30. Cassie
CASSIE
“We have three booths, and they’re all available this week so you have your choice.
” Ian, the owner of Hiraeth Farm Recording Studio, insisted on taking me on a very thorough tour as soon as I told him my name over the intercom.
I’m getting the impression that Ian hasn’t had a surprise like me in a while, and it’s not helping the guilt I feel at the fact that I barely came here with the concepts of an album, let alone the ability to record one.
My main motivator for coming here was not being at the King house.
I politely look around each booth, smiling encouragingly at Ian. He’s shorter than me, his hair cropped with a small bald patch on the top of his head that catches the light in the hallway as he ushers me back out the side door.
“Is it still a working farm?”
“Oh no,” Ian chuckles. “The last of the horses were re-homed when I was a kid, so now we just stick to music. It’s lucky really that you arrived when you did.
We had a gap in the schedule that is pretty uncommon.
” His eyes widen. “Not that we wouldn’t have been accommodating, of course!
Any time you want to use our facility, we will make it work.
” He reassures me before encouraging me around a bend. “And here is the house.”
Ian and I turn the corner of the barn and an adorably quaint cottage greets us.
Symmetrical windows bracket a dark green door and honest to god wisteria climbs the brick face.
Even in the cool Welsh sun, the house looks just off a Christmas Card.
“The wife and I moved closer to town when the kids were small, so we converted this place into an artist’s suite. All included, of course.”
We stop on the front step, and Ian rummages in his pockets for his keys.
“I’m just going to…make a call,” I tell Ian before he opens the door, and I commit further to staying here.
“Of course!” Ian’s smile wavers slightly. “Well, I’ll be here.” He pronounces ‘here’ the same way Ffion does—h-yur—and it makes my brain stutter.
I pull my phone out of my pocket and scroll through my contacts. I ignore all the messages from my parents. I hover over Pip’s name, but I know that she’ll have questions about Robbie that I cannot answer, or the tears that have been threatening all morning will tip over.
Finally, I settle on a friend who might be able to help and click call.
“Cassie?”
“Hey, Danny,” I say, lifting my sunglasses and resting them on my head.
“What’s up? How’s Wales? Seen any sheep?”
I snort as I rest on the fence that borders the property, spotting a herd of white fluffy sheep grazing in the adjoining land. “I have seen some, yes.” I don’t want to leave another gap that would allow him to jump in with any more questions. “You heard of Hiraeth Farm?”
“The studio? Yeah, I think so,” he muses. “You’re the pro though, not me.”
I roll my eyes. Danny’s already a chart-topping musician, but he still thinks his success is a ruse, that he’s still just a guy with a guitar with too much luck and all the right connections.
He’s a veritable fountain of knowledge about music, especially in the UK.
It’s like he studied up on every bit of musical homework he could, just to feel like he’s not a total imposter.
“Well it’s nice, you should see it.”
There’s a pause. “Okay, I’ll add it to the list.”
“Okay,” I say, running my hands across my face. What do I want from this? Do I want him to tell me to stay here and pluck the strings on all the guitars in Ian’s studio until something clicks? Or do I want him to tell me to get the next plane back to LA?
“Are you good?” Danny asks.
“Have you been working on anything recently?”
“I’ve got some stuff floating around.”
“The honeymoon that inspiring?”
He laughs. “You know it.”
“Well,” I take a breath. “Do you want to come up here?”
A beat. “I’m getting the impression that you might be on Hiraeth farm.”
I run my hands along the wooden fence, twisting at an exposed nail as if I could pull it out with pure strength. “You’d be right.”
Danny laughs. “What are you working on?”
“Nothing.”
“This is the most cryptic conversation we’ve ever had, Cass,” he says wily.
“I know, I know.” I let my head fall in my hand. “I just… I’m here. I’ve got this beautiful place”—I wave my hand as if he can see it—“but I’ve got nothing.”
I’ve had nothing for months. Even without running after my parents, any downtime I had I’ve been staring at the piano keys, waiting for something to fall out of my head and getting frustrated when what comes out is nothing.
It’s like there’s a vice around my ribcage choking me every time I try, and then self loathing takes its place when I finally admit defeat and give up.
“I just thought maybe I could see if I could borrow some of your brain. See if there’s something there.”
“Hold on, let me ask my wife.” I can hear the grin in his voice as he says that last word.
I can hear Anya faintly over the line, and my eyes twitch.
They are kind of a package deal, and I knew that when I called, but I know Anya will be able to read through any of my lies about Robbie King as soon as I utter them.
“I can come up tomorrow afternoon,” Danny tells me. “I’m dropping Anya off at her mother’s, and it’s kind of on the way.”
I breathe a sigh of relief. Not only will my favorite writing partner be arriving with a head full of ideas that I do not have, but I’ll also be spared the inquisition I’d get from one of my best friends.
“Thanks, Danny.”
“And I take it we’re still denying we’ve ever met you when your parents call?”
“Who are you again?”
He laughs as he hangs up, promising to text me when he’s on the road.
I slide my phone back in my pocket and rest my arms on the fence, inhaling deeply as I take in my surroundings.
We’re in the base of a valley, luscious green mountains and fields sprawling as far as my eyes can see.
It’s so peaceful. The crunch of footsteps behind me alerts me to Ian’s arrival, but I can’t peel my eyes off the view.
“Hello, trouble.”