Memphis Wills wants out of Whitehaven, the tiny village she's lived in her whole life. So aged sixteen she leaves for college in the city and never looks back.
Until five years later when she finally wises up and leaves her dirt bag boyfriend. Fee...
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Juniper cottage is one of three houses situated at the bottom of a cul-de-sac a ten-minute walk from Whitehaven beach. Apart from the last five years I've spent in Bath, it's the only place I've lived and, although I'd never admit it out loud, I've kind of missed it. My childhood bedroom faces out to the cul-de-sac and I used to while away the hours reading books on the velvet window seat in the large bay window.
I sit there now scrolling on my phone. I'm braving Facebook for the first time in two days and so far I'm yet to come across any posts tagging Jeremiah. I heart react to Mel's new profile picture, commenting how smoking she looks and how much I miss her but that's as exciting as it gets.
Next I check my emails, still pointedly ignoring the unopened university mail, but that only takes a matter of moments. I contemplate joining Presley downstairs. He'd been watching a crime documentary when I'd grabbed breakfast this morning, Dad having already left for work.
Mel had rung me last night when I'd been tucked up in bed, my mandala bedspread making me slightly nostalgic of times spent shopping with Mum on weekends. It's five hours behind where Mum is in her hometown of Bartlett, Tennessee, and I'm not sure whether she'll be up yet so I put off calling her until later.
I'm pulling on my Doc Martens five minutes later, my phone in the back pocket of my jeans. I open the front door, testing out the air on my bare arms. It's early June but it's yet to completely warm up so I grab the first jacket I lay my hands on from the coat stand beside the door before stepping outside. I smile when I see the jacket in my hands; a beige, red and blue striped shirt that Mum's owned for as long as I can remember. I'm shrugging it on when I hear a car door slam on the adjacent driveway.
"Memphis?"
I haven't laid eyes on Karen Rivers for a good couple of years and seeing her takes me back to playing Spyro on PlayStation after school and slightly overbaked oatmeal cookies.
"How are you, love? You look well."
I'm not sure whether she's just being polite: I'd winced at the sight of my crying induced eyebags this morning, but her smile seems genuine.
"I'm good thanks. How are you?"
Karen sets her shopping bag down beside the doorstep of Periwinkle cottage, a hand on a wide hip. "All the better for seeing you. It's been a long time. I mean, your mum and dad have been keeping me up to date with your city adventures. I'm glad you're doing well. I always knew you'd do something to do with photography. You'd always carry that old camera around with you, remember?"
I think back to the first ever camera I'd gotten for Christmas, aged twelve, and smile.
"Yellow strap with white flowers."
She nods. "Your dad must be so proud, you following in his footsteps."
I can feel my smile slipping like it always does when someone mentions my dad and his old career, and I suddenly feel like going back indoors, retreating back to the sofa.
