The woman blinked. "Right. Of course. Yes. Well." She clutched her clipboard a little tighter. "If you need anything at all, our office number is on the welcome pack inside. And there's a local shop in the village, the pub—"
"Thanks. I've got it." Raven pushed a key into the door, thankfully the right one.
"Right. Well. I'll leave you to settle in then. Enjoy your stay, Ms… um, Raven."
Raven felt a pang of something that might have been guilt. She'd been rude. She knew she'd been rude. But she was so tired of performing, of smiling when she didn't feel like smiling, of making small talk when she wanted to scream, of pretending everything was fine when her entire life had just imploded on social media.
She grabbed her guitar cases from the boot and her single duffel bag of clothes. Everything else she owned was in storage in London. She'd left her flat, left the city, left everything that reminded her of Alissa and the band and the person she'd been for the past five years.
The cottage door swung open with a creak that would have been charming in a film, but was just annoying in real life. It rather made Raven want to punch the door.
Inside was exactly what she'd expected: low ceilings, exposed beams, a fireplace large enough to stand in, furniture that looked like it had been inherited from several generations of dead relatives. There was a vague smell of lavender and old wood and damp that seemed to be standard issue for English country cottages.
Raven set down her guitar cases with the kind of care she hadn't shown the duffel bag, which she’d dropped unceremoniously on the worn floral sofa.
The sitting room had a window overlooking the garden, all overgrown roses, a lawn that needed mowing, a stone wall separating it from the neighbor's property. Beyond that, she could just see another cottage, presumably Primrose Cottage, where the apparently very friendly primary school teacher lived.
Raven pulled the curtains shut.
She found the kitchen, small but functional, and located the one thing the estate agent had got right: there was a bottle of red wine on the counter with a note that readWelcome to Bankton!
"Thank God," Raven muttered, searching through cupboards until she found a wine glass that looked reasonably clean.
She poured herself a generous measure, took a long drink, and felt some of the tension in her shoulders finally begin to ease.
She even switched her phone back on, and it promptly buzzed. Once. Twice. Three times in rapid succession.
Raven pulled it out of her pocket and saw her manager's name flashing on the screen. She considered ignoring it, she’d been ignoring it for most of the drive, but Claire was nothing if not persistent. If Raven didn't answer now, Claire would just keep calling until she did.
She swiped to accept. "What?"
"Oh, thank God," Claire's voice was sharp with relief and irritation in equal measure. "I've been trying to reach you for hours. Where the hell are you?"
"Does it matter?"
"Yes, it matters! The label's been calling. The press wants a statement. Alissa's team has been—"
"I don't care what Alissa's team has been doing," Raven said, taking another drink of wine. "Not my problem anymore."
"Raven." Claire's voice shifted into what Raven privately thought of as Manager Mode. Calm, reasonable, infuriatingly practical. "I know this is difficult. I know you're hurt. But you can't just disappear. We need to manage this situation."
"I'm not managing anything. I'm done. You’re the manager, not me."
"You can't be done. You have a contract. The label is expecting an album."
Raven laughed, but there was no humor in it. "I left the band, Claire. Alissa's married. It's over. All of it. I just need some time to figure out what comes next."
"And where are you planning to do this figuring out?" Claire asked, her voice tight with the kind of patience that was really just controlled frustration.
"Somewhere quiet. Somewhere no one knows who I am. Somewhere I can actually think."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only answer you're getting." Raven drained the rest of her wine. "I'll call you when I'm ready."
"The label won't wait forever…"
"Then tell them to drop me. I don't care." She ended the call before Claire could respond and turned her phone off completely again.
