Page 7 of Together Again at the Cornish Country Hospital

Lijah had decided not to head straight to his mother’s house to visit his Aunt Claire when he got back to Port Kara. He’d known he wasn’t ready to stay in the house, but he’d been planning to see her as soon as he could, until Claire had told him that journalists were watching the place night and day. And they’d been following her when she went out too.

‘I feel like Julia Roberts inNotting Hill, except I look more like Jimmy Krankie.’ She’d laughed at her own comparison, and the warmth in her tone made Lijah smile for the first time in what felt like months. He had no idea who Jimmy Krankie was, but just hearing his aunt’s voice made the aching homesickness that had threatened to overwhelm him recede a little bit.

Nick had managed to find them a house to rent, with the sort of security Lijah needed. He would have loved something more low-key than the sprawling clifftop property owned by tech billionaire, Luke Stanford, and his actress wife, Becks. It was exactly the sort of place you’d expect to find a celebrity living, but Nick had reassured Lijah that as far as the press knew, Luke and Becks were still living there and no one would bother him. It wasn’t his sort of place at all. It was beautiful in its own way and the sweeping wall of glass on the side of the house that overlooked the sea gave way to breath-taking views, but somehow there was no heart in it. Port Kara had become popular with the rich and famous in the decade or so since Lijah had moved away, and he sometimes wondered if he’d have left at all if there’d been a chance to connect with people from the music industry back then. All he wanted was for people to listen to his music, and to be able to perform for an audience who’d chosen to be there to watch him, rather than one who’d quite frankly rather be left to their pints and scampi in a basket.

It would have been a lie to say he’d never dreamed of having a number one album, but he didn’t believe there were many musicians who hadn’t. What he had never really thought about was the downside that came with that sort of exposure, until it happened. Over the past few years it had become harder and harder for him to just be Lijah, the boy who wrote songs to heal the pain he’d been through growing up, and who spent every summer busking down by the harbour in Port Kara. That had been his first real stage, when a handful of people would show up on a regular basis just to listen to his music, singing and dancing along to some of the songs when they got to know them, and the passersby who’d stop for much longer than they’d planned, sometimes putting money into his open guitar case. Lately he’d found himself wondering if that was when he’d been happiest, but maybe he was looking back on it all through rose-coloured glasses. In his mind, every day back then had been sunny and the ones where he’d had to abandon his spot by the harbour, due to a relentless downpour, had somehow been forgotten. He didn’t think about the times when he’d found bottle tops, foreign coins, half-sucked lollipops and a whole lot worse in his guitar case. Or the occasional rowdy person who’d heckle him or try to grab the microphone for their own rendition. Instead, he pictured Nick, always there to help out whenever he was needed, just like he was now, and Amy, the girl he’d written every song for back then, and whose face had been the only one he wanted to see when he looked out into the small crowd. They’d kept in touch for a little while, but she’d insisted they needed a clean break while he tried to make it big.

By the time he got his first record deal, she’d long since stopped responding to the messages he’d sent her. He’d kept trying at first, but then life had got busier and busier, meeting new people every day, whose names he’d never remember. He’d never forgotten about Amy though, and he’d often thought about getting back in touch, especially lately. But she was a part of that perfectly curated past that he’d conjured up in his head. And just like busking down by the harbour would feel completely different now, so would seeing Amy again. Still, that fantasy of what his life had been like had been one of the things that kept him going through his darkest days in the past year, and he didn’t want to shatter that illusion.

Amy had written Lijah a lovely letter when his mother had died, which his aunt had passed on to him. According to Claire, Amy had been at the funeral, but he hadn’t seen her. The press intrusion had made a terrible day even harder, and he’d barely had the chance to speak to anyone. There’d been over two hundred people at the funeral and even more who’d sent messages of sympathy; of all the messages he’d received, Amy’s had meant the most. She’d written about Maria in a way that showed just how well she’d known his mother and she’d sent photographs too, of the four of them at an eighties revival music festival, in the summer before he left Port Kara, and his longing to go back to those days had been a physical ache. No one would have believed him if he’d told them he’d swap everything he had just to be back there, with his mum, Claire and Amy, but he truly would have done. In a heartbeat. He’d considered writing back, but once again the thought of shattering some of his happiest memories had stopped him.

