7. Zoey
Zoey
I woke thinking about the kiss with Caleb on the beach. I’d tried not to think about it yesterday, after it’d happened, not wanting to focus on one of the things I should be letting myself be swept away with right now. I’d tail spun my life into chaos, had no idea where I was going to live in another few months, what I was going to do next or if things were going to get choppier thanks to the man who was convinced I was his.
I could’ve done without a stalker.
I turned over, the duvet a warm cocoon and I wasn’t convinced I was going to leave it any time soon. Here I could daydream that there’d be more kisses from Caleb, ones that weren’t just practice so our playing at being together looked real.
He’d kissed the same as he had when he was nineteen. Firm, in control, some knowledge held within his lips that he was too young to really have. He’d been stupidly clever, although no one ever talked about that, apart from a couple of girls I’d met who he’d gone to college with. When I’d first come to Puffin Bay, I’d seen what the town had; a beautiful boy who could charm the last mint from Mavis, overflowing with big smiles and genuine interest in people. His charm was authentic, and it drew people to him like chips drew seagulls. Peopling came easy to him, and it still did, although I’d seen that nowadays he liked the time when it was just him and the sea, and maybe me.
He reminded me of Clark Kent, studious and ridiculously sexy underneath his fisherman’s jumpers and beanie hats, and I had no idea why some gorgeous girl hadn’t managed to snap him up. Guilt snaked into the bed with me. While we were charading as a couple, he wouldn’t be snapped up by anyone.
I remembered the conversation we’d had about me living here, how it might be weird if either of us did meet someone else. Caleb had been an issue for boyfriends I’d had; they’d never quite understood why I spoke to another man every other day, exchanged stupid videos of animals doing odd things with him, and knew about most of his goings on.
Maybe moving here wasn’t a good idea. We’d be cockblocking each other.
I snuggled under the duvet, burrowing into it like I was hibernating, which was what maybe this was. Puffin Bay was my sanctuary, my safe place, the place I could be me without worrying about making sure my make-up was fixed or if I looked like the celebrity the paparazzi expected me to be.
I understood why Caleb hadn’t moved away.
My daydreaming about a house that overlooked the Menai Strait with a view that changed with the seasons was rudely interrupted with a knock on the bedroom door.
“I’ve made you a brew.” Caleb’s voice rang through the wood. “And I think there’s something you should see.”
“I sat up, pulling the duvet up as high as it would go, enjoying its warmth.
“Come in. I’m decent.” Just because he’d seen it once before didn’t mean he wanted to see it again. There’d been a time when I’d tried to entice him with low cut tops and short skirts, and he’d been completely oblivious. The favour he’d done when he’d accepted my virginity had been a one and only, it seemed.
Caleb entered carrying a tray laden with two mugs of tea and pastries, which I suspected were from the cakery.
“Another good thing about retiring from recording and being on stage – I can eat what I like.” I nabbed a cinnamon roll, which were my all-time favourite.
Caleb looked amused. “You can definitely do that.” He sat on the end of the bed after putting the tray down on the bedside table.
“What do you think I need to see?”
He shook his head at his phone that was now out of his pocket, opening up something. “This.” He handed me the device,
A photo of Caleb and me filled the screen. It was an old picture, probably from about two years ago when we’d been in Manchester for a day to do some Christmas shopping, mooching about the Christmas markets there. I zoomed out to read the article, fully suspecting that it would’ve been leaked by my publicist under the instruction of Carissa.
It’d been posted by a celebrity gossip magazine, one that an acquaintance of mine worked for. He’d been helpful over the years, kind to quash down drama that would’ve been upsetting for me, and equally all over any tidbit that I gave him that was positive. This picture had definitely been provided by my team, one I’d guarded, only sharing it with them yesterday.
It was a selfie taken next to a research vessel in a remote part of Norway. I’d flown out to spend a couple of days with Caleb when he’d been briefly docked there. It was taken just before he headed off again and we were both laughing – I remember someone on the crew having just eaten rakfisk, a type of smoked fish that they’d really not liked, and they’d made a comical drama out of it. The wind had been almost wild, and my hair told that story. I’d been make-up free and stress-free, and I loved the light in my eyes and the smile on Caleb’s face.
