did, slightly dirty with a hint of boyish charm. “I’ll think about it.” He pulled the other suitcase out of the boot, making light work of it. “You’ll have to help out in the bar.”

“I can pull a few pints.” I’d been a spare pair of hands before. “I can even make a lasagne now if you’re short of a chef.” It’d been Caleb’s step-mum who’d taught me a couple of years ago when I’d burst into tears about how much I was going to miss her food when I was back in London or L.A. or wherever I’d been told to go.

“A few pints are fine. We don’t want to be shut down.” He frowned at the suitcases. “What’ve you got in here? Boulders?”

“I need to write an album so there’s some recording stuff. This isn’t a holiday. I actually have to work.” Which I wasn’t looking forward to.

His eyes widened. “Okay. We’ll unpick that later. Let’s get these outside and then we can head out.”

“Head out where?”

“On the water. I need to take a water sample at Menai so I thought we could sail out and round to that restaurant you like.” He shook his head. “Or you can get settled.”

“I’ll come with you. I don’t think I’ve eaten since breakfast so food - ” Like Pavlov’s dog I automatically felt hungry.

“Amelie’s going to try and feed you up, be warned.” He looked at me pointedly, pulling both suitcases behind him.

I locked up the car and followed him with my handbag and guitar. “Touring burns off energy I don’t have any more. I’ll eat whatever she throws at me.”

“How was the tour?” he asked, even though he knew exactly how it’d been, given I’d spoken to him at least every other day.

The tour had been a trial. I knew there were people who would sell their soul to be the position I was in; a number one artist, sell out tours, face on billboards – but the fun of that had scooted south in the last eighteen months. I had one more album to write and record, but no tour lined up with it, although there was some persuasion being exerted at the moment. Then I was a free agent, and I was in no rush to sign any more deals, despite pressure from various angles.

“Relentless. Tiring. Soul-sucking.” We entered the pub through the back, pulling the suitcases through a narrow corridor past the kitchen. A couple of the staff shouted hello – I wasn’t a stranger around here and what I did as my day job was no longer a big thing for them.

“Being fawned over by your adoring fans, earning a fortune – sounds fucking terrible, Zo.” He parked up one of the cases at the bottom of the stairs that led up to the rooms above the pub where Caleb lived most of the time. “You go up and I’ll bring these up. I can’t get two of them up there in one go, even if I have the strength of The Hulk.”

“More like Mr Bean.” I squeezed his bicep. It was not like Mr Bean’s in the slightest. His arm was firm and thick and unfortunately all very nicely male, just how I remembered it from last time I saw him, which had been six months ago, maybe a shade longer.

“Less of that.” He swatted my hand away. “If I thought you’d be interested or impressed I’d tell you how much I can bench press.”

“Yeah, don’t bother. There’s more in the car.” I bit back a grin. There was a lot more in the car.

He shot me a frown, a genuine one this time, but didn’t follow it up with a question. I followed him upstairs to the flat he’d commandeered when he’d been in his second year at university, the campus close enough for him to drive there in less than half an hour, and if he needed to stay over, there was usually a girl who wouldn’t mind sharing her bed.

Suitcases and boxes were lugged upstairs, our chatter reverting back to how it always was. Town gossip, the island, the Puffin Inn, his dad and Amelie, my parents – safe topics that we knew about anyway because we spoke once a week, unless he was somewhere remote that didn’t have Wi-Fi or network coverage. Even when I’d been touring Australia and the time difference had been stupid, we’d managed to talk, just like we had been doing since he was sixteen and I was seventeen and we’d spent a summer being two teenagers who had no idea what life had in store for them.

That felt like two lifetimes ago. Maybe three.

“Do you want to unpack now or - ” he looked in disbelief at the boxes. “Next month. Seriously, Zo, are you sure you haven’t just moved in?”

I shrugged. “Kind of. I’m homeless at the moment.” There was a story he didn’t know. “Let’s get on the boat and I’ll tell you what’s happened.”

“Was this something you couldn’t tell me on the phone?” Caleb picked up his phone and a set of keys.

“Yes.” A decade and four years of friendship had taught me lot about my friend, including how he’d react if he thought that I was in any form of danger, or someone had upset me. I’d learned it was best to wait until after things had been sorted.

