Chapter Thirty
Raven stared at the open suitcase on her bed and wondered when she'd become the kind of person who ran away.
The cottage looked wrong already. Stripped. The guitars were packed, the notebooks stacked, the coffee mugs washed and lined up on the draining board like soldiers awaiting orders. She'd only been here for a few weeks, but somehow the place had stopped feeling temporary.
That was the problem, wasn't it? She'd let herself get comfortable. Let herself believe she could have this, the quiet mornings, the village that didn't demand anything from her, the teacher next door who made her want to be better than she was.
Her phone buzzed. Claire again, probably. The fourth message today, all variations on the same theme: Studio booked for Tuesday. Don't be late. This is your shot.
Raven ignored it and folded another shirt into the suitcase with more force than necessary.
The knock on the door made her jump.
"It's open," she called, expecting Daisy with yet another cheerful goodbye, or Gloria with some dramatic speech about Bankton losing its musical soul.
It was Arty.
He stood in the doorway, hands in his pockets, taking in the packed boxes and the half-empty cottage with an unreadable expression.
"Heard you were leaving," he said.
"News travels fast."
"It's Bankton. News travels before it's even happened." He stepped inside, closing the door behind him. "Mind if I sit?"
Raven gestured to the armchair in the corner. Arty settled onto it with the easy comfort of someone who'd never met an awkward situation he couldn't navigate.
"How did Annabelle take it?" he asked.
Raven's hands stilled on the shirt she was folding. "Fine."
"Fine."
"She understood. I told her it was for the best."
Arty was quiet for a long moment. The kind of quiet that felt deliberate, like he was choosing his words carefully or waiting for her to fill the silence with truth.
She didn't.
"So you ended it," he said finally.
"There was nothing to end. It was never going to work long-term. Better to cut it off now before…" She stopped. Before what? Before it hurt more? Before Annabelle realized Raven wasn't worth the trouble?
"Before it became real?" Arty finished.
"It was real." The words came out sharper than she'd intended. "That's why I'm leaving. Because it was real and I'm going to fuck it up. I always do."
"That's bollocks."
Raven actually laughed, but it sounded bitter even to her own ears.
"Is it? Ask Alissa. Ask any of my exes. I'm not built for relationships.
I'm selfish and difficult and I disappear into my music for days at a time.
I sleep three hours a night and I'm a complete nightmare when I'm writing. Annabelle deserves better than that."
"Did you ask her what she deserves?"
"I don't need to ask. I can see it. She's already exhausted trying to keep everything together. The school, the kids, the fundraiser, add me and my bullshit to that? The paparazzi, the constant scrutiny, the way people tear apart everything I do? She’s already leaked personal info to the press. Not that I thoroughly blame her, she was trying to help, but things will only get worse. She’d have to be on guard every second of the day.
" Raven shook her head. "She'd burn out in six months. "
"So you decided for her."
"I'm protecting her."
"Are you?" Arty leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "Because from where I'm sitting, it looks more like you're protecting yourself."
Raven threw the shirt into the suitcase. "That's not fair."
"Isn't it? You're leaving because you want to, or because you're scared?"
The question halted her movements. Raven opened her mouth to argue, to tell him he was wrong, but the words stuck in her throat. "I'm leaving because it's the right choice," she said finally. "For both of us."
"Did you ask her what she wanted? Or did you decide for her?"
There it was again. That same question, phrased slightly differently, cutting straight through every justification she'd built up.
"There's no point asking Annabelle," Raven said.
"She's an eternal optimist. She'll say everything will be fine, that we can make it work, that love conquers all or some other fairy tale bullshit.
But reality doesn't work that way. The press will destroy her.
They'll dig into her life, twist everything she says, turn her into a punchline. I've seen it happen."
"So you're saving her from the hypothetical damage you might cause by causing actual damage right now."
"That's not…" But he was right. Wasn't he? Raven pressed her palms against her eyes. "I don't know what you want me to say."
"I want you to be honest with yourself." Arty's voice was gentler now. "Are you leaving because you think it's best for Annabelle? Or are you leaving because you're terrified that if you stay and try and fail, it'll hurt worse than leaving now?"
Raven's chest felt tight. "Both. I don't know. Does it matter?"
"Yeah. It matters. Because if you're leaving to protect her, that's one thing. But if you're leaving to protect yourself, then you're not being fair to either of you."
The silence stretched between them, heavy with things Raven didn't want to examine too closely.
"She didn't even fight," Raven said quietly. "When I told her I was leaving. She just… accepted it. Like she'd been expecting it all along."
"Maybe because you didn't give her anything to fight for. You told her you were leaving and that was that. No discussion, no room for her to have a say." Arty stood up. "But that's just my observation. You do what you think is right."
He moved toward the door, then paused with his hand on the handle.
"For what it's worth," he said, "I've seen a lot of people come through this village. Tourists, weekenders, people trying to escape something. You actually looked like you might want to stay."
