3. Zoey
Zoey
T he bed and the room didn’t feel unfamiliar, and neither did the light that streamed in between curtains that didn’t hang particularly well. I woke with a smile, feeling for the first time in months like I was welded to the mattress because I’d slept so well.
A quick glance at my phone told me that it was after ten, but still in the morning, and I had three missed calls from my manager and one from Charlie, my main contact at the record company.
I phoned him back before I’d even sat up, needing to get this out of the way for the next few weeks so I could switch my head off. Then I’d deal with Carissa.
“Zoey, how’s it hanging?”
It wasn’t hanging at all, but this was the only greeting Charlie could compute.
“It’s the first day of my break. I wasn’t expecting to hear from you for a few weeks.” May as well tell it like it was. I didn’t want to speak with them for the foreseeable, and the more they kept trying, the more likely it was that I was going to tell them where to stuff their contracts.
“I know, and you’ve just got off tour and had all the issues with the break in. We get it. We’d just like to finalise the contract before you properly put your feet up. Have you seen the offer we sent yesterday? Carissa was seriously enthusiastic about it.” Charlie was at his most persuasive. Unfortunately, his most persuasive was on a par with a fourteen-year-old who’d just been taught a tick list of persuasive techniques and had the incentive of avoiding a detention if they used them all.
“I’ve seen it.” It was in my junk, but I’d break Charlie’s heart if I told him that.
“It’s one of the best we’ve offered as far as I can remember. Three albums, two tours – and just stadiums – over five years. We know you want to rest and enjoy the fruits of your hard labour and we really want to support that, Zoey. You’re part of our family and we look after our family. So what do you think?” He dripped with enthusiasm.
“Come back to me in six months is what I think.” He’d already had that response three times. I wasn’t sure it was going in.
“I’m not sure the offer will be on the table in six months. You know what the execs are like, they like to have firm plans so they can design their long-term vision for the label.” This was the blackmail angle. Again, this had been previously tried by young Charlie-boy.
“That’s absolutely fine. If I decide to keep recording, I’m sure I can sign with another label.” I gave a dramatic sigh. “So we’re good. Let the bosses know I’m not signing anything at the moment, for at least six months. If they need to plan ahead without me, I completely understand.”
“Zoey, Zoey, Zoey – we both know you’re going to keep recording. It’s what you were born to do. This contract doesn’t ask you to do anything apart from an EP just after Christmas so we can keep your fans happy, and because you’re nothing short of a genius, I know you’ll have songs ready to go. Come on, Zo. We miss you.” He was practically purring.
“Charlie, do you enjoy self-flagellation?” I sat up, trying to listen for signs that Caleb was still in the flat.
“Self what?” He was knocked completely off piste.
“Beating yourself up. Being a bit masochistic. Torturing yourself by trying to flog a dead horse.” The tone of my voice could’ve shredded steel.
“I’m sorry, you’ve lost me, Zoey, what I was saying was - ”
“Charlie, stop,” I interrupted. There weren’t enough hours in the day for this. “I’m not signing any contracts for at least the next six months, even if Buckingham Palace is part of the deal, and every time you contact me to ask me if I’ve made a decision yet, I’m adding another month on. Understand?”
“But Carissa wants - ”
“No Charlie, this isn’t about what Carissa wants. This is about what I want and at this moment in time, I want to be left alone and not think about EP’s or albums or any more tours and if I’m not left alone, you’re not going to like my final answer in the slightest.” I was ready to lob the phone at the wall.
There was silence. This was Charlie who wouldn’t know what silence was even if it hit him round the head with a wet fish. The call was still connected. He hadn’t hung up and we hadn’t been cut off.
“Zoey, it’s a really amazing deal - ”
Holy fuck.
“Charlie, I’m richer than my mother’s wildest dreams. I don’t need an amazing deal, or any deal and right now, I don’t want to ever sing live again.”
“I’m just trying to persuade you otherwise. That’s who you are – this amazing singer-songwriter and you need to do this. This is what you’ve always done.” He changed his voice into a very bad purr.
“What was your first job, Charlie?” I softened my voice.
He laughed, clearly thinking he’d won me over. “I stacked shelves in a supermarket. It was alright actually.”
“Lovely. So why don’t you still do that?”
Another laugh. “I moved on to other things.”
“I want to move on to other things than my first job, Charlie. Have a think about that, but in the meantime, don’t contact me, I’ll contact you when I’m ready. Have a really good think about what I’ve said – I know you’ve probably recorded it.” I’d caught him once listening to a recorded conversation of him talking to another singer. I didn’t think he’d jeopardise his job by sharing it, that wasn’t Charlie, but I definitely thought he liked to celebrate what he perceived as his successes.
