4. Caleb
Caleb
I was thirty and I’d never bought a piece of furniture other than a gaming chair, and I had been nineteen when I’d bought that. We were at some sofa shack thing that I’d found about online and had sofas that could be bought and delivered within a few days, no waiting for them to be made and imported. The brand was pretty trendy and meant to be good, because I wanted something I could fall asleep on and not wake with a stiff back or a neck that needed cracking three times before I could turn it.
“What colour do you want?” Zoey looked like she should be at a boutique in Paris rather than a sofa store in North Wales. There was no way she wasn’t going to be recognised. I’d told her that and she wasn’t bothered by it. I knew she was used to it.
She was wearing joggers and a hoodie, along with a pair of old running trainers that she’d left here the last time she’d stayed, but her hair and the prettiness of her features, as well as how she moved like a dancer, meant that everyone glanced at her and looked again.
“I don’t know. What goes with everything?” Amelie had given me a lecture the length of the Strait this morning about not looking after the flat. I’d mentioned to her and my dad that I might look for a house if something next to the sea came up. I had money – my dad had put funds into a trust for me when I turned twenty five and he’d been good enough to pay my university tuition fees, so I’d finished my doctorate debt free. There was enough money in my trust to invest in a really nice house – as long as it had a boathouse and was on the coast I didn’t mind if it was a shed.
“Brown might be good. A chocolate brown velvet so it won’t look grubby and it won’t be as cold as black.” She grabbed my arm and guided me over to what she’d pretty much described, pulling me down to sit on it next to her. “This would be perfect, and you can get a loveseat in burnt orange, which can remind you of autumn.”
“What the fuck’s a love seat?” I knew more about a legendrea loyez than I did about furniture.
“It’s a one point five person sized seat, so in between a chair and a two-seater sofa. They’re called snuggle seats as well, because if two of you share, you have to snuggle up. Want to try that one?” She pointed to what I assumed was a loveseat.
“Is this how you choose a sofa?” I vaguely remember Amelie and my dad sofa shopping and my dad saying how it’d been a day of squats.
“Pretty much. Come on – let’s go and squish in that.” She stood up and grabbed hold of my arm again, trying to pull me up which was worth the stretched sweater sleeve for the sheer amusement value. There was no way she could make me move.
I stood up of my own volition and let her lead me over to the loveseat, squashing into it with her. It always made everything wake up when I was this close to her, feeling her warmth and catching the scent of her body wash or whatever it was that she used. She only used perfume when she was going out somewhere formal, which I liked, mainly because she’d been using that body thing for years and the smell of it made me feel like I was home.
“You’d have to be really good friends with someone to watch a film or something with them sat on this.” I rubbed her thigh when her leg came over mine because I was taking up about three quarters of the space.
“I think that’s the idea. Why don’t you get one? It can replace that chair with the holes in.”
I felt judged. Probably rightly so. “Is this because you want a loveseat?”
“Maybe. But I still think it’ll work well. And when you move it’ll fit easier in a lot of places if you don’t want it in your living room.” She leaned her head on my shoulder, so I leaned my head on hers, catching sight of a shop assistant hurrying over to us.
“I think you’ve been spotted.” That was definitely the reason for the excited expression on the shop assistant’s face, because I didn’t think she could be that thrilled about selling sofas.
“Are you Zoey Mitchell?” She came to a stop about two feet away. “If not, you look so much like her.”
Zoey stood up and shot that grin that I saw on her photoshoots, just reserved for them. “I am. My friend’s here to buy a sofa and I’m here to make sure he gets one that’ll fit. Are you having a good day?”
“I am now,” the shop assistant said. “Have you seen anything you like so far?” She was still looking at Zoey.
Zoey turned towards me. “Shall we try some more?”
“Why not?” I stood up, folding my arms and looking round the store. A few other people had definitely recognised Zoey as well. I turned on the charm. “I’m looking for something with immediate delivery else Zoey and I will be sitting on the floor later.”
“Well we can’t have you uncomfortable, can we?” The assistant gave me an almighty big smile and proceeded to tour us around the store which I was starting to think was some sort of purgatory.
Forty-five minutes I’d never get back later and I’d ordered exactly what we’d sat on first, for delivery on Sunday – which we’d only wrangled because Zoey sweet talked the store manager with a couple of autographs for his wife and sister, although I suspected they were both for him.
