8. Caleb
Caleb
I didn’t really do anger.
As a kid, I’d apparently been good natured and easy going. My one tantrum had been over a toy car and the son of my mum’s friend refusing to let me have it, even though it was mine. Aside from that, I preferred to sort situations that were irritating the fuck out of me by either leaving them, or finding a path forward.
However, Peter Cash hadn’t been on my dance card before, which was having a boiling effect on my blood and the prospect of time inside at His Majesty’s pleasure an option if it meant I could put my hands around his throat and squeeze.
The photos we’d taken from our walk up Yr Wyddfa had been posted on her social media, so far racking up half a million views. She’d also gotten me to take a video of her reaching the summit of the mountain, one where she brought her hands together to make a heart. That’d gone viral – so far so good.
It’d taken another week for Peter Cash to get in touch, this time through the enquiries email of the Puffin Inn, and what he’d sent wasn’t pretty. It would’ve been worse, and for all he knew, it had been this bad, but Roe and his team had put a filter on the email for key words and whatever other things he was tracking, so Amelie or Alys didn’t open it. None of us knew what was actually contained in the narrative, but it was clear Cash knew where Zoey was staying.
The psychologist was back on a video call again, along with the police and members of the security team, a strategy meeting that I was invited to, because there might be some risk to me as well.
“It’s highly unlikely that someone with Cash’s profile would try to harm the people around Zoey, unless he perceives them to be likely to harm her, or as a threat towards him. But we don’t know how this would look for him, or how he’s interpreting what he’s seeing around Zoey at present.”
“So what would you advise Zoey to do to minimise any threat?”
“Carry on as she would do normally. She can’t control his reactions. He’s going to be upset she’s in a relationship, and this has seemingly brought her performances to a close, which is where he’s likely to have first felt he’d made a connection with her. My guess is he was employed as security for a gig Zoey did and maybe spoke to her, thought she was kind, and in his head it’s developed into a full-blown secret relationship. Key advice, do not let it get out that the relationship between her and Caleb isn’t real.”
That had stung.
The relationship between her and Caleb isn’t real.
The psychologist was right, of course. It wasn’t a real relationship, just a close friendship, where the lines had been crossed once.
We wanted to draw Cash out, have him do something else that we could manage the fallout from, and have him arrested for more than breaking and entering Zoey’s house, something that would see him incarcerated for a while.
Plans were made, vague ones that would be beefed up and then enacted by Roe and Killian O’Hara’s team, not ones that the police were privy to.
In the meantime, Zoey and I were off to London for a few days with two tasks on our list: meet with a team that were clearing out her house now that it’d been sold, and being seen together as much as possible in public, looking as loved up as we could.
Which was an utter paradox. It wasn’t going to be hard to act like I was loved up with Zoey. The hard part was not letting it feel real.
This last fortnight had been torture, the sort that tickled your feet to the point of making you screech, only you couldn’t pull your feet away. We’d spent time on the island, doing normal shit: going out on the boat, helping Amelie at the bar. Zoey babysat Gully’s kids and ended up hanging out with Fleur and Freya a ton, in between writing songs that sounded different from her usual stuff. I’d carried on with my research and the other projects I had fingers in, seeing some of my PhD students and starting the preparations for the trip to the Antarctic after Christmas, a trip that I didn’t know how to approach.
But I wasn’t focused on that, I was concentrating on not making it obvious that I was looking for someone in the crowd, namely Peter Cash.
We were at a gala, a celebrity one to raise money for a children’s hospital, one that had close ties to my family as Amelie’s friend’s daughter had been treated there for a heart condition – very successfully. It was one of the few events that Zoey hadn’t stripped from her diary, and it was exactly what the psychologist had suggested, agreed upon by the security team so it was a win-win.
Kind of.
“You’re sure you’re okay with this?” She asked me the same question as she had six times since we’d been picked up in the limo.
“I’m fine with it. The menu looked good, at least.”