“It’s one we said they could use.”
He nodded, eyes too serious. “From a while ago. And the geolocation, if Peter Cash can work it out is Norway.”
“The police think he’s savvy with all that sort of stuff.” I glanced down at the comments, just the first few. “Aw, people think you’re cute. Someone thinks you’re punching above your weight.” I was used to the negativity that laced anything on social media. You put yourself out there and people thought it was fair game to just be plain awful. Caleb knew that – I knew he checked out what I posted on socials and would look at some of the comments. Our friendship had drawn people to his accounts, which were mainly photos taken from a boat or about sea creatures or the environment. He’d amassed his own following, although I doubted he could tell me how many followers he had, but he didn’t give it too much thought.
“I’m punching above my weight?” He frowned, his lips curved in amusement though. “Maybe I need to up my photo-game?” He lifted an arm and showed off his bicep. “Can’t have people thinking you’re under performing.”
I batted his bicep with my hand. “Put the guns away.” I carried on scanning a few more comments. “There’s speculation we’ve gotten married and I’m pregnant, which is why I’m retiring from performing.”
“We suspected that would happen.” He lay back on my bed. “Do you think we should head into Manchester or Liverpool and you can upload some new photos?”
“How about Snowdon?”
“Yr Wyddfa,” he corrected me.
“Yr Wyddfa,” I really struggled with Welsh pronunciations. It sounded like er widfa , but it just wouldn’t stick. “I don’t feel like going back to a city at the moment.”
“We can go there. There’s nothing else you need to do today?” He pulled a blanket I’d thrown over the bed over him.
“Were you planning on something?”
“A nap. I need to make a start on writing up the research, but I can do that this evening.”
“Why do you need a nap? What time did you wake up?” This was typical Caleb. He liked his late morning naps, to be fair, he liked all naps equally.
“Six. I’ve already been out on the boat while you were giving it zeds.” He sat up, running his hand through his hair and looking just like the same boy I’d met when I was seventeen, only bigger and buffer and with thicker stubble. “Some of us aren’t princesses lounging in bed all day.”
“Some of us aren’t old men who need naps.” I poked him in his side. “You really don’t care about your face being shown on social media and people gossiping about us, do you?”
“Not in the slightest. It doesn’t make any difference in my world. People know where I’m based though, so Cash is going to figure out you’re here. That’s why it might be better if we go to Manchester or Liverpool for a couple of days.” He took his phone back off me and put it down on the bed. “Let Cash think we’re not here at the moment.”
“Are you worried if he does come to Puffin Bay?”
“Only about what I’d do to him if he comes near you.” His words were jolly enough, but there was steel behind them.
“I have security. You know Roe Holland is a genius at tracking people online.” I had to have faith that I was going to be okay because if I didn’t, I’d become a recluse.
Caleb shrugged and glanced out of the window. “Shame. Anyway, do you want to walk up Yr Wyddfa anyway? It’s been years since we did that.”
“I’d like to. Then I’ll feel miles away from microphones and executives and people.” Which sounded like bliss.
“I’m still a person.” He managed to look offended.
“You don’t count. Clear off and I’ll get ready. Is the weather okay for it?”
He looked out of the window towards the sea. “Should be fine. I’ll go and get the kit together and see what I can pack for lunch from the kitchen. How long will you be?”
“Half an hour.”
“Likely story.”
I was actually ready to leave with walking boots on in just under thirty-five minutes, no make-up needed, and my hair tamed into a messy bun that was stuck in place with hairspray. I didn’t look like people would expect me to, wild and dressed in outdoor wear that was practical rather than pretty. This was another thing about the island: there were enough places, restaurants and pubs, to warrant dressing up to go out occasionally, but for most of it, it was for practical pursuits, walking and climbing, wild swimming and beachcombing.
“You look like you already live here.” Caleb confirmed what I’d been thinking. “Maybe you’ll be the next Mavis.”