“I haven’t – when will you be ready, Zoey? I need a timeline on this.”
I took a long, deep inhale of fresh air. “Okay, I’m ready now.”
“Great! I’ll get everything signed today - ”
“Stop. My decision is final. I’m not coming back to the label.”
I waited.
“Not right now but you have chance for a break, so we can work out when you want to get in the studio - ”
“I’m not coming back ever. I’m done.” I knew full well that if I changed my mind in a year, they’d have me back in a hot minute. “Please don’t contact me again. I’ll send an email to that effect, so you have it in writing.”
“I understand. I’ll give you a call in a week or so to see - ”
“If you do that, I’ll have my publicist release a statement to say we’ve parted ways. I’ll put that in the email too, so don’t contact me Charlie.” I hung up before his mouth could birth anymore shit.
My door opened ten seconds later and Caleb appeared with a mug of tea and a some big, beautiful looking cinnamon rolls, which were my absolute favourites.
“That didn’t sound like a relaxing start.” He sat down on the bed, put the tea on the bedside table and passed me the pastry. “Was that Charlie the Cockwomble?”
He’d heard me rant about Charlie before. “The one and only.”
“And you’ve just told him you’re not going back to the label ever?” He looked slightly incredulous.
“I have. Carissa will probably phone me in the next fifteen minutes.” I sighed and turned my phone off. I liked Carissa most of the time. Over the years, I’d come to understand that she did act in my best interest and she was frequently one of my biggest champions, but she liked to play it safe and playing safe was staying with the same record label.
“And you’re not going to answer.”
I shook my head. “I’ll call her in an hour. I’m too annoyed to be civil to her right now.”
“I get that.” He put his feet up on the bed and stretched out next to me. “What if you do change your mind?”
“They’ll have me back. There are four or five other major players interested as well so if I want to go back to it, there’ll be an opportunity there.” I took a huge bite from the cinnamon roll, the pastry flaking off in my mouth, sweet, buttery goodness with a hint of spice, the almost perfect way to start the day.
It was like an orgasm for my mouth.
Not a good thought. It’d been too long since I’d had anything other than an orgasm at my own hand, and that wasn’t a thought to explore with Caleb lying next to me in bed, albeit he was on top of the sheets and I was under them.
Caleb, who’d been the most gorgeous boy I’d known and grew into an even more gorgeous man, who was built and muscly from his work on the boats and being outside rather than made in a gym.
Caleb, who even at the age of eighteen, had known exactly what to do with his tongue and his fingers.
“Is this from Amelie’s?” I took another bite of the cinnamon roll, focusing on that as the best thing in the room that I could have.
“She brought them up an hour ago.” He watched me devour the pastry.
“Them?” I said, a piece of pastry flying off my lip. “There’s more?”
“Pain au chocolat and a couple of almond croissants. She does them for Fridays and Saturdays. When’s the last time you had a pastry?” He frowned at me. “Don’t tell me you weren’t allowed them on tour.”
“I could have what I wanted – it wasn’t restrictive, just not always available or nice. And I was stressed because of the stalker situation.” I popped the last piece in my mouth.
“Are you still stressed because of that?” He put his hands behind his head, displaying biceps that were ridiculously attractive.
“Yep. He’s still out there and I need a new house because of him. But I feel safer here and I slept well last night.” All of which was true. “I also know that stopping performing or recording won’t stop him from wanting to do whatever it is, which is what Carissa is convinced I’m doing. I just want some time to decide what I want to do with myself for the next few years.” I put the plate on the bedside table next to me and lay back down, my arm lying alongside Caleb’s.
“I get that. Have you told your mum you’re not re-signing?”
Caleb had met my mother a handful of times over the years and was not her biggest fan. I was rarely in touch with her nowadays. Her being so engrossed in my sister when I turned eighteen was a blessing in disguise as I’d managed to side step away from her influence and control. I sent her very nice monetary gifts for her birthday and Christmas, and she had a lovely house in an area she loved in Cheshire and a new car every couple of years, but she was still bitter I was no longer a cow she could milk.
“No. I’m not intending to either. When she finds out she’ll have something to say about it, but my job isn’t any of her business. I’m not reliant on her.”
“You never have been. How’s your sister?”
“Divorcing. So mum’s busy with her, making sure she’s devastated enough.” My mother’s plan for catwalk domination had come to an abrupt end when my sister was seventeen and pregnant, the father a man twenty five years older than her with a proclivity for stay-at-home wives. He was also insanely rich and a semi-royal, some longstanding friend of one of the princes and with a minor title and a big house somewhere in the country.
