Page 9 of Happiness Under a Summer Skye

‘Where’s this one?’ Josh asked as he turned again to flick through the records, pulling out any that caught his interest, to examine them more closely.

‘It’s in a really pretty little village on Skye called Glentorrin.’

He turned to her again and tilted his head. ‘Ah, so not too far from your folks then?’

She smiled and nodded. ‘A little less than an hour.’

He placed the vinyl he was holding back into the slot and came to sit beside her at the dining table where she had set up a makeshift office.

‘I hope you put that back in the right place, Baron,’ she told him with narrowed eyes.

He held up his hands. ‘Of course I did. I wouldn’t dare mess with the system; you know where I live and I’m not risking you letting the air out of my tyres.’ He chuckled.

Aside from Scrappy, Angelia’s record collection was her pride and joy. She had albums dating back to when the first LPs were introduced in the forties and took great care of them, some would say to the point of obsession.

‘I don’t get it,’ Josh said. ‘Why do you keep buying houses you’re not going to live in?’

She smiled and nudged him with her shoulder. ‘Same reason you buy sports cars you never drive.’

He feigned hurt. ‘They’re an investment, I’ll have you know.’

She raised her eyebrows. ‘Exactly!’

Josh was ten years her senior and had been with The Fallen Angels, as they were first known, from day one as an original founding member. All these years later, the band had seen no let-up in popularity. In fact, Angelia had pretty much been on tour since she’d signed her name on the dotted line following Scotland Rocks a whole ten years earlier. She had never looked back. But she was her father’s daughter; any money she made she invested and what better way than to buy up abandoned and derelict properties and bring them back to life?

‘So have you got a family or organisation in mind for this house already like you usually do?’ Josh asked as he bent to scratch Scrappy behind his ears. Since joining the band and making her first considerable amount of money, Angelia had worked with charities for the homeless, and had purchased a string of properties to refurbish that would act as temporary housing for families in difficult situations or support centres where homeless people could seek medical help and a warm meal. And while she was able to afford to do so she had no intention of giving this up. She was often talked about in the press for her philanthropy, but it wasn’t always positive. She had been accused of doing things for clout, even though she had never sought publicity for her acts of kindness, quite the opposite in fact.

Pondering Josh’s question, she paused for a moment. This property wasn’t like the others, however. It was a shop with a two-storey apartment over the top and was situated two doors down from a little bakery on the inlet of Loch Alsh. It was the tallest of the properties situated around the inlet and had been empty for a number of years due to an absent owner whose identity was a bit of a mystery, so it was in need of repair and plenty of TLC.

She remembered visiting Glentorrin with her parents when they were either leaving or returning to the island via the Skye Bridge and knew it was a picturesque old fishing village that comprised pretty little white-painted houses that surrounded an inlet of water. She remembered the small museum there that was housed in an old lifeboat station that was perched on the end of a row by the old slipway. There was a general store, a church and a pub, and a newly built village hall too. She knew this because her good friend, famous actress, Ruby Locke, lived there with her husband, Mitch, and their daughter, Rosie, and when she wasn’t filming Ruby held dance classes in the hall. It seemed like the kind of place you could settle down and be happy. Maybe even live peacefully in spite of your notoriety; well, that is if Ruby’s life was anything to go by. Angelia had done an online virtual walk around the village an hour before the auction had begun and the place looked just as she had remembered it. Scenic, beautiful, peaceful.

Realising she hadn’t responded to Josh, she shook her head. ‘Sorry, no family nor plans yet. Not at the moment. It needs a fair bit of work first.’

He stood and walked over to the window. ‘Why don’t you just spend your money on you? Buy yourself a bigger place in the London suburbs? You love this city and it’s where you spend most of your time when we’re having a break from shows. You could get a place with a huge garden for Scrappy.’

On hearing his name, the two-year-old salt-and-pepper miniature schnauzer lifted his head for a moment, huffed out a seemingly disgruntled sigh when no treats nor belly rubs were forthcoming, then trotted across to the couch, jumped up and went back to his favourite pastime, sleeping on his back with his legs in the air.

Glancing around her plush North West London apartment, only a stone’s throw from Hampstead Heath, Angelia could understand why Josh had asked the question, but London wasn’t, and never would be, home. It was exciting and vibrant, of course, convenient even, but secretly she missed the times when life was simpler, when she could walk down a street and not be hounded by people. When she could walk into a department store and select clothes for herself instead of relying on a stylist. A time when she could just see her friends for drinks at a bar in Glasgow or Edinburgh and not have to plan every get-together with the precision of a royal state visit. And a time when she didn’t need a bodyguard to accompany her when she simply wanted to go out for fresh air with Scrappy. London did allow her a certain amount of anonymity but it felt impersonal for that reason too.

‘I don’t want or need a bigger place here, Josh. Unlike you I’m single and this place already has two bedrooms I don’t use.’

‘Yeah, but what about Scrappy? He’d love a big garden to play around in, wouldn’t you, buddy? One he didn’t have to share with that monstrous little chihuahua from the flat below. There are some pretty amazing detached houses with great outdoor space on the outskirts of the city.’ Scrappy gave a couple of disinterested wags of his tail but didn’t bother to open his eyes this time.

Angelia already felt guilty about the times she’d had to leave her four-legged bestie and had taken to having the dog accompany her on tour every time it was possible. When it wasn’t, either her assistant, Meghan, looked after him or he stayed with a professional dog sitter named Billy whose father was a millionaire movie producer. Scrappy did love his walks on Hampstead Heath and Angelia was plagued with guilt that she couldn’t walk him there as often as she would like.

There was a buzz on the intercom and Angelia walked over to answer it.

‘It’s only me, Angel,’ came Meghan’s voice over the speaker. ‘I have something I think you need to see. Is Josh with you?’

Angelia glanced over to where her friend sat, now listening with apparent intrigue. ‘He is, why? What’s wrong?’

‘Buzz me in, please, and I’ll tell you everything.’

Angelia did as requested, and within moments Meghan arrived holding a pile of newspapers and wearing a worried frown. ‘Something needs to be done about this. It’s getting ridiculous,’ Meghan insisted. ‘Why do reporters think that just because people work closely together they’re sleeping together too? It’s like they’re trying to recreate the Fleetwood Mac drama in every single band, all over again.’

She slammed one of the papers, The Headliner, which specialised in gossip relating to pop and rock stars, down on the dining table and jabbed a finger at the headline.

HAS ANGEL FINALLY FALLEN… FOR HER DRUMMER?