Walking out of the store felt like I’d just been released from a torture chamber.
Zoey looked at me and started laughing. “You hated every moment of that, didn’t you?”
“It wasn’t a highlight of the year. I like what we’ve picked though.” Really, she’d picked it because I’d started reading football news on my phone after the fourth sofa.
“So job done. You owe me lunch.” She got into the car. “After that, I should make you take me somewhere posh and expensive.”
“You can if you want, but I know you want to go to Amelie’s.” I started the engine and reversed out of the space, pretty sure someone had just taken a photo.
It’d always been like this when I left Puffin Bay with Zoey, people recognising us, a few photos being taken. It had never bothered me, annoying Zoey more and making her apologise, which was irritating.
“I need more sugar.” She settled back in the seat. “And we know Amelie’s always got the sugar. That was what your dad said once.”
I shot her a click glare. “Please don’t say things like that.”
“You should be proud they’re still madly in love. I saw him last night trying to feel her up behind the bar when he thought no one was watching.”
“Please stop this. I love them both but I don’t need to know how they love each other.” I was going to need to boil my eyeballs after this.
“Well, I’m spending this evening with her and the other women of Puffin Bay, so I imagine I’ll have lots of gossip to share.” She was far too triumphant.
I put a pin in her bubble. “You can’t tell me what’s said at book club. What’s said there stays there. You’ll be chased out of town if you repeat what anyone says tonight.” This was a rule that’d been put in place when Iris and Freya, wives of the Holland twins, Gulliver and Rowan, decided to wind up their husbands by describing how their dicks compared. The fallout had been legendary, especially when it came out that the whole thing had been fabricated.
“Oh, I didn’t know that.”
I knew she was upset from the tone of her voice, and that there were only five words in her response.
“They tell you the rules when you sign in as a member. I think there’s some hazing that follows, but no one’s ever confirmed what that is.”
“I know you’re joking now.” She stayed quiet.
I waited, slowing my speed as it looked like one of the farmers was herding his sheep across the road.
“I miss having friends I can share secrets with.”
There it was. I got it, I had for years. Zoey felt like she should be showing she was grateful of the lifestyle she had. The invitations to exclusive parties and events, money, fame, adoration from millions of fans, freebies and access to designers – she arguably had it all. Apart from friends she thought were genuine and people who cared for her and not just the money and recognition she could bring.
“You share your secrets with me.” I pretended to be offended. “Aren’t I your friend?”
“My best friend. But if I try to tell you about my periods you’ll make this crazy noise to drown me out and squeeze your eyes shut, and I’m really not comfortable telling you about dick sizes and comparing notes about, you know, let’s leave it there. Unless there’s something you want to say about dick sizes that will enhance my life.”
I grinned. She’d walked straight into this one. “My dick size definitely enhanced your life.”
“Enough, Caleb! We promised never to talk about that.” She sat bolt upright-.
We had promised that and we’d stuck to it for a long, long time, another life ago, which made the whole thing feel like a dream.
“No, you can absolutely tell me what’s said at book club tonight. And there will be a lot of gossip.” I accelerated now we were past the sheep.
“I thought I had to promise not to say anything?”
“You do, but no one keeps to that promise. The women swear their husbands to secrecy, and they all talk about it the next night. It’s the cycle of secrets.” It was totally true as well. The last time it’d ended up with Thane discussing prostate issues with my dad, which wouldn’t have been discussed in a million years had Fleur and Amelie not shared secrets. It had its good points.
“So you want me to tell you everything?”
“Absolutely.” I indicated and pulled into the community centre carpark, which was busier than normal for a Friday in October. “What’s going on here? Want to wait in the car while I check this out?”
She nodded, pulling out her phone. “I hope it’s nothing to do with me. If the Mitch-girls have worked out where I am, they’ve got here fast.”
“I meant to ask, did you call them the Mitch-girls or did they call themselves that?”
“They did. I’m hoping they transfer their adoration onto the next big thing soon.” She scrolled down her phone. “Nothing on here so I don’t think it’s me. I’ll come in with you.”
As it happened, it was almost the opposite of the Mitch-girls but with a similar flavour.