“Why am I not liking the sound of this?” He picked up a coat, one that was purely practical and would not be gracing any fashion magazines, not that he cared about that.

Unlike the rest of my life, Caleb didn’t give a hoot about how he looked, or what he wore unless he was going out somewhere fancy. He wouldn’t care if I wore make-up or not, or even brushed my hair.

“Is my coat still here?” I looked at the mess of outwear hung on pegs near the door. There was a woman’s coat I didn’t recognise, probably one from a recent conquest of Caleb’s as it wasn’t Amelie’s style. “I hoped my stuff was here from last time.” There was a sudden flash of panic that maybe he’d given it away.

“Look under the black waterproof. Your stuff’s still in the spare bedroom. I did change the sheets in there and vacuum so it’s okay. Not brilliant. Amelie cleaned the bathroom when she knew you were coming.” Caleb looked half-sheepish.

“Any reason she did that and you didn’t?”

He shrugged. “I only got back two days ago from the arctic trip and I spent eighteen hours asleep.”

I paused, taking my turn to frown. “I thought you got back last week?”

He pushed a hand through thick dark brown hair. “I should’ve got back then. A storm came in and we had to hunker down so everything got delayed. Wasn’t fun.” Caleb was a marine biologist, working for the University of Menai and based on the island. He lectured there, but the main part of his role was the research, often working collaboratively with other universities. His most recent project had taken him down the Norwegian Fjords and into the Arctic Circle for six weeks. He’d video called me one day from what had to be the most amazing place on earth.

“You should’ve said. I’d have hung back for a few days so you could’ve had some time to yourself.” I knew from previous trips that the crew and scientists were on top of each other and when Caleb got back he liked to spend at least a week out at sea by himself or just with Thane, the town’s boatbuilder and lighthouse keeper. When he wasn’t away, he immersed himself in town life, mainly around the boats and Strait, one of the lifeboat crew and often on call.

Or charming the women who ended up in Puffin Bay and the surrounding areas.

My best friend was a magnet for women looking to fall in lust, or occasionally, in love.

“Yeah, that wasn’t going to happen. Let’s just get on the water and then Amelie can start feeding you up. She’s going to say you’re too skinny.” He gave me a look that told me he thought the same thing.

“That’s what six months of touring does to you, Cay. Dancing every night, travelling during the day – those calories are burned.” He wasn’t wrong. What he didn’t know what that worry and anxiety had knocked a few of those calories off too.

“She’s made lasagne tonight and I think there’s a prawn and chorizo in red wine starter with sourdough. If you’re not feeling hungry, I’ll eat yours. You’re not the only one who needs to bulk up.” He patted his stomach through the big waterproof coat that’d seen better days. “Food on the ship was shite.”

“I thought you’d have been full of herring and fish.”

“Full doesn’t describe it. The portions were child sized. Anyway, I have a new boat I want to show you.”

We walked the short route down to the boat house at the other end of the beach from the Puffin Inn, Caleb giving me a run down on his new toy. He’d been the same since he was seventeen and as new to the town as me, obsessed with the sea and what could sail on it. On his eighteenth birthday he’d signed up for the lifeboat crew, heading off to Poole to do his training as soon as he could. When we’d spoken or seen each other after that he’d been full of what he’d been up to with the crew, tales of storms and boats and engines and waves. I knew he was clueless about it, but I’d written a song about him one night, an album track that was a fan favourite and I always ended up playing it as the penultimate song at concerts.

“Nice.” I was half an expert after more than a decade of boat talk. “She’s cute. What’ve you called her?”

He grinned, moving as fluidly as the waves to get us on board and away from the mooring. “Raven.”

“Raven.” I followed him, pulling on a life jacket, knowing where they’d be kept because this wasn’t my first rodeo on a boat with Caleb. “You named a boat after my nickname.”

“Of course. She’s not as noisy as you. You like her?” He did a couple of quick checks and started up the engine.

“I like her. Not sure about her name though.” I pretended to look offended. “I thought that was just between us.”

“It still is. I haven’t told anyone why I called her that. Anyway, why are you homeless?” He wasn’t going to let that go.

I hadn’t thought he would.

“Promise you won’t be cross?” The wind smacked my face as we headed out into the Menai Strait, cold and hard, enough to sting and it was one of my favourite flavours of freedom. Out here, I could be exactly who I needed to, no expectations, apart from that I’d pull my weight on board, which I did.