She stuck her tongue out at me but still looked beautiful. It was a black-tie gala, an excuse for Zoey to get dressed up and have her hair and make-up done, which she didn’t exactly hate. I was in a tux, hair also attended to by hands that weren’t mine, and my stubble could be classified as designer.
“It’s always about food with you.”
“I can’t really deny that.” One of the perks was the restaurants we were down to go to while we were here. I liked eating out, trying new things. That’d been another benefit of the research I’d done; I’d travelled, tasting local delicacies and dishes, some of which I hadn’t repeated, others I’d mentioned to Amelie and hoped she’d experimented with them.
“Well, if we can get in there looking like the lovebirds we’re meant to be, you can eat as many canapés as you wish.” She patted my thigh.
I captured her shoulders with my arm thrown round them and pulled her close to me, nuzzling her neck, something I’d learned long ago that she liked. “We’re good at this. You know how many girlfriends I’ve had who’ve ended it because they thought there was something going on between us?”
“None.”
“Really?” I frowned. “At least six.”
“Six? I didn’t know you’d had six casual affairs where they’d made it to girlfriend status.” She genuinely looked shocked.
“I’ve had at least that. But Alina, Terri, Persina, Lexi, Michelle and Hadley all hated how I’d text you back straight away and cancel stuff with them. Don’t feel bad about it.”
She laughed at me. “I won’t. I didn’t realise you went out with insecure women.”
I actually didn’t think they were insecure. Michelle had been around for six months, a professor in the maths department, and we’d clicked, having a lot of fun one semester. We’d almost discussed carrying it on when she moved to Liverpool to take up a promotion there, but she’d turned down the idea. She’d told me I was too into someone else even if I didn’t know it.
I did know it. So I didn’t argue the point and the case was made.
“I wouldn’t call them that. Looks like we’re here.” It was late afternoon and even though the clocks had gone back the weekend before, it was still just about light.
A red carpet had been rolled out, paparazzi circling like seagulls around chips, and fans littered either side of the carpet which had been cordoned off. Security was prominent and I also knew we had some of Killian O’Hara’s team around too, although the brief had been for us to just enjoy the event.
The chauffeur opened the door and offered a hand to help Zoey out. She moved with ease, totally used to such events. Her smile was bright and full, and she looked the part of the favourite singer of so many people.
The crowd was deafening, lights going off, her name called by journalists and fans. I took hold of her hand like we’d agreed, and kissed her cheek. Her free hand rested briefly on my chest as she lifted her lips to mine for another kiss, and another cheer went up.
I followed her along the carpet as she signed a few bits for fans that had probably gathered here just to see her, aware of security, aware of the hundreds of people, of which Peter Cash could’ve been one, but aware most of Zoey and how she fluttered around me, touches, leaning in towards me, another kiss.
It was when we got to the top of the carpet, posing for official photos for the event that the crowd began to chant.
Kiss. Kiss. Kiss.
I knew how to put on a show, and this one came with its own reward.
“Ready?” I mouthed the word. She nodded and I didn’t give it another thought, dipping her down in a dramatic fashion, just like I’d once seen my dad do with Amelie.
Unlike Amelie, who’d kissed him back ever so briefly before throwing him down on the floor and telling him if he did that again in public he’d lose his balls, Zoey hooked her leg up over my hip, knowingly flashing smooth skin because of the split that hit her thigh. Her arms hooked around me and she kissed me back, her mouth parting and the kiss went deeper than planned.
I had no idea how much of this was pretend.
A cheer went up, loud enough to bring us to a smooth stop, and Zoey giggled at me. “Have you destroyed my lipstick?”
“Not well enough.” I didn’t even think about my answer.
A reporter interrupted, holding out a microphone. We’d gone through what might be asked over breakfast, and I didn’t get fazed with things like this. I knew I wasn’t ugly and I knew I generally said the right things, and the media would rather hear from Zoey than me.
This was also the first time any of them had gotten a chance to ask her about her retirement.