“That’ll be a nice pay out for her.” Caleb had less time for my sister than my mother, which was saying something.
“I’ve stayed well out of it. That’s what gift cards are for. I can be a doting aunt from a distance.” I had very few regrets about the lack of closeness with my family. Sometimes I felt lonely, and it was those times I phoned Caleb, but my mother and sister were toxic. Being lonely would’ve happened even if I’d been close to them.
“Okay then, doting aunt, what time are you getting your lazy arse out of bed?” He elbowed me gently. “I think I need to go sofa shopping.”
I couldn’t help laughing. “I think you should. I could catch a sexual disease from that sofa. And it looks like something might be living in it.”
“That might actually be an issue. If you ate a chip you dropped on it, you could risk some bacterial infection, if you got the chip soon enough. Amelie’s said I’m okay to scrap it.” He pulled the duvet back and slipped under it. “It’s not so warm today.”
“Does Amelie even remember the sofa?”
“I don’t think she wants to. She probably has horrible images of what she saw happening on it one night.”
“Do I want to know?” I really didn’t. Caleb had always been popular with the ladies, but he’d never been serious about anyone, or not serious enough to tell me about them.
“I would advise against it. Seriously, you can stay in bed all day if you want. If finishing a thirty date tour is anything like coming home after six weeks on a research vessel, I wouldn’t have woken up yet.” He turned onto his side facing me. “I don’t have to go into the university. I managed to sort it out online.”
“So you have a free day?” I reached up to touch the stubble on his jaw. He obviously hadn’t shaved for a couple of days.
“I should be writing up some of the research. There is a deadline for this paper, but it isn’t for ages.”
“Another week upcoming where you don’t have time to sleep?” He’d always left everything to the last possible minute and still got it on time and earned top marks.
He grinned. “I’m not that bad anymore, but I’ll start it next week. I can work on it at the office. You’ll just distract me here.”
That made me feel warm inside. We’d spent long stretches together at least once a year since we first met and had built a friendship that was comfier than my oldest pyjamas. I liked being with him. He made me laugh, made me feel safe. He made me feel seen as someone who wasn’t just flesh with a good singing voice and the potential to earn people money.
“Happy to distract you. I do need to write some songs as well. And write some just for me.” That wasn’t stopping. I loved song writing, that was what’d catapulted my career beyond some teeny wonder girl, and the consistent part that I loved.
“We can have a schedule.” He showed no signs of starting that schedule. “Do you remember when we camped out in your garden and we were looted by a hedgehog?”
“What on earth’s made you remember that?” I could feel warmth radiating from his body.
Caleb laughed softly. “Because you practically pushed yourself under me because you thought it was a bear.”
“I didn’t think it was a bear and I’m not pushing under you right now and we’re not in sleeping bags and nothing’s trying to eat our bread.” I was smiling at the memory, one from the first summer we’d been friends and I’d wanted to try camping. Caleb had made it happen, acquiring a tent and a camping stove, two sleeping bags and some cold beers even though neither of us were old enough. “I don’t think there are any hedgehogs in your flat either, although I can’t really be sure.” He was not the tidiest of people.
“If there were, they wouldn’t have touched the bread I’ve just found. I think I might need to make a few lifestyle changes.” He snuggled up more under the covers, our knees touching.
I ignored the shivers that caused, just like I’d been doing for the last decade or so. I was rather proficient at it, not lingering on them at all, especially when I was in bed on my own.
“I’m not cleaning the flat for you.” The sound of the seagulls filtered through the window, squawking what was to me a lullaby. I loved the sounds here, the shushing of the sea and the call of the birds. There was a melody here that the city just didn’t possess, one that seemed to slow my pulse and give me time to breathe.
“Wouldn’t expect you to. I don’t think you have the skills or chemicals for it anyway. How long does it take for a sofa to be delivered?” He frowned again. “I should probably know that.”
“I think it depends where you order it from.” I sat up, pulling the covers back from both of us and noticing how Caleb’s eyes went straight to the tight vest top I was wearing. “I’ll drink that tea, call Carissa and get ready. Let’s go sofa shopping and then you can buy me lunch at Amelie’s and I can tell her how amazing that cinnamon roll was. Then we can go for a walk. What time’s high tide?”
“We’re coming up to it, so we should be okay.” He sat up as well, passing me the mug of tea. “Are you sure you’re ready to speak to Carissa?”
“Not really, but I want to get it out of the way.”
He slipped out of bed then bent down, pressing a kiss on my forehead. “I’m glad you’re here, even if you’re making me get a new sofa.”
“Let’s not explore that issue any further.” I flicked him the V’s. “But I’m glad I’m here too.”