“No. I’m not promising that.”

I took a deep briney breath. “You need to know this anyway, just in case, otherwise I might not tell you. I can’t go home because I have a stalker and he’s found out where I live. The house is on the market - ”

“It’s that bad you’re having to sell?”

I shrugged, not that Caleb would be able to tell because the coat was big and padded. “Security has told me that I can go home, and they have it covered, and it isn’t that I don’t trust them, but about four months ago he managed to break in and live there for two days. I was on tour so it felt very far away – I was on the Japan leg – but I can’t go back. It doesn’t feel right. So, I’m selling and buying somewhere else. I just don’t know where yet. I want to be somewhere for Christmas, ideally.”

There was silence while he navigated, this stretch of the Strait not the easiest, the Swellies dangerous at the best of times and currents moved, but I also knew he was working out exactly what to say while swallowing his annoyance because I hadn’t told him.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. You were in the Baltic Sea when the break in happened and there wasn’t anything you could do.” I’d also needed to try and ignore it. Touring was exhausting, especially when it was the last thing you wanted to be doing. I’d been touring since I was seventeen after ending up going viral on social media, the next big thing at first and then a big thing. The only time I’d stopped was when I was in Puffin Bay.

My safe space.

“I could’ve listened to you or distracted you or – never mind.” He shut down. “I hated your house anyway.”

“Really?” He’d been there twice, not for very long either time. “You never said.”

“Didn’t really matter what I thought of it. I didn’t live there. How dangerous is your stalker? That I do need to know about.” He took his eyes off the sea and looked at me, the sort of look that made me think he was staring into my soul.

I swallowed because this bit was nasty. “He’s a threat. He hasn’t done enough to be arrested. He’s mentioned several times what he’d like to do to me if he got his hands on me, and none of it’s very pleasant, but we have precautions in place.”

“Such as?” Caleb was normally chatty and full of words, charm personified, unless he was pissed off.

He was pissed off.

“I have a PI tracking him, and he’s being stalked online. He thinks he’s clever, but he’s not as clever as the people on my team. Your friend, Finn Holland’s fully aware and he knows I’m here – so there’s security around while I’m in Puffin Bay. I’m not putting anyone at risk, or I’m mitigating the risk. But we don’t think he knows much about Puffin Bay anyway.” Because I’d always kept Puffin Bay a secret. My social media was run by my team, and they would use photos from a bank we kept of me in other places. I wouldn’t use cards in my own name or anything that could trace me to being here, which was my standard practice anyway. Puffin Bay was mine. It didn’t belong to my fans or my management or my family. It was the only thing that belonged solely to me, and I was going to keep it that way.

Caleb set the course for Puffin Island, a route we’d taken so many times. We’d be out for a good hour now, maybe longer, giving us time to talk before we headed back to the inn and I’d see people I’d missed for so many months.

“So you’re hiding out here?” He sounded grumpy.

“I always hide out here. That’s nothing different.” I stood next to him at the helm, watching the waves and the sea birds, all constantly in motion.

“True.” He still hadn’t looked at me. “What’s this man’s name?”

“Why?”

“So I can find him and dispose of his body.” His jaw was tight, his eyes stony.

“I’d rather have you free to take me out in your boat than serving time in jail, if I’m honest.” I put my hand on his back, remembering how much I liked to feel it there.

His shoulders relaxed some. I felt him take a deep breath. “You’re assuming I’d get caught.”

“True. I mean, you always were a secret gangster, weren’t you? All this marine biology PhD thing is just a front for the organised crime group you’re running.”

He turned round, slowing the boat. “I feel you’re not taking this seriously enough.”

“What? My stalker or your threats to end him?”

“Both.”

“Cay, I take my stalker very seriously. I’m selling my home, which I happened to like even if you didn’t. I’m not taking your threats seriously because I wouldn’t want you to do that, which you know. We had a similar conversation when I was dumped by Justin Lively.” I could just about say Justin’s name without vomit stinging my throat. He was another singer and our PR machines had agreed we’d do well to date. Fake dating had turned into a real-life romance because Justin was a silver-tongued serpent and I’d actually believed I was living out a romance novel, until I caught him taking photos of my naked self while I was asleep.