‘You look terrible.’ Nick pushed his sunglasses down his nose and stared at Lijah over the top of them.

‘Thanks, you’re too kind.’

‘You’re welcome and I mean every word.’ Nick grinned. ‘Although seriously, mate, I think you need to get some fresh air. If someone leaked a photo of you right now, it would be all over the papers that you’ve sunk into a pit of drug addiction. You look like a poster boy for it.’

‘Unless you count popping these every five minutes, I think I’m in the clear.’ Lijah held up a packet of indigestion tablets that some might argue he was getting an addiction to. But he’d had two weeks of rehab and he hadn’t gone back to any of the prescription medications after that. So if swallowing Rennies like they were Smarties was his biggest vice, he figured he was doing okay. He had to do it, to try and counter the constant feeling of nausea in the pit of his stomach, and he’d have eaten them by the shovel load if he’d thought it might help. It was like that feeling of dread right before an exam, or root canal surgery, except it never eased off. He’d seen several doctors, who all said it was down to the same thing: anxiety. The trouble was they all had the same solution for it, and he didn’t want to go down the route of medicating for something like that, not after what had happened before. The only trouble was, he wasn’t prepared to do the other thing all the doctors had suggested either, and try to get to the root cause of the problem. He’d decided a long time ago that talking therapy wasn’t for him.

Music was usually the only kind of therapy Lijah needed, but even that didn’t seem to be working now. He couldn’t open all those old wounds, not without knowing for certain that he could close them again and all the attempts he’d made to start work on his third album had come to nothing. He just wanted to ride it out here, back home in Port Kara, until writing music started to work for him again. Cornwall had always inspired him, right from the start, and he was counting on it to do that again.

‘You can bring your antacids with you. I just think we should get out for a decent walk.’ Nick had always been like a pent-up animal if he wasn’t doing something. Lijah had lost count of the number of times teachers had kicked Nick out of the classroom for fidgeting, moving about, or talking when he was supposed to be listening. He had an impulsivity sometimes too, like hiding one of the teacher’s handbags to get a laugh, which had resulted in his suspension. He always needed to be doing something, his brain and his body so active that at one time he’d seemed scarily capable of self-destruction if he wasn’t kept occupied. Lijah had insisted that Nick see someone, worrying that his friend might be heading for a breakdown, and Nick had been diagnosed with ADHD. The medication he now took helped, but for him the best medicine still seemed to be keeping active. Nick’s energy levels made him perfect to be Lijah’s roadie and latterly his head of security. He was naturally on high alert, but it meant that he was struggling with the current enforced confinement, and even though Lijah had been planning to try and do some writing, he could accept that his best friend’s suggestion of a walk might be good for both of them.

‘Okay, but when you say adecentwalk, what are you talking about? I’m not sure I’m up for a hike to Lizard Point and back.’ It would have been over a hundred miles, and Lijah didn’t think for a minute that Nick would really want to go that far, but he had been running marathons for the past five years, and was currently in the process of training for an ultra-marathon that would cover a hundred kilometres. Lijah’s training consisted of being fit enough to get through a two-hour show, but even then he was no Taylor Swift, and it mostly involved him standing with a guitar, or sitting at a piano. No one wanted to see his attempt at dancing.

‘Just along the coastal path. If we turn right out of the gate that goes down to the private beach, we can carry on towards the harbour and on to Port Agnes, or fork right and head towards Port Tremellien. I promise it will be doable, even for someone of your delicate disposition.’ Nick grinned again.

‘All right, all right, give me five minutes, but if it’s any longer than ten miles you’ll have to carry me back.’

‘It won’t be the first time mate, and I doubt very much it’ll be the last either.’ Nick laughed, but Lijah’s expression was serious as he turned to look at him.

‘I’ve always been able to rely on you and I want you to know how grateful I am.’

‘Jeez, we better go out before you start trying to hug me, or I start spilling my guts about how grateful I am to you for changing my life when no one else wanted to give me a chance. At that rate, we’ll be having a good cry together before we’ve even had lunch.’ Nick rolled his eyes. ‘You’ve got ten minutes to get your arse outside, ready to walk, otherwise I’m ringing the press and telling them everything I know, and I know way too much.’