“There’ll never be another Mavis.” I shook my head, remembering the old woman who’d almost ruled Puffin Bay. She’d known everything that’d gone on in the town and very little was ever done without her permission. After she’d died, there’d been a sea fret that’d set in for days, like the place was actually in mourning and not just the people. When it’d cleared, it’d left the brightest winter day and then an afternoon of rare snow, just enough to have the kids euphoric and the Puffin Inn fill up with locals to toast Mavis.
I’d been here for the three weeks after she’d died, a break between touring around America and Europe, and it’d been the thing that kept me going. I needed my base to be here whatever happened next.
“I’d love to be the next Mavis.”
“I think you’ve already been beaten to that status by Clover, thinking about it.” He started the engine of his battered four by four. “I’ve told her what gossip she can pass on.” He ran me through what he’d said about us, mentioning to her about Peter Cash because Clover would be one of the first people to notice if anyone off was hanging around.
Clover had lived in Puffin Bay all her life, knew everyone and everything that went on in the town, just like Mavis had, and loved to drop a bit of harmless gossip. She was married to Grayson, the town’s doctor, who obviously knew what confidentiality was, and was the mother of three cute kids as well as being a freelance editor for some well-known authors, and I’d always loved her quirk. Caleb was right though; she would be the new Mavis. I wondered how Grayson would feel about that.
“Which path are we taking up the mountain?” Yr Wyddfa was the second highest mountain in the United Kingdom, and the highest in England and Wales. It was a popular climb and some areas had been eroded by tourists’ feet and litter. I had no doubt that Caleb had stowed a pair of gloves and a bin bag to collect rubbish that’d been carelessly dropped on the way down.
“Rhyd Ddu. I don’t think you’ve done that one before. Thane and I walked it a couple of months ago and I think you’ll be okay on it. We should be back down just before dusk as long as we keep up a good pace.” He changed the station on the radio, one of my songs coming on which made us both laugh, like it always had done.
I started singing along, the track about a woman who’d broken free from a job she hated, no romance in it, no sexy references, just a straight up track about stepping away from the patriarchy. I’d written it after a meeting with the record label execs who’d wanted me to do a risqué photoshoot so in their words, I could ‘shake off the teeny-bopper image for once and for all’. It was one of my favourite songs and I yelled it at the top of my voice while we meandered along country roads, crossing over the Menai Bridge onto the mainland and towards the Snowdonia Mountain range, leaves coating the trees in many colours now that the seasons were properly on the change.
We parked up, falling into a familiar pattern as we strapped rucksacks onto our backs, distributing the weight a little more evenly, and taking a quick selfie with the start of the path behind us.
I uploaded it to social media with a caption about being free as a bird. There were lots of things to read into that which would irritate Charlie-boy, and as an added bonus, tease my fans, and if Peter Cash was thinking me and Caleb were in the past because of the date of the photo posted this morning, this would underline Caleb and I were happening now.
Which still sounded weird.
Caleb and I.
Me and Caleb.
I was aware of his gaze coming my way as we started along the path, the scenery shockingly divine in its autumn wear, red and oranges and golds striking against the blue grey of the day.
“You look more like you.” He adjusted the beanie hat he had on.
“I’m not sure what that means. How can I look more like me?”
“Hiking up mountains. Paddleboarding. Looking for shells on the beach. You smile differently when you’re doing stuff like that,” he said gruffly, looking back at the mountains still far ahead.
“Maybe I should start a company doing adventure tours in North-Wales.”
“You’d have to get up too early for that. Maybe you should do what you’re planning and move here. Build a recording studio and write songs for other artists, then you can do this whenever you want.”
“Maybe you’re right. I was right to think of that. I wasn’t sure you wanted me living here. Thought I’d cramp your style.”
He didn’t say anything at first, and I wondered whether I’d hit a nerve, one that seemed to be strangely prominent, but then I saw that he was looking at something else.
“Is that a drone?”
Caleb laughed, his eyes creasing, mirth dancing in them. “No, city girl, it’s a red kite. A bird of prey.”
