‘Seb? Are you there?’
Travis called from the doorway of his brother’s flat and winced at the smell of stale food, unwashed clothes and a couldn’t-give-a-tossness.
Their older sister, Bree, had given him a key and he’d let himself in after several buzzes at the bell had resulted in silence. It was dark outside and the sleet had turned to rain by the time he’d climbed the stairs to the flat, situated in the attic space at the top of a building in the village centre.
The building had been a guesthouse when Travis was a kid but had long ago been converted into small flats catering to the local population of students and singles like Seb. However, in the current rental market, Travis was pleased his brother had a home at all.
He closed the door behind him and flicked on a light switch. Jeez. The illumination did nothing for the ambience. You could hardly see the furniture for discarded clothes and takeaway cartons. He hadn’t expected anyone in Bannerdale to hang out the bunting, but so far, his homecoming hadn’t resulted in the welcome he’d hoped for.
Why would it? He’d left the place as fast as he could and left very few people behind who’d miss him. There were probably more people who’d be happy to see the back of him, expecting him to turn out like his father.
Freya’s mum had probably popped the champagne when he’d taken off after Freya had broken off their ‘engagement’.
Ignoring the mess for the time being, he bellowed: ‘Hey, Sebast-ian!’
Using his brother’s full name always provoked a reaction.
However, instead of hearing swearing or groaning, Travis detected no human sound. Was Seb even in? Bree had said he should be up and getting ready for his shift at a nearby mini-market at this time of day.
Travis picked his way through the sitting room to the kitchen area where the ‘breakfast bar’ was piled with sticky mugs, crusty plates and empty lager cans. He winced as he saw the bin overflowing with cartons and stinking of rancid curry.
He turned back into the tiny hallway and heard snores from behind another door. Bracing himself, he opened it a crack and spotted a body-shaped heap under a duvet. By the whiff, this room also hadn’t seen a vacuum or cleaning cloth in a long time.
Travis pushed the door open, allowing light from the hall to spill inside, but the sleeping figure stayed dead to the world.
Travis switched on the lamp and touched Seb gently on the arm. ‘Hey, bro.’
Though he was twenty-seven, the sleeping Seb still looked like a teenager, and snuffled like a toddler, blissfully dead to the world.
‘Hey there, time to wake up,’ he said and shook his arm more firmly.
‘Urghhhh …’ Seb rolled away, pulling the duvet tight around him.
With a sigh, Travis gave his sleeping brother a moment longer.
‘Wakey! Wakey!’ he shouted, yanking the duvet off.
‘Jesus Christ!’ Seb’s eyes flew open, and he scrambled off the bed, blinking. ‘What the fuck are you doing here?’ he said hoarsely.
Travis grinned. ‘Santa came early this year. It’s four o’clock in the afternoon. Why aren’t you at work?’
‘I’m on the night shift … I don’t start until six. Plenty of time.’
‘Looks like you’re going to need all of it to clean yourself and this hellhole up.’
‘Hellhole? There’s nothing wrong with this place.’
‘It’s a stinking pit, bro, and it looks like you need to use that washing machine I saw in the kitchen. Come on, get yourself out of bed and I’ll make some tea.’
‘Tea?’ Seb’s expression couldn’t have been more disgusted if he’d been offered a cockroach cocktail.
Travis suppressed a smile. ‘I hope you weren’t expecting anything stronger?’ he said with an eyebrow raise.
‘Did I say that?’ Seb growled. ‘Tea will have to do.’
‘Good. I also bought some bacon. While you have a shower, I’ll make some sarnies – after I’ve detoxed that health hazard of a cooker.’
‘Jesus, when did you turn into Mum?’
‘Mum wouldn’t have been interested in your domestic situation, as you well know. You can thank Bree for the visit. Now, get in the shower.’
A few minutes later, Travis heard water flowing. He found a couple of bin bags and started clearing all the crud off the floors and surfaces into them.
‘Sh—’ He stumbled over a pile of clothes and trainers, though it was the object underneath that had almost caused him to fall. He exhaled in relief as he picked up the guitar case from beneath the clothes. If he had landed or trodden on that, Seb would have killed him.
Although … his brother seemed to have little respect for what would once have been his most precious possession. God knows how long it had been since the instrument had been lying neglected on the floor.
Travis ran a finger through the dust on the case and his stomach ripped with unease. If Seb had stopped playing his music, he really must be at rock bottom.
The sound of running water ceased so Travis filled the kettle and switched it on. He found some half dried-up scouring cream and wiped out a couple of mugs. At the back of a cupboard, there was a frying pan, which mercifully looked as if it had never been used.
