CHAPTER ONE
ASTER
‘This is fucking incredible. Those hills. Or are they mountains? Whatever. Those huge rock formations over there. That’s snow on top of them, right? Are you seeing this?’
I turned to the fit Black guy who captained the ferry to and from the island I’d affectionately renamed Doughnut. Several failed attempts to pronounce its real name had resulted in ill-concealed snickers from the people standing behind me at the ticket office back on mainland Scotland.
Captain Errol edged away. He’d been doing that a lot while I chatted—I always welcomed a partner in conversation but didn’t find one necessary—about the waves crashing over his rustic vessel and the epic sea birds wheeling overhead and the freaking dolphins playing in our foamy wake.
He wasn’t impressed by any of it. Maybe living on Doughnut had dulled his senses to the wonders of nature.
Or maybe it was the monologue. I was fully aware my motormouth was unusual. Normally people only rambledthis much if they were drunk or horribly nervous. My dad joked that if I was conscious and breathing, I was speaking.
The plan on coming to Doughnut, a remote Scottish island made up of a ring of hills/mountains around a big-arse loch, was to reinvent myself. But trying to control the stream of consciousness that came out of my mouth was a hopeless cause. I wanted to make changes, not alter the fabric of reality.
‘They’re mountains.’
I blinked away from the confirmed geological phenomena, but Captain Errol’s lips were a tight line once more.
‘You spoke to me.’ A smile crested over my face like the waves crashing into the front bit of the boat as we bobbed closer to the beloved-pastry-resembling island. ‘You corrected my woefully lacking geographical knowledge.’
More edging away. I would say this guy needed to pull on his big-boy panties, but I was fairly certain he wore those every day. He’d informed us we’d have a still crossing today and my knuckles, which hadn’t felt the passing of blood since we kicked off from the harbour, had something to say about that. If this was still, I never wanted to be ferried by Captain Errol when he considered the passage rocky.
‘We’re friends now,’ I announced. ‘Which is great, because I was worried I wouldn’t have anyone to hang out with for the next three months. You like video games, right? What consoles do you have? I couldn’t bring any with me, so we’ll have to use yours.’
Even more edging away, accompanied by a whole lot of wide-eyed staring. If I wasn’t looking at my new best friend but instead at a stranger I’d steamrollered into a friendship with me, I would have called the look on his face horrified.
‘I need to get readyto dock.’
‘You didn’t deny it,’ I called after him. People often had this reaction when I first extended a kind hand of friendship in their direction. Eventually, they all came around. I might have recently had my romantic ego dented rather severely for the third—and final—time, but I could do friendship. I was a friend-catch. A platonic ten.
With my new buddy gone, I had way too much time to roam around inside my head. Which was a problem, because as fast as words spewed out of my mouth, they pinged to life ten times faster in my brain. One of the joys of ADHD. No external distractions meant the barely controlled theme park in my mind—complete with roller coasters and spewing kids—opened for business.
Even the objective beauty of Doughnut couldn’t distract me. Frankly, the scenery since I’d hopped on the train from London to head north after a tearful goodbye with Dad and my best friend, Lucas, had gotten better and better. I wasn’t as immune to the wonders of nature as Captain Errol, but I was less awed by Doughnut’s mountains than I had been by the first range I’d sped past.
The current theme inside the carnival brain of Aster was the secret mission I’d come up with when I’d received confirmation from my dissertation supervisor that my field trip had been approved. I’d contacted the right person on Doughnut, booked my tickets, and a mere thirty-six hours later, here I was. Ready to start my new life.
A new life devoid of heartbreak.
Lucas had been right—the look of surprise when I’d told him that was priceless—when he’d said I was using this trip to run away from my problems. The only thing I’d disagreed with was that I had problems. Plural.
I had one problem. Apparently, something about me screamed,Please go ahead and trample on my heart.
No more. I couldn’t think of anywhere better than a remote Scottish island to reinvent myself so I returned to London fresh and new. No longer overlooked and cheated on and dumped on a random Saturday afternoon just after shower sex.
That last example was quite specific. Ho hum.
No one on Doughnut would distract me from my mission. Sure, Captain Errol was a certified hottie with his wildly broad shoulders and smooth brown skin, but I’d clocked the gold ring on his finger before he tugged on a pair of stained gloves. He was off the market. And what was the likelihood a tiny island would contain anyone else of equal hotness?
Low. Very low indeed. Which meant my life of self-imposed celibate-tude would get off to a flying start. I’d learn here—surrounded by craggy Scots and their world-famous pygmy goats—that being alone was an almighty adventure. I’d return home purged of the need for mutual orgasms and cuddles and romance. I would become, to one and all, a sexless bro.
The merry-go-round inside my head quietened as we neared Doughnut and details of its one and only village became clearer. A long row of terraced cottages curved around a picturesque bay that, from above, looked like someone had taken a bite out of the island’s delicious crust. Each building was painted a vibrant colour, ranging from bright blues to rusty oranges to baby pinks.
For the next three months, I could see myself returning to one of these idyllic cottages after a long day of recording undisturbed flora. I’d kick off my boots—boughton my frantic shopping trip after I’d booked my train tickets and realised I had absolutely none of the essentials needed to live anywhere wilder than Hampstead Heath—and make myself a hearty meal. I’d light a fire and read a book, maybe hang out with my new bestie Captain Errol, and I’d be happy. I wouldn’t feel like anything was missing at all.
The boat swayed as Captain Errol swung it expertly into a modest harbour. I held on to the rail until the last rope was secured, then pried my claw-hands from the positions they’d taken up when we’d set off. A combination of sensible fear for my life and cold had turned them into curved beasts. I shoved them into the pockets of my fleece—the last pink one in the shop—as I walked over to the luggage racks.
‘See you soon,’ I called to Captain Errol as I disembarked on the health and safety nightmare wooden gangplank and hopped gratefully onto dry land. The few other passengers shuffled past me as I made the shape of a phone next to my ear.