The door closed behind him with a soft click, and Raven was alone again.
She stared at the suitcase for a long moment, then grabbed her jacket.
JAMIE WAS SITTING on their usual bench near the playground, shoulders hunched, staring at the ground.
Raven's stomach clenched. She'd put this off as long as she could, but she owed him a proper goodbye.
"Hey," she said, dropping onto the bench beside him.
He looked up, and his face brightened briefly before falling again. "You're leaving."
"How did you…"
"Mum said. She heard it at the shop." He picked at a loose thread on his school jumper. "Is it because of the paparazzi?"
"Sort of. It's complicated."
"Adults always say that when they don't want to explain."
Raven almost smiled. "Fair point. Okay. I'm leaving because I have a record deal and a solo career to build. I need to be in London for that. Studio time, meetings, all the boring business stuff."
"But you could come back. Couldn't you? After the meetings?"
"Maybe. I don't know yet."
"Oh." Jamie was quiet for a moment. "What about the guitar lessons?"
"I can send you online lessons. Videos, maybe some Zoom calls if you want. You've got the basics down, you can keep learning from home."
"It's not the same."
"I know." And she did. Raven had learned guitar from YouTube videos and library books, but the handful of times she'd had someone actually sit with her, show her where her fingers were going wrong, had been invaluable. "But it's better than nothing."
Jamie nodded, but he looked miserable.
"Do you want to stay?" he asked suddenly.
The question caught Raven off guard. "What?"
"Do you want to stay? Or do you have to leave?"
"It's… it's complicated, Jamie."
"No, it's not." He looked at her with those too-old eyes. "Either you want to stay or you don't. Do you want to stay?"
Raven's throat felt tight. "Yeah. I do. But I can't. It's not that simple."
"Mum and Dad said it was complicated too.
" Jamie's voice had gone very small. "They said they needed space to work things out.
And then Dad moved out. And now he's gone.
He doesn't even come to my school plays anymore.
" He looked down at his hands. "I wish he'd just stayed.
Even if it was hard. Even if they fought sometimes. At least he'd be here."
Something cracked open in Raven's chest.
She'd been Jamie. The kid watching the adults leave, telling herself it was for the best, that it was complicated, that sometimes people just had to go. She'd spent her entire childhood being the one left behind.
And now she was the one leaving.
"I'm sorry," she managed.
"It's okay." But his voice said it wasn't. "I just thought… I thought maybe you'd be different."
Raven wanted to tell him she was. Wanted to promise she'd stay, that she'd figure it out somehow, that she wouldn't be another person who walked away.
But she'd already packed her suitcase. Already accepted the studio deal. Already told Annabelle it was over.
"I'll still send you lessons," she said. It sounded pathetic even to her own ears. "And you can email me anytime. About guitar or anything else."
"Yeah. Thanks."
He stood up, shouldering his backpack, and for a terrible moment Raven thought he was going to hug her goodbye. But he just gave her a small, sad smile and walked away toward the school gates.
Raven sat on the bench alone, watching him go, and felt like the worst person in the world.
THAT NIGHT, SHE sat in the cottage with her guitar and didn't even pretend to sleep.
The words had been circling her brain all evening, ever since Jamie had walked away. Ever since Arty had asked her if she was leaving because she wanted to or because she was scared.
Why make it right when it's easier to run?
Her fingers found the chords almost automatically. Minor progression, something that ached. The melody came next, raw and honest in a way she hadn't written in years.
She didn't try to polish it. Didn't try to make it pretty or radio-friendly. She just let it pour out, all the fear and self-loathing and desperate, bone-deep wish that she could be someone different. Someone brave enough to stay.
The verses wrote themselves. The chorus was angry and accusatory, throwing the question back at her own reflection: Why make it right when it's easier to run? Why stay and fight when the damage's already done?
She played it through once, twice, adjusting a line here and there. Adding a bridge that cut straight to the truth: she was choosing to leave because staying meant risking everything, and she'd never been good at risk.
By the time the sky started to lighten outside her window, she had a complete song.
Not a fragment. Not a verse and a half that petered out into nothing. Not a B-side. A full, recordable song with verses and a chorus and a bridge that would sound devastating over a stadium sound system.
Raven set down her instrument and stared at the notebook pages scattered across the coffee table, covered in her messy handwriting.
She'd done it.
After months of nothing, of staring at blank pages and half-finished melodies that went nowhere, she'd finally written something real. Something marketable.
And it was about choosing to run instead of risking everything.
The irony wasn't lost on her.
Raven picked up her phone and scrolled to Claire's last message. Studio booked for Tuesday. Don't be late. This is your shot.
She typed back: I'll be there.
Then she set the phone down and looked around the cottage one last time.
Empty. Suitcase full. Packed guitars. Clean coffee mugs lined up and waiting.
Everything ready to leave.
She'd gotten her music back.
And lost something infinitely more important in the process.