Zoey
The sloping drive from the main road down towards Puffin Bay always made me feel like I was taking off over the sea, wings about to soar like I was one of the gulls.It wasn’t that it was particularly steep, (although the view at one point could sometimes contain the pale sands of the bay) it was the knowledge that for the next few days, I was as free as one of the birds that glided and danced in the air here – without care or contractual obligations, no one to answer to except nature herself.
I’d been coming here to escape my life for the last fourteen years; the house I’d rented back then belonging to a songwriter I’d worked with in the early days, when the furore around me hit its first peak and I’d felt the gravity of burn out. That house had become a home, although it’d eventually become the songwriter’s main residence and I’d taken to rooming with Caleb Tominey, whose flat was my current destination.
I slowed the car down, taking in the rows of houses, sometimes interspersed with farmer’s fields, the gulls flying low against a sky that was pooled with greys and blues, the season changing yet again. It was familiar and it was not. Every time I returned there were subtle changes, a new development here and there, a new resident to the town who wanted to update the house they’d bought, a new shop that’d replaced someone retiring.
But the bones of it remained the same.
The road started to turn, winding down towards the coast and my destination for the next few weeks while I tried to get some songs written and jumped off the rat race for a while. Some people I knew retreated to the Caribbean or L.A. or a more exotic destination, staying where they’d have a private chef and trainer, or whoever else in their entourage they couldn’t cope without.
I escaped. Freedom had been a rare commodity since I was seventeen, or even younger when I remembered what my mum had me enrolled in. Singing lessons, dancing lessons, acting lessons, auditions – they all continued even after I signed my first recording contract and then were added to: interviews, rehearsals, impromptu gigs, photoshoots, meetings with people who could enhance my career. Weekends didn’t exist anymore and evenings weren’t my own.
Puffin Bay became a refuge. The island had once been home to royalty, so if doing the weekly shop next to a princess was a normal occurrence for the islanders, seeing a tweenager’s wet dream walking along the promenade wasn’t going to raise any eyebrows.
I pulled up in the Puffin Inn’s car park, my car unlikely to be noticed. It was neither flashy nor new, slightly dinted from when the corner of a wall moved at the wrong time, and a scrape on the driver’s door which I’d never gotten round to sorting out. I wasn’t a car person, although I had a pristine something or other in red that was gifted as a part of a PR thing back in London in the garage. I hadn’t driven it and had no intention of sliding behind the wheel, especially not at the moment.
A whip of wind toyed with my hair when I opened the boot, pulling out one of the two big suitcases, forgetting how heavy it was.
“Need some help, Princess?”
Cheetahs had moved less quick. I spun around and faced my oldest and bestest friend, the boy who’d moved in next door the summer I’d first come to Puffin Bay and charmed everyone he ever met, including half the female population under twenty-two.
“Caleb!”
He just about managed to keep his balance. His arms wrapped around me, more solid than ever before, and his chin scraped my shoulder with newly designed stubble, or maybe he’d just not bothered shaving for a few days, which was more likely to be the case.
“Maybe next time give me warning.” He released me carefully. “You’re late.”
“As always.” I knew my grin couldn’t get any wider. “Tell me you didn’t expect me to be on time.”
“I really didn’t. Experience has taught me to add on two hours to whatever ETA you give me.” His eyes went to the suitcases in my car and the one on the floor. “Is this a permanent move?”
I laughed, shaking my head. “I wish. A couple of months. I have some stuff in London just before Christmas that I can’t get out of, so you’ll be rid of me mid-December at the latest. Is that okay?”
Caleb shrugged, smiling like he always did, slightly dirty with a hint of boyish charm. “I’ll think about it.” He pulled the other suitcase out of the boot, making light work of it. “You’ll have to help out in the bar.”
“I can pull a few pints.” I’d been a spare pair of hands before. “I can even make a lasagne now if you’re short of a chef.” It’d been Caleb’s step-mum who’d taught me a couple of years ago when I’d burst into tears about how much I was going to miss her food when I was back in London or L.A. or wherever I’d been told to go.
“A few pints are fine. We don’t want to be shut down.” He frowned at the suitcases. “What’ve you got in here? Boulders?”
“I need to write an album so there’s some recording stuff. This isn’t a holiday. I actually have to work.” Which I wasn’t looking forward to.
His eyes widened. “Okay. We’ll unpick that later. Let’s get these outside and then we can head out.”
“Head out where?”
“On the water. I need to take a water sample at Menai so I thought we could sail out and round to that restaurant you like.” He shook his head. “Or you can get settled.”
“I’ll come with you. I don’t think I’ve eaten since breakfast so food - ” Like Pavlov’s dog I automatically felt hungry.
“Amelie’s going to try and feed you up, be warned.” He looked at me pointedly, pulling both suitcases behind him.
I locked up the car and followed him with my handbag and guitar. “Touring burns off energy I don’t have any more. I’ll eat whatever she throws at me.”
“How was the tour?” he asked, even though he knew exactly how it’d been, given I’d spoken to him at least every other day.
The tour had been a trial. I knew there were people who would sell their soul to be the position I was in; a number one artist, sell out tours, face on billboards – but the fun of that had scooted south in the last eighteen months. I had one more album to write and record, but no tour lined up with it, although there was some persuasion being exerted at the moment. Then I was a free agent, and I was in no rush to sign any more deals, despite pressure from various angles.
