I still thought she was the prettiest girl I’d ever met, but I wasn’t tongue-tied over her anymore, because that pretty girl was one of my best friends.
“There’s a reason I didn’t move away.” Which begged the question about why I was thirty and still living in Amelie’s flat.
“I know. I get really jealous when you phone me because you’re on your way back from some research thing and you’re excited about coming home to this.” She looked around the living room again. “Maybe not this flat exactly, but Puffin Bay.”
“It’s a good place to live. I should probably have a house by now though.” I’d managed to get a huge TV and a really decent sound system. They hadn’t been a problem.
“Why haven’t you? Even I managed that and I’ve been away for nine months out of every year, pretty much.” She sat up, tucking her feet under her. “How much time are you away now?”
“Maybe twelve weeks a year total. I’m away again just after Christmas for six weeks. After that my next project is here, and it’s a twenty-four month thing.” Which I was looking forward to. The excitement of living on research vessels or stations in the middle of nowhere or university accommodation had waned the last few years.
“Where are you after Christmas?”
I’d kept quiet about this one. “Antarctica. I’m managing a team out there looking at the effects of climate change on – yeah, I’ll skip the details.” It’d taken her two years to tell me that her interest in marine biology didn’t require details.
“Antarctica? Drastic.”
“What? You’ve never toured there?”
She laughed. “The only continent, I think, I haven’t played on. Oh, fuck, I’m so glad I don’t have to get up on stage tonight or tomorrow.”
“Do you need a break from it? Is it burn out?”
She was thoughtful for a minute. “Partly. But you know I’ve never liked being on stage all that much. I know some musicians get a high from performing to a crowd and hearing them shout their name, and that’s never been me. I still like making music, but the thought of doing another tour makes me want to hide away in Thane’s lighthouse.”
“So don’t do it anymore. You don’t need the money, unless there’s something you’ve not told me.” I knew I was too black and white sometimes, finding solutions that were straightforward and sometimes missing the complexity.
“I don’t need the money. I’m set – the royalty payments will keep coming in for my songs and the ones I’ve written for other people. It’s a whole change of lifestyle though and remember, this is all I’ve known as an adult.” She shifted round in her seat and frowned. “What’s this – Caleb!”
I stared at her hand that emerged from under a cushion.
“Yeah. I probably need to clean in the morning.”
She studied the condom wrapper. “Caleb, this expired two years ago. Either you need to be more careful, or you need to stop living like a student.”
“It was in date when I used it. Shit. Sorry.” I stood up and took it from her. “I might just buy a new sofa.”
“Good idea. Which woman was this?”
I pulled a face.
“You have no idea, do you? Which woman did you have sex with on your sofa?” Her expression was becoming more serious.
“I don’t remember. Not for that specific condom.” My hole was getting deeper.
“Is this where you usually seduce your women?”
I shrugged. “Sometimes.” I was hardly a monk. Tourist season was full of hen parties and girls’ weekends, and the women were often out for a fling. “You’re not exactly celibate.”
“I doubt I’ve got my freak on as much as you.” The teasing tone was lost from her voice. “It isn’t as easy as you think.”
“Meeting someone?” I knew she wasn’t a fan of one-night stands.
“Got it in one. I haven’t had sex in twelve months.” She rearranged herself on the sofa. “Been too busy to and weeding out the dickheads from the potential boyfriends is time consuming.”
I stood up, because I didn’t want to carry on this conversation about her love life. No one would be good enough for Zoey. I’d seen her get messed around by boyfriends both famous and everyday Joes. She’d last dated an investment banker who was ten years older than her; he’d dicked around behind her back, and she’d found out he was sleeping with one of his colleagues. I knew she’d thought he might be the one and when it was over she’d been devastated. Then there’d been the actor a couple of years before the twatty banker. He’d been the perfect boyfriend until he ghosted her, next seen with another actress on his arm, probably one who could enhance his career better because that was what her industry was like.
“What do you want to do tomorrow? Apart from come sofa shopping with me.” Not a smooth segue at all.