So so glad.
Carissa wasn’t best pleased when I finally got around to calling her, post shower and another mug of tea. There was half an almond croissant digested as well, but I wasn’t counting calories or thinking about nutritional value right now. Plus, I knew I’d need the strength given Carissa was going to chew my ear.
“I agreed Charlie shouldn’t have been hounding you. He spoke to me before you, and I told him to leave you alone and go through me, but that’s always been his problem: he’s like a dog with an obnoxiously long bone.” She sighed heavily, then let a beat of silence pass.
I decided not to fill it.
“Zoey, do you have any idea what you want to do? I’m asking as someone who’s known you for years and who does care about you.” There was a note of exasperation to her tone.
“I don’t think you’ll like the answer.” Although she had been given my answer before, just maybe too softly.
“You don’t want to come back, do you?” Disappointment laced her words. “I know you keep saying that you’re not sure, but I think you know.”
“I’m not saying never, but I am saying no time soon – maybe four or five years. I’m still writing songs, but not for me to record.” I’d made a few notes when I got in last night and I’d also had a few messages of a singer I’d collaborated before. He was putting a new album together and was after some tracks.
“Is that why Zee Harbison’s manager emailed me asking about you a couple of hours ago?” She could’ve cut steak with that tone of voice.
“Word must’ve got round.” I frowned, watching Caleb pull the seat cushions off the sofa, exposing remnants of evenings and encounters, and an absurd amount of popcorn.
I definitely wasn’t sitting there again.
“The label was hoping you were just angling for more money. That’s what most people do, rather than walking away at the peak – if it is the peak. You’ve had a song go viral overnight and a video of you on stage. Haven’t you had any notifications?” She sounded resigned.
“Vida and her team look after my socials and I’ve turned my email off. The only call I’m going to answer after this is from my estate agent as she was doing a viewing of the house today. I’m open to conversations about song writing and collabs, Carissa, but that’s it. Let’s stop any messing about with the label.” I choked back a laugh as Caleb picked up a very lacy thong.
That sofa needed burning.
“That’s fine. We’ll go with that. Can we book in a call a week today? I think I’m going to be inundated when word gets around even more that you’re actively song writing for other artists.” I heard a beep in the background. Carissa was out and about and on the move, probably planning on pouncing on her next deal.
“I can do that.” That was the only commitment I could make right now because writing songs and music wasn’t going to stop.
“This exact time then next Friday. Have you arranged any viewings to buy your own house yet?” Sharpness returned to her words.
“No, because I don’t know where I’ll be living. It won’t be London.” I loved the city, but I’d lived there long enough. I wanted a view, grass, the sea. Not round the clock traffic and grey concrete.
“Consider an apartment in London then, because you’re still going to need to be here, and you hate hotels. Right, I have to go – I need to see a woman about an alligator.”
I laughed and ended the call. I knew who the alligator was – the manager at a record label that I would never work with. They were known for churning out fast fads, spitting out kids who were big for half a hot minute. Carissa detested them, for while she was in this to make money, she preferred to play the long game for everyone’s sakes.
I tucked the phone into my jeans pocket and shook my head at Caleb.
“I can’t sleep under the same roof as that sofa.” The detritus from it littered the floor. “How much money have you found?”
“About eleven quid. I’m going to donate it to the flat fumigation fund.” He looked rather nauseous. “I’ve booked cleaners and a house clearance bloke. The sofas and chairs are going, some other bits – my Friday night’s going to be spent filling bin bags.” He squished his face. “The monthly book club’s downstairs tonight. Amelie’s said to join them while I’m tossing most of this out.”
“Wasn’t this Amelie’s stuff?” It was furnished pretty much the same as it had been thirteen years ago when I first saw the flat.
“Yep. But Amelie never comes up here and it’s me who’s used it since then, so she doesn’t want anything. We might have to make do without a sofa for a week or so. Sorry.” He did look guilty in a really cute way. “And we’ll have to stay in the guest bedrooms at the inn tonight unless you want to be woken at six tomorrow by the cleaners.”
“That’s okay – if it’s okay with Amelie.”
“She’s making me pay for them, so I think she’s cool with it.” He looked at the underwear he’d found.
“Any idea who that belonged to?” She had good taste, whoever it was.
“I don’t think they’ve been there that long. Couple of possibilities though, but I do remember them.” He put them into a bin bag.
“So you remember the underwear but not who it belonged to?” I shook my head at him, almost disgusted.
“Pretty much. Don’t be judgey. Still okay to go sofa shopping?” He dropped the bag and stretched, his T-shirt tightening across his chest.