Amelie was working at the counter, putting down a cake slicer as soon as she saw us and heading our way.
“What’s happening?” I nodded my head discreetly in the direction of five tables pushed together, women and a couple of men in their seventies or eighties, craning their heads to listen to a glamorous looking woman of the same age who was doing all the talking.
“That’s Moira Shepherd, queen of jam making.” Amelie directed us over to a table on the opposite side of the space, near to the kids’ party area. “Those are her disciples. Apparently, they have a secret message system so they know where to find these pop up events, which take place with no notice given to the venue.” She raised her eyebrows. “Still, they’ve eaten half the cake and I’m out of scones. But there is a problem.”
She transferred her attention onto Zoey.
I winced, wondering what was going to happen next.
“One of the ladies here thought she’d booked a room at the Puffin Inn, but it mustn’t have gone through. Long story short, I’ve had to give her one of the two you’ve booked, so Caleb, you might have to sleep in the flat.”
“I can’t. They’re using cleaning products that you’re not meant to inhale.” I messed with my hair in frustration. “Yes, I am having it fumigated.”
“I’m not going to ask. I don’t want to know.” Amelie looked at the ceiling. “You’ll have to share with Zoey then because we have the Callaghans arriving at ours in a couple of hours and there’s no spare bedrooms. Or you can see if you can stay with Finn or Cassian. You could use Mavis’ house but I think someone’s staying there.” She patted my shoulder. “Someone will have you.”
“Not when I’ve finished at ten o’clock and need hosing down.” I patted Zoey’s hand. “I’ll build a pillow wall in between us so you don’t keep trying to maul me.”
“Trust me, I don’t need that.” Zoey smacked her other hand on top of mine. “It’s fine, Amelie, half the time I stay I end up falling asleep with him on the sofa. I know how he snores and farts in his sleep by now.”
They both looked at me.
I held my hands up. “I don’t know what I do in my sleep, do I? It’s only one night. We’ll be fine. What’s so special about Moira’s jam?” Because the gathering was listening very intently to what she was saying, and she was speaking in hushed tones.
“There’s a secret ingredient that your grandfather would’ve approved of.” Amelie’s smile was soft like it was every time we talked about him. He’d died five years ago now, a ripe old age and at peace with life and everything in it. I missed him daily, but it was a sweetness now.
“Some good old herbal extras.” Which was one of the ways he explained his cannabis growing hobby.
“Indeed. In fact, if he was here, he’d be at that table now doing a few deals.” She shook her head. “I suppose you want lunch?”
“Please. Caleb needs to keep his strength up with all the cleaning that’s to come.” Zoey batted her lashes at me. “Because I’m not helping.”
“I don’t expect you to.” I glanced at Amelie. “Besides, I don’t think she can take any more discoveries of women’s underwear.”
Amelie shook her head and glared at me. “I never realised how insane some women were until I noticed your revolving door. I don’t know why you’re friends with him, Zoey.”
Zoey was laughing, definitely at me. “Some days I’m not sure either.”
Project “Become an Adult” commenced at three in the afternoon, just when it would’ve been a perfect time to take the boat out on the Strait. It was a smooth day, the wind just what you’d want and the horizon clear. I actually could’ve done with sailing out to a certain point to take some water samples, but I could do it tomorrow and having realised what a hazard my flat was, I needed to clean it up.
I wasn’t sure what the motivation was apart from the mouse family which had been relocated humanely: Zoey had stayed before and the flat had possibly been worse, so maybe it was because I was getting closer to turning thirty-one and feeling like I should be living somewhere other than the flat I’d been in as a teenager. Or it could be a sudden urge to impress her and erase the kid she saw me as and replace him with an adult she could rely on.
And nothing said rely on me like another woman’s underwear stuffed down the side of the sofa.
I’d already done a quick tidy of my bedroom this morning. The spare room where Zoey was staying was clean – I wouldn’t have put her up in there if it wasn’t, but the lounge and kitchen hadn’t experienced a deep clean for – I had no idea. I should’ve done this before Zoey got here, but I had my reasons why I hadn’t thought to.
I still felt bad though. I was a crap host.