That’d ended the dream and when I eventually told Caleb why I was single again, he’d left whichever port he’d been testing sea water or fish or something and flown straight to me, muttering threats about what he was going to do with Justin, how he was going to end his career and various other interesting possibilities for revenge.

I sorted revenge out for myself because I was that type of independent woman. Justin by name and Justin by penis size. It was amazing what you could post anonymously on a fan forum.

“He was a tool.” Caleb wrapped his arms around me in a big hug, his warmth and size making me feel like I was being cuddled by a mug of hot chocolate, maybe one that was spiked though. “But he wasn’t threatening to hurt you.”

“He did hurt me. Just in a different way.” Justin hadn’t succeeded with doing anything with the photos. Not with me. But it turned out I wasn’t the only girlfriend or lover he’d done this too. There’d been a police investigation and a press injunction, saving me as much embarrassment as him.

Caleb muttered something else, but I didn’t try to make out what.

“If your stalker tries anything while you’re here, I’m going to turn him into fish food. You understand that, don’t you?”

I heard that loud and clear. “Understood. Can we move on with something else now? Are you sure I’m okay to stay with you while I’m here? I can rent somewhere.”

“Yeah, try that and you’ll be fish food too.”

I laughed, trying not to acknowledge how good it still felt to be held by him.

Summer, Fourteen Years Ago

“We think this will be a good place for you to be creative, Zoey. You can have a break and really focus on your song writing without worrying about anything else.” My manager, Carissa, smiled at me, her face barely moving. She was okay, or so I figured. She gave me options and offered advice, explaining what my decisions meant for her, so it felt like she was transparent. I knew not all managers were like that, so I did appreciate it, or at least I tried to.

“Who does the house belong to?” It was obviously someone in the music industry. There was a baby grand piano in a room that faced the sea, artwork that looked expensive and a recording studio.

“Eddie Bayliss. He’s my cousin and he’s living in California now, so he rarely stays here. There’s one locked bedroom where he keeps some personal stuff, but the house is yours to use for as long as you want, maybe until you decide where you want to have a base. That’s something for you to think about. I know you’re spending the winter touring and it’s going to be so exciting, but it’s good to have a home to come back to.” Her smile was gentler this time.

“I didn’t know Eddie Bayliss is your cousin.” I was surprised. Carissa had a master’s degree in name dropping. That fact struck me as something she should’ve mentioned about four months ago when I signed on with her.

Maybe Carissa wasn’t that bad.

“Yep. He’s my cousin. That’s how I ended up working in this industry.” She glanced at her watch. “Shoot, I have to head off. I have a flight from Manchester in five hours. I’m sorry I can’t spend more time helping you settle in. Are you sure you don’t want me to find you a personal assistant?”

“I’m fine on my own. I have Renata anyway.” My security guard was doing something with the perimeter as we spoke. “It’ll be nice to be on my own for a bit.” Away from my mother also sounded great too.

She had another project now I’d found what she defined as success: my sister. Jessica was fourteen, almost fifteen and suffering a diet of salads and low-calorie food in our mother’s hope that she’d be picked up as a future super model. Unlike me, she needed a chaperone and was more in need of moulding, allegedly, although she was almost keener than our mother to become famous. My success had been unsuspected when it came; our mother certain that Jessica would be the one to pay for the lifestyle she thought she deserved. Jess wasn’t really speaking to me, which I’d decided wasn’t too much of a loss. She was envious and annoyed that I had so many followers on social media and an album that had broken a couple of records.

A stay at this house away from them was going to be bliss. I could maybe get my head in order, work out how I wanted my career to be, rather than have my mother tell me how it should be, and do what I loved doing most of all: song writing.

I said goodbye to Carissa and checked in with Renata and set about exploring the place that would be my home for the next few weeks, maybe longer. It was a big house, lots of floor to ceiling windows that looked out over the Menai Strait, the property having its own jetty and boathouse, as well as a large garden that was minimal in terms of upkeep.

There was peace here. I could still create content for my social media without giving away where I was, and as the locals were used to a prince and princess living here, I wasn’t going to be big news. Hopefully.