“Zoey, Bea David from Entertainment This Week. It’s great to see you here. We weren’t sure that you’d be attending given your recent announcement.”
Bea was well polished and put together. I vaguely recognised her from something before.
“This cause is close to my heart. I’ve visited a few times to see some of the patients, so there was no way I’d miss out on this, and it’s nice to get dressed up for a gala!” She lit the area up with her smile.
“So, is it true? You’re no longer performing?” Bea leaned in closer.
“It’s true. I have one last album on my contract, which is going to have a completely different feel, and then there’ll be a break from me recording anything for the time being. I’ve been doing this – and it’s been such a privilege - for fourteen years, so I’m giving myself permission to try something different.” She was word perfect, not missing a beat and carrying all the enthusiasm genuinely.
“And you’re in a relationship – this is huge! With your best friend.” Bea turned to me. “We’ve seen you in Zoey’s photos for years and you’ve amassed quite a following on social media yourself. How does it feel to be dating your best friend?”
I glanced at Zoey, gave her a smile, and hoped I could carry this off myself. It shouldn’t be difficult.
I just needed to believe it was actually true.
“Like it was always meant to be.” I shrugged. “We met when she was seventeen and I was sixteen and we’ve been friends since. I guess we both just had to grow up before we could get to this stage.”
Bea smiled at me, clearly happy with my answer. “So Zoey, have you been secretly pining for Caleb for years?”
I watched her face as she answered, wondering if I’d read anything there.
“Have you seen him? Of course I have. He has this long list of girlfriends who’ll be telling their mates that they were right all along. Sometimes the slow burn gives you more heat than fireworks that fade away too quickly.” She let me pull her closer into me, her arms around my waist, her slight glance up at me making me grin back even though I knew it wasn’t real.
“So is Caleb the reason why you’re taking a break?”
“No, not at all. Caleb’s known me since this was all beginning. He has his own career that takes him on adventures and we’ve always supported each other wherever those adventures have taken us, so we’ll just carry on as we were. Just with some extra spice.” She leaned closer into me still, her hand on my shoulder, and looked up at me, her lips parting.
I kissed her, which sent the reporter into a bit of a hot haze as she spoke back to the camera filming us, leaving us to head into the hotel where the gala was taking place, catching her comments about needing to cool down.
I kept hold of Zoey’s hand, following the route laid out, security and staff dotted around. It was a high-profile event with a couple of Hollywood actors due to attend, famous sporting personalities and other singers. I knew Otter Penhaligon was at our table with her husband, Ryan O'Connell who’d played for Manchester Athletic, and the cousin of Amelie’s Callaghan friends, Maven Green who was an award-winning theatre director and her actor husband, Anthony Dewhurst, would also be there. I’d attended a couple of events with her years ago and it wasn’t exactly a hardship. I could schmooze with the best of them, which was what I was focusing on.
Not the feel of her skin under my hand and not the sound of her laughter; I needed to box those away for analysis later when I could steep myself in tangled threads of confusion about how she might actually feel.
“Champagne?”
There was no other answer but yes to that. At least that was straightforward.
“I know we’ve known each other for nearly forever, but we haven’t got any plans to get married anytime soon.” Zoey squeezed my hand, which could be translated into don’t laugh and behave .
“What do you think about that Caleb?” It was an older woman asking questions who I felt I should know but couldn’t place. We were too far into a conversation to ask what her name was now and I suspected as soon as Zoey told me who she was, I’d be kicking myself.
I squeezed Zoey’s hand back. I would behave right now. “We’ve only been a couple for a few months. I think we want more of that.”
The woman nodded, looking from me to Zoey with interest. “Don’t wait too long and don’t overthink things. That’d be my advice.”
“Thank you,” Zoey said before the returning the woman’s air kisses and watching her walk over to greet someone else.
“Who was that?”
Zoey laughed at me, turning around so we were face to face. “Didn’t you recognise her? It was Renee Dean, the country singer.”