I spent the next five hours working around the two cleaners who Amelie had persuaded to help me out, tidying up, filling bin bags and then putting them in my car to take them to the co-operation tip in the morning, while they pulled out furniture, cleaned the carpets and steam cleaned the bathroom and kitchen. I had cleaned sometimes, just not like this.
It was time to grow up in some areas. I wasn’t a student anymore. I wasn’t the kid who’d moved to Puffin Bay when he was sixteen and had realised that he had the world in his hands, doing whatever odd jobs to have some spare cash so his dad didn’t think the only reason he’d gotten to know him was because he had a healthy liver and some cash spare.
The cleaners left at eight, ushering me out of the door with them because they’d done some spray thing in the kitchen and bathroom that got rid of any viruses or bacteria and inhaling it wasn’t advised. It’d been my suggestion rather than theirs because it wasn’t really that bad, I just wanted to go the extra mile.
I locked up the flat and headed down the stairs and up another set to one of the guest rooms Amelie had first opened all those years ago. I’d stayed in them before, many times, occasionally because Amelie’s friends, the Callaghans, were staying and the flat was better because they’d had little kids or sometimes because there was a spare one and I didn’t want to bring a woman back to my flat, or I’d hooked up with a guest – that’d only happened about three times over the years. Zoey had stayed in the rooms too one year when she’d visited, a fleeting couple of nights over Christmas, when she’d felt like my best Christmas present, only I’d never told her that.
We were also sharing a room, which meant we’d probably share the bed. It’d happened a few times, all of which I could remember every minute of because I hadn’t slept a second.
Before I met Zoey I’d known who she was. It was hard not to that summer, the summer I sat my GCSE’s, the exams you did at sixteen. She’d gone viral first as an influencer for make-up tutorials, then a video of her singing a song she’d written blew up. Kids talked about her, loving or hating the trends she was setting, and some kids fancied her. She was pretty and always smiling, long curly blonde hair that shouted girlfriend material and I might’ve had a few dirty thoughts about her while looking at photos on social media. So the day I first met her I’d tied my tongue and told myself I was never going to be that boy who just wanted to say he’d snogged someone famous. My filters were firmly fixed on and, apart from one occasion, I’d never given away that I fancied the pants off the girl who became my best friend.
The guest room was empty of Zoey; just her stuff littered the floor in a more organised manner than mine would be in five minutes. She was still downstairs in the bar for book club, otherwise known as the night all the men avoided the Puffin Inn. We weren’t welcome, as had been discovered the time when book club was breached by Gulliver and Roe, only for them to find themselves sitting in a silent pub, while everyone else read their books or e-readers.
I stripped off and got into the shower, aware that I was absolutely filthy as I felt like my skin was crawling. The flat really hadn’t been that bad superficially. In reality, it was probably a health hazard, or at least the sofa had been. That was now gone, thank fuck.
I turned the water pressure on to its fiercest and the temperature up. The day had gotten colder, and while I’d been hot doing the cleaning, I was cooling down quickly. I felt the water smash against my skin, lathering up my hair with the shampoo made on the island and in all of the bedrooms both here and at the hotel my dad’s company owned. I could’ve stayed there rather than dossing in Zoey’s room, but it felt weird to stay apart from her for a night, and she’d rather stay at Puffin Inn than a hotel, given she’d been living in hotels for the last nine months.
Singing filtered into the bathroom, audible even over the shower. I rinsed off, feeling nicely clean and warm again and turned the water off, wrapping a towel round my waist. I opened the door into the bedroom and saw Zoey sat on the bed, singing True Blue by Madonna of all things, clearly high on female conversation and fizzy wine and having a moment where she could be sixteen again and singing into a hairbrush.
I leaned against the door frame and watched her toss her hair around, adding a rock twist to the song somehow, totally oblivious to her audience. I would’ve joined in, but that would’ve set the seagulls off.
Her head tipped back, hips shaking. It wasn’t exactly an unappealing image. I liked seeing her like this, carefree, happy, totally herself. At some point, she realised I was watching and froze, her eyes locking with mine until she started laughing and half collapsed onto the bed, her gaze leaving my eyes and trailing over my chest and onto the towel.
The laughter stopped.
“I need to get my shorts.” It was the explanation why I was almost naked. “Good performance, by the way. How was wine club?”