By the time Seb wandered in, wearing jeans with a towel around his neck, Travis was sizzling the bacon and eggs he’d brought with him.
Seb smacked his lips. ‘God, that smells good.’
‘Surprised you can smell anything at all. Your nostrils must have totally seized up.’
Seb sniffed. ‘Whaddaya mean? There’s nothing wrong with this place.’
‘My point exactly.’
Travis slid the eggs and bacon onto the plate he’d managed to scrub into submission. He handed it to Seb who sat on the sofa with it balanced on his lap.
‘Tea,’ Travis said, placing a mug on the coffee table. ‘I brought some milk. Yours was turning into a bioreactor in the fridge.’
‘Thanks. You not eating?’
‘I’m going to the pub for dinner later.’
‘The pub?’ Seb frowned. ‘With who?’
‘Hamza.’
‘He’s here too? Why are you even here? I’d no idea you were coming back.’
‘Neither did I until a couple of weeks ago.’
‘Don’t say Bree dragged you back to nursemaid me?’ Seb scoffed.
‘Don’t flatter yourself,’ Travis countered, although it was a barefaced lie. ‘I’m here looking after number one. The gallery became available so I took my chance. I can sell my own work from there and run photography tours. There’s a big market for them right now.’
‘You mean there are plenty of wrinkly wannabes with more money than sense?’
‘Well, I wouldn’t describe my customers like that,’ Travis said. ‘Firstly, they’re not all “mature” and even if they are, it’s fine because I’m quite happy to run workshops and tours for anyone if it means I can carry on taking my own pictures. I like teaching people; I’ve had a great time travelling and I don’t mind some downtime for a while.’
‘And conveniently, you can also hassle me while you’re in town?’ Seb pointed his fork at Travis before dropping it onto his empty plate with a clatter. ‘I bet you fifty quid that Bree asked you to come back.’
Travis shifted uncomfortably because Seb was very close to the truth. ‘Is there anything wrong with wanting to spend more time with my family?’ he said wryly.
‘Depends on how much you plan on interfering in their lives.’
Travis smiled. ‘Depends on how much they need my interference. As you’ve finished dining, you can get off your arse and start clearing up this place. We’ve got a good hour before you have to start work at the shop.’
‘I usually go on my bike.’
‘No need. I’ll drive you. Wouldn’t want you getting lost on the way in one of the pubs.’
‘You cheeky bastard,’ said Seb, cheerfully enough but with murder behind his eyes.
As Travis had issued a dire warning to Seb about spending too much time in the pub, he thought it ironic – Seb would have said hypocritical – that he was headed there himself.
The Red Lion was one of many local hostelries and the stone exterior had changed little since he’d had last been in there – at a guess, three years previously on one of his rare and fleeting visits to Bannerdale.
The interior had, however, been given a makeover. Gone were the pine tables, stained by years of pints – replaced by grey upholstered benches, and pale wood furniture. Mood lighting and trendy bar stools had given the former snug the air of a cocktail bar.
He felt out of place until he spotted a familiar face – and figure – waiting for him in a booth in what had once been a favourite corner of the pub.
Travis had known Hamza Eassa since they were studying photography at art college in Manchester. His Sudanese family had been incredibly welcoming to Travis when he’d first turned up in the city and had even invited him into their home for a few months until he found somewhere to live.
While Hamza had gone on to be a renowned wildlife filmmaker, Travis had concentrated on still photography. When Hamza had heard about the gallery, he’d insisted on coming up to help Travis get it into shape, before heading off to a filmmaking assignment in Scotland.
‘Sorry, I’m late,’ Travis said, eyeing the pint on the table appreciatively. ‘Thanks for the beer. You know me too well.’
Hamza was nursing a Peroni Zero. ‘No problem. I’ve been people watching.’ He grinned. ‘Everything OK?’
‘Not really.’ Travis checked himself. Hamza really did know him well and must have sensed Travis was stressed. ‘I had to drop Seb off at work. Well, I didn’t have to, but I wanted to make sure he got there.’
Hamza nodded sagely. ‘Still the big brother?’
‘Big pain in the arse according to Seb and he has a point. Anyway, it’s great to see you, mate. You found the cabin, OK? Sorry I wasn’t there to meet you.’
‘No problem. I’ve found my way round the Arctic and Amazon; I can handle the mean streets of Bannerdale.’
‘And there are no polar bears to worry about here …’ Travis laughed, feeling the tension of his spat with Seb slowly ebbing away. There was a feeling of calm and strength that seemed to surround his friend and seep into the people around him.