“Really? I had no idea.” I was stopped from trying to justify my ignorance by the lights dimming and the band that’d been playing background music fading out.
An announcement was made, introducing a singer who was part of the price point for the tickets. A low, smooth voice filled the room, the start of a slow song that I knew was a fan favourite.
“Want to dance?” I took hold of Zoey’s hand. If we were dancing we wouldn’t need to talk and I would further delay saying something I couldn’t take back. The champagne and whisky served at the end of dinner – excellent – had made me feel loose-lipped.
I wanted to tell her things.
I wanted to talk to her about how easy it was to pretend to be in love with her, because I was.
I wanted to tell her how I didn’t think this should be fake, and why couldn’t we give it chance for real.
I wanted to tell her that the reason I hadn’t had a serious relationship was because no one measured up to her, but that I knew she didn’t feel the same.
“Let’s dance,” She whispered, her hand against the back of my neck, moving with me to the dance floor.
It was easy to take her in my arms and sway, holding her close enough so no one would doubt that we were together, but not close enough to torture myself even more.
“Have you enjoyed tonight?” She shifted tortuously closer.
“I have. It’s been fun. I hope we’ve been convincing.” I knew we had.
“I think we have them all fooled.” She looked up at me, bringing us to a stop, her fingers threading through my hair. “Let’s make sure though.”
It was easy to kiss her as well, her taste familiar, her touch exotic but known. My hands went to her waist, covering the flair of her hips and pulling her closer.
“This is too easy, Zo,” I said before moving my head away.
“What do you mean?” Her hands tightened on my shoulders now. “It’s too easy?”
I silently cursed myself for saying it. “It doesn’t matter.” I kept my words soft. “It doesn’t feel awkward.”
“Probably because we’ve done all this before.” She relaxed again, pressing another brief kiss to my lips, her heels giving her more of an advantage than usual.
“A long time ago.” But I remembered it like it was yesterday.
“Still feels like a week ago.”
We started to move to the music again, her body closer to mine than it was before. “Did you ever regret it?” This was the first time we’d ever spoken about it, at least face to face.
“Never. I wished I’d been able to stay longer and it’d carried on.” Her hand slid down over my chest, slipping round to my back, its trail intimate, lessening the space in my lungs.
“I wonder how it would’ve gone?”
She shrugged and half laughed, not taking her eyes from mine. “I think I would’ve had the better end of the deal. You’re still the best I had.”
That hadn’t been what I was expecting her to say and my mind was short in coming up with a response. My ego, however, had no problem. “I’m not surprised.”
“Caleb!” She laughed, slapping gently at my stomach, but her hand stayed there. “We’ve both had a lot of champagne.”
“We have.”
“People can make mistakes because of champagne.”
“They can.”
“Do you believe that good mistakes can happen?” She looked far too hopeful.
“Can I just check if you’re suggesting I try to take your virginity again?” I needed to make sure I was on the same page.
I felt her body shake as she laughed. “I’m not sure that’s possible, but we can research it though – the losing of the virginity twice part.”
“I think we should call our car and see what we think when we get back to the hotel.” We weren’t staying at the gala venue as Zoey preferred a hotel that was more private, and who was I to argue?
“Is that your way of changing the subject, Cay? Do you not want another night?”
I glided my finger over her cheek, down to her lips, tracing them. “I do want another night – I’d be a fool not to – but not tonight.”
“Why?”
“Because we both need a cool off period before going through with it. A bit like the first time round, if we’re sticking with a re-do.” Too much champagne, too much pretending.
“I don’t see your point but maybe that’s because of the champagne. Let’s go though. I think I’m done pretending to pretend for tonight.”
Those last few words ran through my head in the short limo ride back to the hotel, on a loop that was only slightly less irritating than a stuck record on my dad’s player – and one of his favourite rock tracks.
I think I’m done pretending to pretend for tonight.