“Hilarious.” Her cheeks had tinged pink. “It was book club and we did talk about books. I only had two glasses of prosecco.” Her eyes wandered back to my chest, hovering there.
Those two proseccos had clearly made my abs impressive.
“You could be a backing dancer if I ever tour again.”
I walked over to the bed and sat down next to her. “I could apart from the fact I can’t dance, which you know.”
“You shuffle well. You managed to shuffle with me at Gully and Iris’ wedding reception.” She poked my side with her finger, the nail of which was a different colour than it had been this morning.
“Shuffle is about all I can do. So what gossip do you have?” I captured her hand after she poked my side for the fifth time. “In fact, have a think and you can tell me when I’m in bed like a bedtime story.” I stood up, rearranging the towel.
Her eyes went there again.
I knew I was grinning like a smug bastard. I wasn’t unattractive; I was well aware women were interested in me mainly because I had a buff body, a decent tan and a face that wasn’t ugly. But Zoey was surrounded by attractive men all day every day, even though she said most weren’t interested because she had the wrong pieces and others were arseholes, so her having her eyes fixed on me was kind of a decent boost.
“You could model, you know. You’re not too old.” She pointed to where the outline of my dick was visible through the towel. “Underwear modelling maybe. I could be your agent.”
“I think I’ll stick to measuring plankton in sea water and such things. Back in two.” I grabbed my shorts and a T-shirt and went back into the bathroom, brushing my teeth and getting dressed, my brain screaming at me that this was a bad idea and I should go and sleep in the backroom in the pub, a spare bedroom we kept for staff or punters who were too drunk to get home.
When I came back into the bedroom, Zoe was in bed, her bra on the messy pile of her clothes on the floor, but I could see she was wearing a T-shirt, a Puffin Bay one she’d bought years before.
“Shall I sleep on the floor?” I asked because it was the gracious thing to do. I knew she’d say no. We were old enough to not be tempted just because there was a warm and hot body next to us.
“Give over, just get in. I love this place but it’s still a hotel room.” She pulled the duvet back and I slipped underneath it, the coolness of the sheets soothing.
“I’m sorry your second night’s another hotel room. I didn’t realise how manky the flat was else I would’ve done something about it before you got here.” I really did feel bad about that.
She burrowed under the duvet, sticking an iceblock cold foot on my leg. I inhaled sharply, feeling man enough to take the torture.
“If I’d only been here for a week I’d have been pissed off, but I’m here for a while this time.” She hitched closer to me. “I might just stay.”
I suddenly felt very warm. “In Puffin Bay?”
“In Puffin Bay. There’s land for sale up past my old house – Gully’s place. It has planning permission for residential already so I could design my own home with a recording studio and an annex if I want to get anyone out here to record. That’s one of the things we talked about at book club.” Her feet locked around my leg. “Would you want me living here?”
“It would be different.” I wasn’t sure how to properly answer that. Seeing her more would be great, but it wouldn’t be a holiday anymore. “Good different.”
“I thought you’d be more enthusiastic.” She didn’t smile. “If you’d rather I didn’t, then I won’t. I know this is your special place.”
“It’s yours as well, but would it be less special if you were here all the time?” We had families who came to Puffin Bay every year for a holiday, some parents who’d themselves come here as kids and now brought their own children. It was a place where you created memories and held a sweet spot of an escape from real life.
“You’re right. It would be different. We’d argue more but I’d still look forward to seeing you and I don’t think I can ever get used to the sea and being out there on the boat.” She sat up and walked to the window, pulling open the curtains. This room looked out over the beach to the sea, all of which was in darkness now, just a couple of dots of light on the water where boats were resting for the night.
“See how you feel after a month or so of being here. That’s the longest you’ve ever stayed since that summer.”
She got back in bed. “You’re right. I don’t need to rush into anything. But it’s an idea though.”
“It is.”
She cuddled into me, me still lying on my back, my arm under her and my hand playing with her hair. The distance between us created by our jobs and the differences in our lifestyles had been what’d stopped me from ever wanting more than friendship.
If she was here, what would that mean?
Could we be more?
October, Twelve Years Ago
“I need to ask you a favour.”
