Prologue
It seemed like a nice way to spend the early summer - staying up on the coast, living in what had been up until recently my folks' little bolt-hole and holiday home. They were selling up and I had been tasked with getting the property on the market and seeing the deal through. It would be a nice break between Graduation and beginning to hunt for a real job for the first time in my life. We had barely used the place in recent years once my sister and I had grown up, and for most of the summer months it was leased out as a holiday let.
Reluctantly, and after a lot of soul-searching, my folks had taken the decision to sell. My sister was married with a kid on the way and I would be moving out fairly soon. The proceeds from the property and our family home would mean a nice little upgrade for them and set them up for life.
The one slight drawback was that my girlfriend Abbie would not be joining me. At first, she seemed dead keen, but I soon saw signs of her wavering. We'd had a few rocky patches in the previous few months and I hoped it may get us back to where we had been before.
She saw it differently and decided that being in the same house as me 24/7 was not going to work. We said we'd see how we felt when I returned, but I was pretty sure that the stuttering waveform that had been our relationship for the last six months was now flatlining instead of becoming a nice, steady sine-wave.
In the end, I loaded up the car and drove the two-hundred or so miles north alone, wondering what the next few weeks had in store for me. The demographic of the bustling, upwardly-mobile coastal port was largely retirement-age people - including a smattering of household names from sports, politics and stage and screen. I couldn't imagine there would be many girls my own age to help me while away the lonely nights.
I was largely right on that score.
But it turned out there were plenty of women of a certain age to keep me occupied.
There still are.
It has been one hell of a summer, and now it looks like continuing into the fall and beyond.
I need to get ready now for the evening. It is Fallon Kavanaugh tonight. She is fifty-five years old but she wears me out more than any of them.
My name is Scott Brooks. I am twenty-two years old and have lived in America for almost half that time, having been born and raised in southern England. Over the last few months, I have heard the words, "How can I persuade you?" over and over, and each time it has resulted in something quite extraordinary.
I came to Smuggler's Cove expecting to be bored and lonely.
I was at first.
Then someone asked me how she could persuade me to do something for her.
Let's just say she persuaded me.
One - Scott
The drive north wasn't so bad. Once out of the city, the coastal road was pretty spectacular and on more than one occasion, I spotted seals and dolphins out in the water and there were plenty of seabirds to keep me occupied.
Smuggler's Cove had become a bolt-hole for the rich and famous in recent years and my folks were lucky enough to invest in the place just before the boom on property began in earnest. When I saw the expected market price, my eyes nearly popped out. It was worth almost twice as much as our city home and that was also going to fetch a pretty penny.
As I said, my folks would be set up for life and for my Mom at least, early retirement beckoned.
The condo was on the long, winding river that flowed into the town. The main central hub was built around the pretty harbour area with restaurants, bars and the Dockyard - one of the best brew-pubs anywhere, inhabiting what was, back in the day, a working dockyard.
Day trippers came for the amazing seafood and to hopefully catch a glimpse of one of the many celebrities that lived in the area. There were regular sightings of A-listers in the local hostelries and out on the boats on the river or near the coast.
My long drive over, I parked in the carport and began the job of transferring my belongings upstairs. What had once been my room was now too small for me, so I decided on using the master bedroom in the hope that maybe it would see some action that didn't involve my right hand and websites of a certain kind.
Once that was done, I began the more important job of getting my cases of beer and acoustic guitar into the den. I had decided against the electric guitar - I had no idea who our neighbours were these days, but my Mom said that old Jack and Nancy Polger had long-since moved on. They were deaf as posts, bless them, so my squalls of heavy metal and shredding largely went unheard. Not wanting to end things on a bad note - almost literally the way I play - I took pity on the more recent incumbents and left it at my twelve-string. There was no music shop within miles and I had no spare strings, so I was going to have to be quiet and careful.
The car unloaded, there was only one thing on my mind. I walked the half-mile or so along the river in the fading light, listening to the clink of the rigging of the boats and the calls of the gulls and other birds as they swarmed around overhead. The Dockyard was as fine as ever and I followed a lovely, hoppy IPA with what they said was an authentic Kentish Ale. Having never been to Kent or been old enough to drink in my early years in England, I had no idea of its authenticity, but it accompanied my rack of ribs very nicely - so much so that I decided on another.
I spent the rest of the evening strumming quietly on the balcony overlooking the river, making inroads into my beer stash. I had hoped I may be able to serenade some babe from the Dockyard before a long night of passion, but I had been right in my assessment of the place. It was full of older groups of people and I was probably the youngest in there by a distance. If I was going to get lucky, I needed to find where the younger generation hung out - if indeed there was one.
My evening ended as I expected and I tried to imagine the brassy waitress from the Dockyard doing to me what the blonde-haired girl was doing onscreen to some lucky guy.
The next day was Sunday. I went for a coffee and sourdough toast on the harbor, then did a long walk along the coast to reacquaint myself with the area. I tried a couple of bars back in town but the clientele was little different to the Dockyard, where I inevitably ended up in the late afternoon. I had hoped to try my charms on the waitress but she was absent and I seemed to be attracting more attention from the waiter than I really wanted, so beat a retreat back to the condo.