I watched, unoffended by his words, the bird hovering before swooping down probably to catch its chosen snack. “I love it here.”
“It’s why I never left.”
We carried on walking, chatting about everything and nothing, the path sometimes steep and challenging. The weather stayed clear, the sky staying grey, the physical labour keeping us warm. We’d done this through the years, walking places that were remote, escaping from the clamour of people and things to where it felt clearer, calmer. It was the same when we were out at sea, only each other to be silent with against the call of the gulls and the wind.
My thoughts wandered through the paths I was on at the moment: my career, which I was determined to redirect, to figure out myself where I wanted it to go, rather than the people who had something to gain from my being almost their puppet; where I lived now that I didn’t need to be in London so much; my stalker and what course he would choose to take; and who I spent my time with.
I glanced behind me at Caleb, who’d come to a sudden stop, looking out from the ridge we were walking along. His profile was silhouetted by the October sun, his features looking like they were carved out of stone. With his hands in his pockets and his backpack at his feet, he looked like he’d stepped from the pages of some glossy travel magazine.
“Finding it tricky?” It was a joke, of course. I was fit from dancing on stage and the gruelling physicality of touring, but Caleb was fit from everyday graft, helping out Thane with the boats and then the same at the University, even though they had a department that did that. He shifted barrels around the Puffin Inn and moved, moved so much. This walk was nothing to him even though it wasn’t easy.
“I could do this carrying you at the same time as both our backpacks.” His face shifted as he grinned, turning his body to me instead of the view.
“I could test that brag.” I could feel myself smiling hard back. “I won’t. I wouldn’t want your male ego to be bruised.” I paused, watching him. “Why’ve you stopped?”
“The view. This spot.” He shrugged. I walked over to him, automatically touching him. “I came up here with my great-grandad about a year before he died.”
“Was he hunting a rare strain of cannabis or something?” We both laughed. Caleb’s grandfather had a hobby of cultivating different strains of certain plants, on a small scale and for medicinal use as he’d explained it.
“Could’ve been. It wouldn’t have surprised me. We just came up for a walk before his health declined and this spot reminds me of him and that day.” He looked back over the ridge.
“Why this spot of all the different views from here?”
“He was talking about his life in general, which parts he looked back on as the best times and how they weren’t always the ones you’d expect. He wasn’t being maudlin, just reflective. It was interesting. Want some coffee?” Caleb bent down to rummage in the backpack for the flask he’d prepped.
“Please. Thank you.” I bent down to help, holding the cups, the soft smell of milky coffee like a soft blanket. “You made it how I like it.”
“Like coffee for a three year old.” He shook his head at me, still smiling. “Odd.”
“I prefer sweet things.” I really did, and now I could eat and drink more of them. We stood back up again, sipping the too-hot coffee. The view was amazing especially because there wasn’t a single other person around. “You should’ve done a flask of the tar you drink for you.”
He shook his head. “I can cope for a day. And I don’t mind drinking this.”
I watched him finish his drink, his eyes back on the view, maybe thinking about his great grandad or maybe thinking about food – that was never far from Caleb’s mind. My chest felt a little warmer, my stomach flipping in a way that made me feel ten years younger.
How no woman had managed to lure Caleb into something more serious than a brief fling was a mystery to me. He was the complete deal – gorgeous, clever, kind, funny, although his obsession with all things to do with the ocean could get a little tedious at times. He was also extremely untidy, slept like the dead and denied snoring. For some women, that would be an automatic search for an escape exit.
“I can hear you thinking.” He raised his brows and shook his head slowly. “You’re wondering how you got so lucky to have such a handsome fake boyfriend.”
“Completely. I’m waiting for you to start eating loads of garlic to make sure I know you’ve got a flaw.”
“There’s garlic on my sandwich actually. Just so you know. If you want to get another selfie of us together, you might want to do it before I eat.” He tidied up the flask and cups, his backpack more organised that anything else he possessed.
“Garlic aioli, by any chance?” It was one of his favourite sauces. The information acquired about a person over time was interesting.
“Got it in one. I made you beetroot and goat’s cheese.”