We were on my boat and I was just about to moor up at Beaumaris so we could go and get some dinner. It’d been a perfect autumn day and I hadn’t had any classes or tutorials because of something else that was going on at college, so we’d been over to Bangor and walked down the pier, before rambling across Newborough beach and over to Llandwwyn Island where Zoey had become obsessed with the saint of that place and started writing a song about her.
“Ask away. Doesn’t mean I’ll agree.” I put my arm around her shoulders and hugged her into me.
She didn’t respond straight away, which I’d been expecting, along with a request to climb Snowdon or something in the morning or take the ferry over to Dublin. When I caught a glance of her pretty face, I saw she was nervous.
“What’s the favour then?”
“I’m so embarrassed asking you this. Will you take my virginity? I know it’s out of the blue and it’s a weird request and - ” She stopped walking and looked around. “Crap. That was loud. Do you think anyone heard?”
“It’s the end of October. Everyone with any sense is in a pub or a shop.” Because it was bloody freezing only I didn’t feel cold right now. “I don’t think anyone heard you.”
“Good.” Silence again. “Did you hear me?”
“Yes.” Everything in my head felt swimmy.
“Have I just made things weird? I didn’t mean to make things weird I just thought if my first time was with you I could have a good memory with it and if I met someone I wouldn’t feel like I was too inexperienced to do anything, but I get it, you know, if you don’t see me like that and you don’t want to and that’s fine.” The word vomit flew out of her mouth just before the café door opened.
It was a diner, an American style restaurant that did the best burgers, and I was absolutely famished, or at least I had been.
I was eighteen and a walking ball of hormones. My brain consisted of thoughts about sex, food and a small fraction of any other interests, and Zoey was gorgeous.
“Table for two?” The waitress smiled at us. “There’s a cosy table at the back.”
“That’s great. Thank you.” Zoey managed to speak.
I followed them between the tables, not paying much attention to who else was in the place because my head was still swirling with Zoey’s request.
She looked worried when we sat down, stealing little glances at me while I ordered a milkshake, and she got a juice.
As soon as the waitress left, menus open on the table for us to look at, she gently kicked my foot.
“Just say no if you don’t want to, Cay.”
I took a big swallow and looked at her rather than the safety of the menu. “I do want to – I’m an eighteen year old boy and yeah, I don’t say no to things like that. But I don’t want things to be weird after. Can we go back to being just friends?”
“I think so. And you’d be doing me a favour as a friend. I know you won’t hurt me - ” she stopped abruptly. “Have you slept with someone who was a virgin before?”
I nodded.
“I thought you might and I figured that would help – I wouldn’t feel as self-conscious but I don’t want to feel like I’m using you.” She trapped my foot between hers.
I managed a laugh. “I’m not sure you can use an eighteen-year-old lad, Zo.” I was going to say yes because I’d never been able to say no to Zoey, plus I got why she was asking, and I wasn’t that stupid. My first time had been awkward and nervy and messy. It was with someone who’s name I knew, but wasn’t sure if it was actually her real name and as soon as the condom was off after the second time, so was I and she hadn’t wanted me to stay.
“If you’re sure that’s what you want then yes. I’m hardly going to say no.” Willpower was not an area of strength.
Her face brightened. “I won’t have to become a nun?”
That got a proper laugh. “I’ve saved you from that fate. You can change your mind though. At any point.”
Her blonde curls bounced as she shook her head. “I’m not going to change my mind. When? When we get back?”
The waitress came back to take our order.
I chose a burger with no onions and decided to forego the onion rings.
“Tonight? There’s no one at yours, is there?” She toyed with her napkin.
“If you want. You’re back here again in a couple of months so we can wait until then if you need to think about it.” I cracked my knuckles, nerves, excitement, too much blood in my dick instead of my brain to say anything more insightful or reassuring or seductive.
“I have been thinking about it since I told you I’d never slept with anyone. I know you’re experienced and I know you’ll show me what to do. We’d forget it ever happened afterwards.”
I couldn’t resist. “There’s no way you’d forget it ever happened. I’m unforgettable.” My grin was back to its usual self. “Seriously, I’d ruin you for all other men.”
She started to laugh, some of the tension evaporating. “I’ll let you know in ten years time how that’s going. But we’re doing it? And we’ll carry on being friends afterwards?”
“We will. No questions asked.”
That was almost what happened.