‘I’m glad you found the time to come up and see me.’
‘I’m between jobs. What else was I going to do but catch up with you while we’re both in the same country?’ Hamza said.
‘Well, you never know,’ Travis said archly. ‘There might have been someone a lot more interesting to spend time with than a cynical old mate.’
Hamza smiled, with an edge of ruefulness that was impossible to miss. ‘Now, why would you think that?’
‘You tell me?’
Hamza laughed. ‘There is someone, actually.’
‘Woo!’ Travis whistled. ‘Serious?’
‘Kind of …’ Hamza hesitated.
‘Oh? This is news to me?’
‘It was news to me. She’s called Caz and she’s a paediatric consultant and the daughter of a mate of my mum’s. We’ve been family friends for a couple of years and lately, we’ve been seeing each other a lot more …’
‘Am I sensing a “but”?’
‘Why would there be a “but”?’ Hamza said. ‘She’s extremely smart, kind, loves kids. She makes me laugh – and she’s gorgeous and my parents adore her.’
‘But …’
‘Everyone thinks we’re going to announce our engagement at any moment.’
‘And are you?’
Hamza shrugged in a dismissive way that set Travis on the alert. ‘We haven’t got around to discussing it yet.’
‘Have you actually asked her to marry you?’ Travis said lightly.
‘Mate, you don’t know Caz. She would be the one doing the asking.’
Travis laughed. ‘Are you sure about that?’
‘I’m not sure about anything where women are concerned. I’m not sure about Caz either, but I think when we decide – it would be a joint thing.’
‘OK. I’ll back off and besides, I am the last person to be offering advice about relationships, let alone long-term ones.’
Hamza seemed relieved to shift the attention to Travis. ‘So, there’s no old flame who’s lured you back to Bannerdale?’ he said.
Travis snorted in derision. ‘That’s the last reason I’d ever come back. No … it’s far less romantic.’ Travis rubbed condensation off his glass before continuing. ‘There’s a bunch of reasons. Number one, being that Bree asked me to keep an eye on Seb. He’s been feeling low, drinking again and she doesn’t like the company he’s been keeping.’ He looked around at the pub, sad to see its rough edges smoothed by the bland, slick finish.
Hamza looked thoughtful. ‘He’s still young but I can understand why you’re concerned too.’
‘To be honest, it’s his mood Bree’s most worried about. You know, he used to play the gigs in this room. It was hardly the big time but he always looked happy with a guitar around his neck, playing and singing with a couple of mates.’
Poor Seb; was that why he’d abandoned his music? Was it because he felt he didn’t fit in any longer, Travis wondered.
‘Bree’s concerned, nonetheless. Seb can’t afford to lose another job or his flat. When I’d finished my latest job, I had some breathing space and you know I was already thinking of starting my own gallery, so here I am.’
‘Sounds like fate, to me,’ Hamza said.
Travis wasn’t so fatalistic.
‘Bree knows how to manage me. She held the stick of Seb over me and dangled the carrot of the gallery. I’ve enjoyed my adventures but there’s only so many airstrips and shacks and tents in the wild I can take. I don’t mind sleeping in a proper bed and having a place to call my own for a change.’
He could have added a third reason: that he’d developed an intense and annoying curiosity to see Freya. When she’d popped up as one of his followers on Instagram, he’d reciprocated and been following her feed far more closely than he’d let on, though not for the towel art.
The few videos she’d posted of herself and ‘the team’ had been viewed by him far more times than he cared to admit.
He raised his pint. ‘So now I’m the proud new proprietor of Peak Perspectives.’
‘Peak Perspectives?’ Hamza echoed. ‘I like the name. It has a ring to it.’
Travis took a nervous swig of his pint. ‘Well, I needed a name. It’s not brilliant but I thought it does what it says on the tin.’ He smirked. ‘The place was previously called Daffodils.’
Hamza snorted. ‘I can’t see you as a daffodil. Peak Perspectives is much more you.’
‘I hope so though I’m not quite sure what’s me. This is all new … I’m still feeling my way.’
Hamza slapped him on the back. ‘Back yourself, mate. It’ll be great and I’d love to lend a hand even in a small way.’
Travis sipped his pint and sighed appreciatively. ‘I’m grateful for any help. I’m hoping to have it up and running for the Christmas Fair. The place will be rammed with people wanting to buy gifts and book tours.’
‘I wish I could stick around until launch day but this BBC job is too good to turn down.’
‘You mean you’d rather be filming eagles and sea otters than hanging around a rundown gallery?’