Which was my favourite. “You made them?”
“I am capable of making a sandwich.”
“An edible one?”
“Really? You have that little faith in my cooking skills? I’m proficient in more than one department, you know.” His wink told me exactly what he was referring to.
I remembered what he was referring to only too well, which was a shame, really. He’d been eighteen and that time had wrecked me for any other man since, not that I’d told Caleb that.
“Well, you’re not alluding to cleaning, are you? Maybe fixing boats? Or something that happened a long time ago that I can barely remember.” Lie.
“Shall we take a selfie before we set off or do you want to wait until after I’ve eaten? My sandwich is smothered in aioli.” He opened his arms in an over-dramatic fashion.
I freed my phone from out of my pocket and stepped into his arms, stretching out my arm to take the photo.
Caleb posed confidently, staring at the screen, then pressing his lips to my cheek, my smile beaming without needing to be forced. He looked like a doting boyfriend and I was grinning like this was the best day ever.
When he let go, I felt the cold nip for the first time.
“We should carry on.”
“Need me to carry you, Rave?” The old nickname, short for Raven.
“I can manage, just about.” I proceeded to give him my usual spiel about how hard touring was, and we entered a competition about who had it harder, our usual debate, that carried us right to the top.
Ten Years Ago
“Are you sure we’re allowed to walk up here?” I wasn’t convinced because it looked like we were in a farmer’s field and through the gap in the hedge I could see at least one bull. It could’ve been a cow, but my gut told me it was a bull. My gut also told me I should be heading back the other way.
“Do you think it’s going to rain?” The girl Caleb was kind of seeing gazed at him as if he could produce a full meteorological report on the spot. She was called Angel, probably short for Angela, and I could see why she was his latest casual girlfriend. She was the same height as me, five nine or so, and had the sort of bone structure that would’ve had my mother trying to set up a modelling agency. Long dark hair and long dark eyelashes made her look exotic even though she was from Birmingham and had a slight Black Country twang. Angel was a student at Caleb’s university, studying English which she was passionate about, although what she really wanted to do was to act.
It was the first time I’d really met anyone Caleb was dating, most of the time if he was seeing someone and I was visiting the island, he’d put off seeing them when I was around, so this time was different, and I’d figured why.
“We can walk up here; it’s a public footpath but I know the farmer who owns the fields anyway.” He grinned at me, glancing to where the bulls were, knowing exactly why I was trying to find an excuse to turn back around. “And it’s not going to do any more than spit.” He gave Angel a different grin, one which held secrets and promises.
I looked away, preparing to meet my fate with the bulls, which was possibly a better option than watching Caleb fawn over Angel.
The third wheel was a very accurate label right now, and as much as I wanted to hang out with my best friend, I didn’t want the payoff for that to be watching him and his latest booty call make cow eyes at each other.
“They’re not bulls.” Caleb had stridden over to me. “They’re cows and they’ll move when we go over the style.”
“How do you know they’re not bulls?”
“Because they don’t have penises.”
He had a point.
A whiff of trendy perfume warned me that Angel was near. I braced myself and smiled, something I was pre-programmed to do when usually meeting the bosses at my record label.
“I think those cows are cute.” Angel gave me a smile that was equally as false. “Although I’m not sure why you want to hang out here with them when you could be in New York or L.A. or somewhere glamorous.”
I snided a glance at Caleb who was unsurprisingly looking away.
“I like the change of scenery and a chance to be authentic. If you spend too much time in London, L.A. and New York you lose something of yourself. This is where I feel most at home.” It wasn’t a lie, although I wasn’t proud of showing off where I did hang out.
“You’re so lucky. How fortunate was it that you went viral with that video where you were singing? I wish something of mine had taken off like that.” Angel’s smile wasn’t quite forced.
I could give her the benefit of the doubt and take it as just her being friendly, trying to get to know her boyfriend’s best friend. Or, I could be wary, because like so many others had tried, she was seeking an in, a way to get noticed, which could be name dropping or sharing a photo on her socials with me in it. I had no reason to trust her.