‘That’s true, but remember not all of that reflects well on you either.’ It was Lijah’s turn to laugh, and all Nick could do in response was shrug. They’d been through so much together over the years, and he was incredibly grateful to have always had his friend by his side. Never more so than in the months since he’d lost his mother.

* * *

‘Who needs Malibu when you’ve got this?’ Nick’s question would have sounded sarcastic to anyone who couldn’t see the view they could, but in Lijah’s opinion the Cornish Atlantic coast was impossible to beat, especially on a beautiful spring day. Jagged cliffs rose up out of teal blue waters, their tops carpeted in what looked and felt like dark green velvet. He’d taken the beauty for granted when he was younger, and it was hard to believe now that he’d once thought of the place where he’d grown up as suffocating.

‘I think I should get a dog.’ Lijah could see a woman in the distance, walking with what he’d so far counted as at least four dogs. She was throwing a ball for them, with one of those launching devices which sent the dogs into a frenzy of excitement each time she threw her arm back. Their sheer joy was enough to lift anyone’s spirits. His mother had got the first family dog, a corgi called Colin, the summer after Lijah turned six. He suspected now that it had been a way of distracting him when his father’s promise to take him on holiday had come to nothing. Either way, Colin had been adored and when he’d died from cancer when Lijah was fourteen, the whole family had been devastated. It had taken them almost a year before they’d felt ready to get another dog. This time a cross-breed called Buster had been welcomed into their lives. He’d been the personification of joy, his whole body wagging when his tail did. He’d made it to thirteen and Maria had been even more devastated this time around, given that Buster had become her substitute child after Lijah had left home to pursue his career. She hadn’t even wanted to talk about getting another dog for the first eighteen months, and Lijah had been about to broach the subject with her again when she’d died. He’d wished with all his heart that she had got a dog before her death, so that there’d have been something of her left to cling on to when she was no longer there. Since leaving home, it had never been the right time for him to get a dog of his own. He was on the road far too much, but now that he was home, it suddenly felt like something he might be able to think about.

‘So you’re planning to stay then?’ Nick was doing a really good job of keeping his tone neutral. If he thought Lijah was crazy to consider staying in Cornwall long term, there was nothing in his expression that would have given his feelings away. As to whether he’d want to hang around if that turned out to be the case, Lijah wasn’t sure. Nick still had a large extended family in the area, but he’d embraced a life where they’d spent much of their time in the States and up until recently he’d had a long-term girlfriend out there too. Lijah had never admitted he hadn’t liked Aurelia, but she’d talked down to Nick and had seemed to spend most of her time trying to turn him into something he wasn’t.

When Aurelia had met an actor who apparently ticked all her boxes without the need for a major overhaul, she’d left Nick for him. The one upside to Nick’s heartbreak was that there was no reason now why he couldn’t stay in Cornwall with Lijah, at least in the short term. But he had his own life to live and Lijah wouldn’t hold his decision against him, whatever he chose to do.

‘I’ll be staying for now. At least until I’m writing again and the thought of performing doesn’t make me want to lock myself into a dark room.’

‘What if that never happens?’ There was a flicker of something that looked at lot like concern on Nick’s face.

‘I’ll find something else to do.’ Lijah shrugged as if it was nothing, but the truth was it was impossible to imagine a life without music at the centre of it. He couldn’t think that far ahead. ‘Maybe I could ask her for a job.’

He gestured towards the woman who by now was only about fifty metres away. She was wearing a black T-shirt with the words ‘Dolly’s Dog Walking’ in white letters on the front, with a mobile number he couldn’t make out printed beneath it.

‘Or you could start up in competition with her. Lijah’s Leads has got a ring to it.’ Nick grinned and Lijah had been about to respond, when a huge, black dog charged past him, barking furiously as it hurtled towards the dog walker. Seconds later, one of the other dogs cried out in pain as the larger dog – which Lijah could now see was a Rottweiler – grabbed it by the scruff of the neck and started throwing it around like a ragdoll.

‘Get off, get off him.’ The woman was screaming so loudly, it almost drowned out the sound of the little dog’s cries, and the frenzied barking of the other three dogs she’d been looking after.

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