I spent the next couple of days settling in. Carissa had arranged a housekeeper who came to keep the place straight and prepared food, so I didn’t resort to microwaved meals or burning down the kitchen, which was entirely possible. I found the tracks down to the beach and a path that ran between the houses, meandering through bushes and overgrowth, not bad for running on which was how I was keeping fit and a way of hoping to persuade my mother that I didn’t need a personal trainer. I wasn’t suddenly going to balloon in a few weeks, but my mother was paranoid that an extra pound or two would see the end of any career I had and ruin my sister’s chances of success.

My family was definitely a little bit fucked up.

It was mid-afternoon when someone rang the bell on the gates. I checked the security camera, seeing a man there who would probably be a silver fox, and a boy who looked about my age. I guessed they were father and son, the resemblance between them striking. The boy was cute. Tall with a strong jaw and a smile that could possibly even charm my mother. Weirdly, she’d lived on the island when she was a kid, which was one of the only reasons she’d agreed to let her clutch on me loosen for a hot minute.

The boy lost his words when I opened my door, his mouth opening and closing, no sound coming out and I guessed he’d recognised me, which was fine, I was going to be recognised.

“Apologies, my son appears to be starstruck. We just wanted to give you this.” The man handed me a flyer. “If you want to come along, all the details are there. We’re moving in three houses down, but don’t worry – he won’t knock on your door again.” The man patted the boy on the back.

I laughed. I’d had this reaction before but after a few days on my own, I wanted someone my own age to talk to and he was cute. It was a long time since I’d spoken to a cute boy. The flyer was for the opening of a community centre in the town, a big event for the residents.

“Thank you. I saw the banners on the road – I’m hoping I’ll be able to come along. Do you want to come in and have a coffee?” Coffee sounded grown up although I hated the stuff and preferred hot chocolate, only it was too warm for hot chocolate. I wondered if Renata was going to kill me for inviting two strangers into my house. She was hovering though. No doubt I’d receive a lecture later.

The man looked at the boy, obviously amused that he was starstruck. “Yes, I’m dying for a drink!”

The boy found his words as soon as they were inside, and his awkwardness faded.“I’m Caleb. I know you’re Zoey. What are you doing here?”

His eyes smiled and he had a small dimple that made him look even cuter.

I gave him an abbreviated version of what I was doing, figuring he seemed unlike a serial killer. His dad – because it was his dad – stepped back, checking his phone and keeping an eye on Caleb as we started chatting.

“Do you live here?”

Caleb nodded. “We’re moving into the house that’s for sale a few places down from here. My mum’s moving here too with my half-sister. Roman’s my dad but I only found out about him a couple of years ago when I needed a liver donor, so I want to get to know him better and this is where I want to be, really.” He glanced out of the window towards the sea.

“Why here?”

“I want to study marine biology and the university at Menai is one of the best places to do it and I like being near the sea.” He sat down at the kitchen island, accepting a can of cola. We opened our drinks at the same time. Renata made Roman a coffee, which was probably wise.

“What’s there to do here? I’ve been here a few days and I need to leave the house at some point.” I wanted to do something normal, not just write songs.

“You can go out on the boat – have you been round Puffin Island?” He looked so enthusiastic, which made him even cuter.

“No. What’s that?”

“It’s a nature reserve with loads of different types of sea birds on there, including puffins when it’s the breeding season. There are also seals – it’s uninhabited so the only way you can see it is by boat. I can ask Thane if he’ll take you out.” He folded his arms, the beginnings of biceps prominent under his T-shirt.

I nodded, because that sounded amazing. “I’d like that. Do you think he’d mind?”

Caleb shook his head, grinning hard again. “If he does, he’ll say, but if it gives him an excuse to be on the water he’ll usually do it. He’s one of the lifeboat crew as well – I’m going to join that as soon as I’m old enough.”

“How old are you?” I couldn’t work it out.

“Sixteen. Seventeen in September.”

“I’m eighteen on Christmas Day.” Finally an adult. Finally my mother’s grip on me would have to lessen.

“I think I knew that.” He blushed slightly, which suited him. “Not that I’m a stalker but I do like your music.”

It was always nice to hear, and it still gave me a thrill when someone said that.

“Thank you. I’m meant to be writing more songs when I’m here.”

“Have you done any yet?”

I shook my head. “No. But I’m getting some ideas.”

And that was the first time I met Caleb Tominey.