becoming incredibly cerebral lately. There is a TV in the cottage, but I haven’t watched it since I got here. Instead, there is a record player on a shelf as well as a stack of old records. Each night I switch it on and let the sounds of Frank Sinatra or Dean Martin fill the cottage. These are songs that are older than me if you can believe, but the rough silk voices of the old crooners seem appropriate for this spot in the woods where it seems like time stops.
But don’t worry. I’m not alone all the time and becoming mad and talking to myself. Every morning I have fresh bread and milk delivered by a Mrs Granger who makes the cakes in the tea shop here. She brings her granddaughter Molly with her sometimes, and they will come in and put the bread and milk away while Molly chatters to me as she does handstands and regales me with the minute details of her life, her voice as high and fluting as the blackbird who comes for the bread crumbs in the garden.
Sometimes at night I will walk up to the big house and have dinner with my brother and friends. They’re lively meals filled with banter and a warmth I’ve never experienced before. It’s as if they were waiting for me to come in over the threshold, and, now that I have, I’m part of their family. Last night we ate chicken baked in a tray with chorizo and tomatoes and peppers. We washed it down with a rich red wine and mocked Oz for splitting his jeans on a tour. Then I walked back to the cottage along the gravelled paths. The air was heavy with the scent of the hawthorn, and a huge harvest moon lit my way as bats flitted above me.
When Gideon Met Asa
Eli
The car climbs the hill, and to the right of us, all I can see is the glittering expanse of sea. Gideon fidgets with his jumper, pulling the sleeves down and rolling them back up again. Something he’s been doing for the last ten minutes.
I shoot him a glance from the driver’s seat. “Are you expecting to grow tentacles soon?”
He stares at me. “No. What a weird question. Why?”
“Because you look like you’re preparing your sleeves for more arms. Are you nervous?”
“Eli, I am never nervous,” he says loftily. “I have appeared on stage in front of the queen numerous times.”
“Name dropper.”
“As I was saying, I have appeared on stage in front of many famous people,” he continues with a tiny twist of his mouth. “I have acted on massive budget films. I have…”
“Gideon Patrick Ramsay, are you nervous?”
He slumps. “Yes, totally.”
“Why?” I ask, amazed. “It’s only Asa Jacobs. As far as I know, he doesn’t wear a crown.” I pause. “Although if he wore it naked, I certainly wouldn’t complain.”
“What is the fascination with that man?” He glares at me. “I’d just like to remind you that my box office returns are much bigger than his.”
“It’s not the size of your box office returns, it’s what you can do with them,” I say serenely. “Can his returns make toast? Because it’s a certainty that yours can’t.”
There’s a stunned silence, and then he starts to laugh. When he stops, he reaches across and strokes my hair back from my forehead. These tender gestures still manage to surprise me. You don’t get what you see with Gideon Ramsay. Well, you do get snark, sarcasm, and biting wit. But you also get sweetness when you least expect it.
I pull the car into a layby and switch the engine off. “Why are you nervous, cariad?”
“What if I don’t get this? I’ve had three jobs cancel on me this week. What if the jobs run out and I run out of money eventually? Frankie said it would happen.”
“Is the ‘eventually’ you’re predicting the actual end of the world? Because you’re richer than Richard Branson.” I nudge him. “And much better-looking.” He doesn’t look appeased, so I take his hand. “In the unlikelihood your money runs out, then we’ll just have to live on my nurse’s wages,” I say softly. I smile. “Hope you’re okay with eating cheese on toast one week out of every month.” I cup one sharp cheekbone in my hand. He’s still too thin, and he’s been running on nerves this week. “Gid, the money doesn’t matter. And you’re making it sound like you’ll be carted off to debtor’s prison any