“It was lucky.” That was all she was getting. I’d leave out the sob stories about the amount of dancing and singing lessons my mother had taken me to, the strict regimes and restrictions on what I could do. I loved singing and writing songs, so I was invested, and I totally trusted my mother when she’d said that I needed to believe her when all she was trying to do was to help me have my dream career.
“When do you film the videos to your songs? I’ve always been curious about how that works.”
She was walking next to me now. The only way to put a little bit of distance between us was for me to walk closer to the bulls – cows, according to Caleb. “It depends on what the plan is. Sometimes we film a few together, other times it might be ad hoc.”
“I thought the video for Dancing Lights was amazing. I loved the acting in that.”
There we had it. This was why she’d come for a walk with us.
“Thank you. I loved playing that role.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “That was you?”
I nodded. I actually liked doing the videos more than performing, which was why they were generally theatrical. I could become one of the characters my songs were about and escape a little. “I usually appear in the videos but the make-up department like to disguise me.”
“Do you think you’ll be filming a new video soon? I’d love to be in one, even if it’s a small part.” She was dripping with enthusiasm.
“There are no plans at the moment, but when we do, if there’s a part in, I’ll get Caleb to tell you and pass on the details.” I managed another smile, catching Caleb’s eye, but he looked uncomfortable at the exchange.
“I can just give you my number. I’m down in London in a couple of weeks so we could meet up for a coffee or cocktail. It’d be really good to get to know you better – Caleb has told me loads about you.” She cast him an adoring look which he didn’t return.
“I’m not in London until after Christmas now. I’m headed to Los Angeles after this week to record a new album, so I’ll miss you. Maybe next time?” If Caleb was true to form, Angel wouldn’t even be stored in the contacts of his phone in another week or two, and there’d be a replacement on the way. “Is that a lapwing?” I looked at Caleb, hoping he would help me take a way out of this topic of conversation.
“You’re right.” He sent a grin my way and pointed out something else which distracted Angel away from me and music videos.
We sat in his dad’s living room that evening with pizza and beer, watching re-runs of Frasier on TV. This was the first time we’d seen each other since we’d slept together, although we’d been in touch at least every other day.
We hadn’t spoken about it. What had happened had been a one off, as agreed. I’d had a kind of boyfriend since, and Caleb had mentioned at least three different girls’ names. He’d done what I’d asked him to help me with.
I hadn’t accounted for the soft ache in my chest when I saw him with Angel though. I knew how it was to be held in his arms; I knew how it felt to have him kiss me. My body still remembered what it was like when he was inside of me and it wouldn’t be opposed to a repeat, something he couldn’t know.
Because that wasn’t us. We were those two nights and apart from that, friends.
“Angel seems nice.” I decided to address the small elephant in the room.
Caleb shrugged. “She’s okay. I think she wants more than I do, though.”
“So what’s new there?” This was the usual story.
“Nothing, I suppose. I’m sorry she badgered you into the music video stuff.”
“I didn’t agree to anything, Cay. And it’s not the first time that’s happened.” I stretched my legs out onto the footstool. Usually, I’d have just rested them over Caleb’s knee, but he had a girlfriend who I’d met and that felt wrong.
“I did ask her to not ask you for anything. She was really curious about you and how we knew each other, and she said she was cool with us just being friends.” He looked up at the ceiling. “I guess she’s not that bad of an actress.”
I laughed. “Probably not. At least she didn’t get any photos.”
“True. I’m going to call it off with her anyway.” He scrolled through his phone, Frasier forgotten for now. “We didn’t get a photo today though.”
Usually, every day we were together, we took a selfie, joking about how we’d one day be able to compare who’d aged better. Today there had been no photos when it seemed obvious that Angel was looking to drop my name in where she could.
“Come’ere.” He roughly wrapped an arm around my shoulders, pulling me closer to him. For a moment, I held my breath, remembering the last time we’d been this close, what’d happened afterwards.
He held up his camera, our faces appearing on the screen. We already looked older than in the last photo we’d taken.
“Send it me.”
He nodded.
It was my phone’s wallpaper for the next year.