“Maybe you can teach Caleb how to use a washing machine while you’re here.” Amelie shot me a grin that’d been sautéed in evil.
I shook my head at my step-mother, which I only called her when I really wanted to piss her off. Amelie wasn’t your average step-mum; she’d acquired me when I was sixteen and old enough to work in her pub collecting glasses. But she’d parented me nonetheless, although in a different way to my mum and dad.
“I can use a washing machine. Clothes just sometimes come out different sizes to how they went in.” It was true.
Zoey was laughing at me, which I didn’t mind. In fact, I was glad of it. She had always been one of the most free spirited people I knew, reminding me of the wind on the seas, only now she was here, I could see something or someone had sucked that right out of her.
“Will you be here for Christmas and your birthday, sugar?” Amelie fiddled with a beer mat.
Zoey glanced at me again. “Maybe. I don’t have any other plans and I’ve agreed with my manager that I’m taking a few months off from publicity things. This year has been a lot.”
“Just this year?” I raised my brows, sitting down next to her. “You sure about that?”
“Maybe a bit longer then. But yeah, I need some time to myself. I’ve filled the flat with song writing equipment so I can basically make a portable studio and I can get this last album written and recorded on time and that’s it.” She sipped at the wine, closing her eyes which I knew meant she was enjoying the taste.
I knew that she didn’t drink when she was touring. I knew she didn’t sleep well on tour with a different bed every night, and that she was a light sleeper, waking at the sound of every little noise. I knew she hated the travelling and the point when towns and cities blurred into the same place.
“What are your plans for after this album?” Trust Amelie to go straight for the Jugular. “Or don’t you have those plans yet?”
“No plans. My contract with the recording company’s ended after the tour and this last album. There’s a new one on the table, but I’m not going to sign it, which they’ve been told.”
“Any reason why? Or do you just need a break?” My father’s wife and the love of his life did not shy away from cutting questions. They were even sharper when they were directed at me.
“I don’t know yet. I have ideas about what I’d like to do and stepping out of the limelight is one of them. I don’t think I’ve ever gone more than fifteen months between tours and the publicity before tours and for albums. I need to step off that treadmill.” She toyed with the stem of the wine glass. “Have a break. Write some songs because I enjoy doing that.”
“Sounds sensible.” Amelie gave a nod, still watching Zoey. “You have the world at your feet – financially sound and healthy, with no commitments.”
Zoey laughed, but it was tinged with sarcasm. “So I’m completely out of my comfort zone. I’ve had commitments since I was seventeen. An empty diary makes me angsty. I don’t know what to do with myself.”
Amelie shrugged and looked at me. “Sit yourself down, Caleb. You could be useful here.”
I did as I was told because I wasn’t stupid enough not to. Even my dad had learned to pick his battles with the pixie.
“So fix your diary,” Amelie picked up one of the menus. “I imagine there’s loads of stuff you missed out on, so fill some of your days with things you haven’t been able to do. Take a holiday, visit cities as a tourist or have days where you marathon box sets.”
Zoey glanced at me, unsure, I supposed.
“I think Zoey wants to be in one place for a while rather than travel more.” I pulled the menu away from her to check if Amelie had her lasagne on as a special still as I was hungry. We’d been out at sea for longer than I’d expected.
“There’s plenty to do here too.” Amelie nodded, then shook her head at me. “I saved you two portions of the lasagne before you ask.”
“Two for me?” I was just checking.
“Two for you. I’ll bring it out in half an hour.” Amelie took the menu away from me. “Do you not want to spend any time at home, Zoey?”
“I’m in the process of selling the house. I haven’t decided where I want to live yet.” Zoey looked around the pub, the pictures and photos telling some of the stories of Puffin Bay. “Maybe I’ll buy a pub and run that.”
“You can always do a few shifts here,” Amelie said. “I can give Alys a couple of days off.”
“Cay-Cay!”
I twisted round at my name, knowing exactly who that was. Three children, two big and one that was toddling at best, ran through the pub doors and I turned around quickly enough to catch the first one that threw themselves at me.
“Rory, hang on.” I managed to catch her because a bit like her father, her sense of fear was questionable. Somehow she ended up on my shoulders, one of her brothers, Ash, wrapping himself around my legs.
Gulliver Holland strode in, picking up his youngest, Jasper, his expression brightening when he saw Zoey.
“You’re back! Excellent. Another babysitter.” He transferred his gaze to Alys who was behind the bar, watching the kids with a combination of amusement and fear. “Can I have a pint and three cartons of juice for the animals.”