We headed to the hotel bar for a nightcap, one last drink before we went to our suite where I’d either sleep on the sofa or cave in and sleep with her. We’d only arrived in London this morning and we hadn’t worked out the sleeping arrangements.
“I’m just going to visit the ladies.” Zoey put her bag down next to me and left me alone with her words.
I wasn’t bad at understanding people, but I was a little clueless sometimes with women’s subtleties.
So I messaged Amelie.
Me: Zoey’s just said this: “I think I’m done pretending to pretend for tonight.” What do you think she means?
Amelie – and therefore probably my dad – knew I’d slept with Zoey. I’d mentioned it a few months after, when I’d been in a funk because I’d seen a photo of her with an actor that she was dating.
I’d been jealous and moody and Amelie had called me out on it, so I’d told her without any details, what’d happened, leaving out that it’d been Zoey’s first time.
“ Sugar, unless you tell her how you feel, she’s just going to think you’ve put yourself in the friend zone. Probably not where you want to be, judging by you turning into your father.”
“What do you mean?”
“Roman’s grumpy. You’re usually sunshine like me, except for this. Get over it or do something about it.”
So I got over it.
Kind of.
I didn’t have to wait too long for a response.
Amelie: She’s not pretending when she’s pretending to be in love with you. Colour me surprised.
Me: So you’re saying she’s in love with me?
Amelie: That would be the conclusion I would come to. Especially after seeing that performance from you both on that red carpet. At least she didn’t throw you on the floor like I did your dad.
Me: What did you think about that interview?
Amelie: That you were a very convincing couple and if it was fake, you both deserved awards. What you going to do about it?
Me: See how it goes. We’ve both had a bit to drink, so nothing tonight.
Amelie: Wise child. Enjoy London. I’m going to go and murder your father.
Me: Again? I would’ve thought he’d have run out of lives by now.
That was it, wisdom imparted just in time for Zoey to return, the same time as the waiter brought over our drinks. I’d ordered a whisky, she’d gone for a White Russian, one of her favourites that she knew how to make for herself.
“This feels surreal.” She sat down and took a sip of her drink, shifting closer to me.
I put an arm around her, not sure whether we were still meant to be pretending or if the boundaries had blurred once again.
“Being in London with me, having a fake relationship, the fact I dance like a god or all of the above?”
“I always knew you could dance. That wasn’t the first time. There was that horrendous night club when you were at uni, the bar in Copenhagen when I met you there that time, the beach in Hawaii – that was fun- and at least two Puffin Bay weddings.” She studied me as she spoke.
“You remember all of those? That’s impressive.” I didn’t linger on why.
“You don’t remember them?”
“Some of them. I might’ve been a bit drunk at the weddings.” Definitely Gully’s wedding. I could just about remember the ceremony. Everything after that was a blur.
“You were. You got handsier when you were drunk.”
“Then I’m sorry and you should’ve slapped me.”
“I like handsy you.” Her chin tipped up.
I groaned and took a big sip of whisky, which was too expensive to drink quickly. “What are we doing, Zo?”
She shook her head. “I’m not sure. I like what we’re pretending and I’m not sure I want it to just be pretend.”
I paused for a moment, considering what I was about to say.
“I’m not sure either.”
Eight Years Ago
I took the hat off as soon I left the auditorium, my degree certificate in my other hand, and looked around for my mum, dad, Amelie, and my sister, my sister who’d been furious that she was having to miss her best friend’s party for my graduation. I hadn’t seen what the fuss was about with her needing to attend, but for my parents, at least, it was a big thing.
I was slightly hungover; there’d been a party the night before which was a bit of a reunion for people on my course with too many shots and homemade cocktails that no one would’ve paid money for. I also knew that this was just the first graduation, because I’d already started my PhD the month before so in a couple of years, there’d be another.
This really could’ve been a quick pick-up job, which my hangover would’ve preferred.