I tried not to stare. “Sofa shopping’s fine. Then lunch and a walk.” Which sounded perfect.
“I’ll buy you lunch.”
“Damn right.”
October, Twelve Years Ago
“It’s so good to be back.” I squished down into the patterned sofa, pulling a hand-knitted blanket over me. “I wished I could’ve come back in March, but I ended up being the support act.”
Caleb sat down on the other end of the sofa and tussled me for it. We were at his step-mum to be’s flat above the Puffin Inn, which was where Caleb stayed most of the time. He’d phone me up over summer, completely traumatised, as he’d gone home earlier than he’d been expected and found his dad and Amelie testing the strength of the kitchen table.
“You’re here now. It’s the best time of the year too.” He reached over for me, moving me on the sofa like I weighed nothing. I ended up lying against his chest, sat in between his legs, the blanket now over both of us.
“I know you love autumn. Why?” I rested my hands on his thighs and tried to remember the last time I’d been touched by a friend. There were hugs because that was good for photos and appearances, and there were dance routines that could feel more intimate than a kiss, but nothing like this.
Caleb wrapped his arms around my stomach, not even brushing anywhere else which I’d think was disappointing when I over analysed everything later.
“The town goes quiet and it feels like we get it back from the tourists. The sea’s wild, so it’s harder on the water, which I like, and I love the storms and how nice it is when we’re in the pub downstairs with the fire lit. I know I sound like an old man.” His chin caught the skin of my shoulder, exposed from the baggy sweater I’d thrown on. It was rough, but it felt good. Something else to think about later.
“You do, but that’s okay. I like it best here too when it’s autumn and winter, before it gets busy. Is Amelie okay with me staying here?” I’d asked this about six times already.
“She’s fine with it. I think she liked the fact that Sarina finished with me when she knew you were staying. She wasn’t a Sarina fan.” He stretched out a bit more. “You’re a good blanket.”
I wondered if Sarina had been a good blanket too.
“You didn’t tell me you and Sarina had broken up.” He’d been with her since mid-summer. She was in the same college as him and he’d talked quite a bit about her since June-time.
“I wouldn’t be lying on the sofa with you like this if we were still together. I know we’re just friends, but it wouldn’t be fair.” He reached over to pick up the bottle of beer on the table nearby.
“Did she really split up because I was staying?” I twisted round so I could look at him. “Seriously?”
“There were other reasons and it wasn’t exactly the romance of the century.” He finished the beer and put the bottle down, getting comfy again. “Don’t worry about it.”
“You’re always single when I’m here.”
“I’m nearly always single. I’m eighteen; I’m keeping my options open.” He rubbed his chin against the exposed skin.
I started to giggle, liking the feel and closeness. Caleb had always been touchy feely and not in a bad way. He was free with hugs with anyone who wanted one, really, at ease with himself and the world around him, which he said was what came of nearly dying when he’d had liver failure.
“How are your options?” He stilled. “Met anyone you like enough yet?”
I knew he was referring to my virginity. We hadn’t mentioned it since I was last here and I hadn’t talked about any dates or hook ups because there’d been none.
“No one. The convent is looking more likely.” Which would be a shame because I was interested in sex.
“Nah, you’re too pretty for a convent. You’ll meet someone. Anyone who isn’t interested in you back would be a fool.” He scraped his chin on my shoulder again.
I hoped he was right and there had been men who’d been interested, they just hadn’t been for me. “I don’t know whether it’s because I’m scared of being interested in someone who likes me because it’ll lead to sex and then they’ll find out and given what I sing about and how I dance on stage, those two things don’t add up.”
“You on stage is a persona though. You’re playing a part and if they’re expecting Zoey the singer, they’re believing in a manufactured fairy tale.” He held me a little tighter. “Have you met anyone? I know you don’t usually tell me stuff like that on the phone.”
“I don’t tell you because there’s nothing to tell. I’ve been that busy with late nights on tour and then recording in the day when we can, I’ve barely been out.” The lifestyle wasn’t glamorous like people wanted to believe.
“What about those photos of you walking out of that club with Liam Roberts from that band? That was last week.”
I could feel the beat of his heart against my back. It was as rhythmic and soothing as the sea.
“All a show. It was a promo thing for the night club that we were paid for and we agreed to look like we were leaving together because it’d hit the press and the paps and there’d be more mentions for the club.” And there hadn’t been any spark between me and Liam, who actually had a really sweet girlfriend back in his hometown who he was utterly devoted to and kept completely out of the media.
“You looked like you couldn’t wait to get into bed with him.”
“No. Sorry to disappoint the world. You’re still the only boy I’ve ever shared a bed with.”
Which gave me an idea.