‘It won’t be rundown when you get to work on it and get the tours running. You’re the one with a gift for teaching. I’m far better on my own with a bunch of wild creatures than people.’
‘I wouldn’t say I had a gift, but I do enjoy tutoring people,’ Travis said, a little embarrassed by his friend’s praise. ‘It’s a buzz to see them finding a whole new world with the camera and the look on their faces when we encounter the wildlife is priceless. It reminds me of how I felt when I was young and spotted my first pine marten or wildcat. I was so overexcited, I almost dropped the camera a few times.’
Suddenly his eye was caught by two women who were giving their order to the bar man.
Sensing Travis’s interest, Hamza’s eyes lit up in curiosity. ‘You know them?’ he said.
‘Kind of. I was at school with them. The dark-haired one is Roxanne. Head girl. Never even knew I existed, probably.’
‘And the other woman?’
Travis savoured his pint before replying. ‘Oh yes. That’s Freya.’
‘Old flame?’
‘Actually, we were almost married,’ he said.
Hamza gasped. ‘No way! You’ve never said anything about an ex.’
Travis grinned. ‘When we were eight. It was one of those mock ceremonies they have at primary school.’
‘Not at my school!’ Hamza said with raised eyebrows.
‘It sounds weird and it was, in hindsight. It was all part of some module on life rituals – but probably about so-called adults projecting their hopes and fantasies onto a bunch of eight-year-olds. I was forced to be the groom and Freya was the bride.’ Travis watched Freya chatting to Roxanne.
Hamza was still agog. ‘Tell me more. Are there photos of the big day?’
‘I’ve no idea what happened to them,’ Travis said, unwilling to let on that the bride ran away before they got to that point.
Fortunately, he was interrupted by a nudge from Hamza. ‘She’s coming over,’ Hamza said, clearly relishing all the intrigue. ‘Will she recognise you?’
‘Well, as I had coffee with her earlier, I should think so.’
Hamza’s eyes widened. ‘This is getting juicier by the minute. Are you sure you want me in the cabin, cramping your style?’
Travis laughed. ‘She runs a cottage management company. She was cleaning the place when I arrived. We had a drink for old times’ sake and she left. End of.’ He didn’t elaborate on the tense row they’d had – and the strained way they’d parted.
Freya walked over, a Coke in her hand.
‘Hello again,’ she said, pausing briefly by his table while Roxanne nabbed a seat on the other side of the pub.
‘Hi,’ Travis said, marvelling at how lovely she looked and how confidently she strolled over to his table. She smiled politely at him as if their morning spat had never happened, making him feel like a gauche schoolboy again. Her eyes glinted, as if she was revelling in his discomfort.
‘Er. This is my friend, Hamza,’ he said, glancing away.
‘Welcome to the bright lights of Bannerdale,’ Freya said. ‘Roxanne’s waiting for me. I’ll see you around – again?’
‘We don’t seem to be able to avoid it,’ Travis replied.
‘Enjoy your meal. Nice to meet you, Hamza.’
She was gone, trailing a cloud of perfume and obvious antipathy towards him. Travis felt as if he’d been pole-axed.
‘Well, well …’ Hamza said. ‘You need oxygen, bro?’
Travis forced a grin to his face. Despite their row earlier, he couldn’t bring himself to say anything against Freya. ‘She always was quite a girl.’
‘You seem to be unable to take your eyes off her now. I’ve a feeling she’s more than interested in you too. Are you sure this school wedding is the only history between you?’
Caught off-guard, Travis buried his awkwardness under cynical laughter. ‘We did go out together – briefly – when we were in the sixth form but that was a long time ago. We’re completely different people now and I’m not here to rake up old memories. As far as I know she might have a partner.’
‘I don’t think so. Not the way she was drinking you up. She kept trying to hide her interest but she couldn’t stop glancing at you.’ Hamza smiled. ‘All these years of observing wildlife have taught me to recognise the signs.’
Travis rolled his eyes. ‘Mate, you’re forgetting one thing: we’re not otters or penguins.’
‘Yet as well you know, we still have the same impulses,’ Hamza said.
Travis rolled his eyes. ‘I suspect Freya’s only impulse towards me would involve tipping her Coke over my head. Now, let’s talk about the photos for the gallery. I’m too close to my own work to judge what might appeal to the punters.’
He heard laughter from across the pub. Freya’s laughter. Was it possible that as he lifted his pint, his hands weren’t quite steady? Would his observant friend notice that?
In the space of hours, Freya had transported him back to the heady days of his youth, bursting with hormones and feelings he couldn’t handle then – and wasn’t sure he could now.