“You know I get tons of mail and messages from sick fuckers who make threats and are generally vile?” He nodded at me. We’d covered this before. “So Peter started off like they all do, but then it became obvious to my team who deal with all that shit and filter through it, that he knew things about me that weren’t in the public domain. Most of the stalking stuff is done online; not much is done in real time apart from them coming to events, but even that’s not common. We upped security as a precaution, then there was an incident where we think he got into my changing room but my drummer went in there instead of me – long story about condoms – and scared him out of the room. He left me a letter though. It’s spiralled up from there to the break in. Peter Cash, or whatever his real name is, likes to send me photos of the underwear he stole, and discuss how he thinks we should redecorate my house, hence I want to burn it down.”
“That doesn’t explain why you didn’t tell me.”
“Because when there was that man who tracked me down to here, you found him and rearranged his face.” And narrowly escaped being arrested, which could’ve had a negative effect on his career.
“And if I find Peter Cash or whatever name he wants to be called, I’ll rearrange his face too.” He said it with a smile on his face. “He doesn’t get to make you feel this way, Zo.”
I felt tears prick in my eyes and blinked them back. “Shall we go and have breakfast? Will Amelie feed us?” I needed to break away from this conversation.
“You need to be wearing more than a towel first. Do you want me on the call with the police?”
I picked up the clothes I’d dropped. “Yes. But please don’t be mad at me for not telling you sooner. I’d hoped Peter would’ve gotten bored by now.”
“No one ever gets bored with you. Even me. I’m still here, putting up with your celebrity shit.” His features softened and he opened his arms for me to step into, which I did, feeling his warm, strong arms wrap around me.
“You’re going to be fake dating me. Good job you haven’t got a girlfriend at the moment.” I could make some light of this. “But you could wrangle yourself a celebrity girlfriend after we fabricate our break up. There are a few singers who like having my cast offs.”
“I’ll never be one of your cast offs, Zoey Mitchell. It’s worth remembering that.”
We took the video call from Caleb’s flat, which was now cleaner than a hospital and just as bare. He was borrowing a load of bean bags from the Holland brothers, who had about ten of the things for an event held every so often at the gin distillery they owned, so we would have something to sit on. The vibe was reminding me of the summer we camped out in the garden, or when I stayed at Caleb’s halls of residence when he was in his first semester at university. I didn’t mind it.
The detective talked me through what they were planning on doing with the investigation. The threat levels had grown to where they wouldn’t ignore them, that, along with him breaking into my house was enough to ramp things up a bit. They were co-ordinating with the police force in North Wales, but it was being led by the Met police.
We agreed to keep the narrative about me and Caleb being a couple, and I’d release a statement to the press about my on stage career going on hiatus, so only one lie. Then we were to take precautions, most of which were already in place.
I’d gotten myself a fake boyfriend.
So helping him finish cleaning the flat wasn’t much of a payback, given his face was going to be splashed all over gossip columns everywhere.
“I think you need more furniture than just a sofa, by the way.” He’d paid for a couple of people to take old furniture away the day before. He was now lacking a dining table, chairs, side tables and coffee table.
“We can order it online. I think that’s how I’ll be doing any furniture shopping from now on.” He looked around the lounge. “I know I need to get some more. Want to help me choose?”
“You mean, can I choose it for you?” I knew him too well.
“Pretty much. Then what do you want to do? What’s on your list?” He sat down on the floor next to me. “You’re not spending the day sitting round and feeling guilty.”
“How did you know that’s what I intended?” That was exactly what I was planning to do.
“Because I know you. Let’s head to the beach and go for a walk to Lligwy. Go and see the stone circle that freaks you out.”
Caleb was satisfied that the flat was clean now and tidy enough for us to move back into, the sofa now arriving on Monday while Caleb was at work, but I could be in to receive delivery of it, which was exactly what a good girlfriend would do, I figured.
I put on trainers that were full of sand already and a windproof coat. It was a bright day, but the wind was cold, the sort of cold that sank into your bones and took an age to warm back up.
For the first ten minutes we walked in silence, just the sounds of the wind and the waves and the calling of seagulls, few other people around unless they were walking dogs. The sky was a canvas of clouds, white cotton balls peppered with tinges of greys, blending with the sea so it was almost impossible to tell where they actually met.
This was autumn, or a shade of it anyway. Early autumn had passed and I’d missed it, probably the prettiest month with the leaves turning colour and the skies still wearing blue. October was crisp and could be stormy, the sea giving up its pretence of friendliness unless it was in a very good mood.
I knew Caleb loved this season, the smells and the colours and its wildness. There had been one year when he’d spent most of October and November on a research vessel in the Atlantic and I’d never heard him so pissed off about being away from home.
He wasn’t pissed off today, but something was preoccupying him and I’d be a fool if I didn’t know what.
“I’m sorry you’ve been dragged into this.” I threaded my hand through his arm and linked him. “I don’t have to stay here. I could go and stay with Leonie in Cali – I’m pretty sure Peter won’t find me there.”
Caleb moved my arm so he was holding my hand, his grip tight and warm and comforting.
“You don’t need to apologise for what that dickhead’s done. You should be able to spend time where you want without being worried. I’m not cross with you – I’m just trying to work out how we do this.” He didn’t look at me though, focusing on something up ahead on the beach.