I spotted my dad, who spotted me at the same time, lifting a hand just in case my hungover arse was being oblivious. He was on his own, which begged the question of where everyone else was, and whether Amelie – because it was always Amelie – had organised something to celebrate.
“Congratulations, Caleb.” He pulled me into a hug, patting my back. “And you even managed to not fall up or down the steps.”
“Just.” I’d caught a foot on the black gown and hoped no one had noticed it. “Where are the rest of them?”
“They’ve gone straight to the restaurant.”
“I thought Mum wanted photos outside the university.” My mum was the most overjoyed about me graduating. No one in her family had gone to university before, so this was one of her Very Big Things. My parents got along well enough. I’d been the product of a brief fling, and Roman, my dad, hadn’t found out about me until the liver thing happened, and I needed a donor.
“She did. Something changed. Let’s go and meet up with them.” He led the way to the restaurant that was one of my favourites, although my sister hated it. That probably made me like it more.
“Is everyone okay?” For a second I thought something bad had happened.
“Oh fuck, yes. Everyone’s fine. You’ll see what’s changed when we get there.”
It only took five minutes to get there, filing through towards the back of the restaurant where there was a private room that we definitely hadn’t booked.
The door opened and I saw why. Zoey was there, her arm around my sister’s shoulders, her blonde hair currently hanging down in loose waves.
My face almost split open with my grin. I hadn’t seen her since May; she’d been touring and hitting the festivals here and in America, and she’d said she couldn’t make it back until November, so this was a surprise.
A big one.
She rushed to me, throwing her arms around my neck as I gathered her in, forgetting that everyone was watching us. They all knew we were friends, but we weren’t usually hugging in public.
“I didn’t expect you. Did you see me nearly fall up the stage?”
She laughed, nodding. “Gracefully recovered. I didn’t know if I’d get here in time. I only landed at Manchester three hours ago. I hired a car and probably picked up a speeding fine. I wanted to see you graduate.”
“How long are you here for?” We weren’t hugging any more. Behind her, a waiter was bringing in a couple of bottles of champagne.
“Three nights and then I need to fly out to Paris.”
“How’s the boyfriend?” I didn’t say his name because I didn’t like him. He’d been photographed with another girl in the media, although Zoey had stood up for him.
“He’s okay. I’m going to his house in Colorado for Christmas.”
“Cool.” It really wasn’t. “I’m in Australia over Christmas anyway.” A research project for my doctorate. “I think I’m in Sydney for New Year.”
“I might meet you there then. I’ll want some warmth after Colorado.” She hugged me again. “I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you as well. Maybe we can meet up a bit more if you can’t make it back over here.”
“I think we can sort that. We’d better sit down, toast your success.”
I stayed with Zoey that night, camped up in the front room of her usual Puffin Bay rental, buried under blankets and cushions and pillows, like two kids having an innocent sleepover. She told me she wasn’t sure that her boyfriend wasn’t cheating, but their managers wanted it to carry on until the New Year because they had a joint Christmas song coming out that would do better if everyone thought it was a fairy tale romance.
I hated him but somehow hid it from her. This was the friendzone, the worst place to be because there was too much to lose if I decided to twist.
She fell asleep in the blanket fort, an old nineties rom com on the TV and the room smelling of the late-night pizza. I tucked a blanket around her, trying not to wake her, unsuccessful.
Her arms reached around me, pulling me down into the fort, snuggling into me.
“If a tree in the woods falls and there’s no one there to hear it, does it make a sound?” Tiredness and the few glasses of champagne soured the clarity of her words.
“Scientifically, yes.” I knew not to go into details.
“So who knows if we sleep like this? As friends? Do we make a sound?”
I laughed softly, cuddling next to her and pulling covers over me too. “You’ve drank too much champagne.”
“I haven’t drunk enough.”
She fell asleep buried next to me, her legs interweaving with mine. I tried to stay awake, unsure when, if ever, I’d get to do this again, wondering what the hell she had infused me with to make me want to stop my world just to make sure she stayed in it.