by Vawn Cassidy
Suddenly Beck
Belong to Me Book 1
Vawn Cassidy
Copyright © 2021 Wendy Saunders (writing as Vawn Cassidy)
All rights reserved.
www.vawncassidy.com
First published 2021
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, whatsoever without the prior written permission of the author/publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Warning
Please note this book contains adult situations, graphic language and explicit sexual content, and is intended for mature and adult audiences.
It’s also really funny, enjoy!
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Epilogue
About the Author
Also by Vawn Cassidy
Chapter One
Nat
‘When life gives you lemons, crack open the tequila.’
I may have lost my mind, I’m not entirely sure. Seeing as I’m only in my twenties, I’m way too young for a mid-life crisis, but considering the fact that I’ve technically just run away from home, I guess I could label it teenage rebellion. It may have come ten years late but what the hell, better late than never.
My body jerks sharply to the side as the train speeds over another tiny kink in the tracks. There’s an almost imperceivable vibration that hums below the soles of my brand-new Converse.
The countryside flies past the window in a blur of greens and browns, a field… cows… brambles… sheep… more sheep… another field… I glance up, my aching head pressed against the coolness of the reinforced glass as I stare at the sky in all its pouty, turbulent glory, as temperamental as a teenager in moody slashes of grey and black punctuated with heavy dark clouds.
Rain pelts against the window, driving hard in a loud clatter only to ease up to a light mist for a moment before returning to another hard driving wave against the glass.
A sudden clanking behind me, draws my attention from the scenery, and I turn to see a rather cumbersome, rectangular trolley inching up the narrow aisle pushed by a portly woman who looks to be in her sixties. She’s wearing a GWR uniform with a slightly skewed name badge pinned to her ample chest. Her hair is a no-nonsense cloud of mouse brown with silver roots blatantly peeking through, giving the unsettling impression of being able to see her scalp. Her pale, shimmery blue eyeshadow is applied so thickly it holds up her penciled on brows like scaffolding, but her brown eyes, when they land on me, are soft and warm.
‘Would you like anything, love?’ Her voice has a faint northern burr to it as she smiles kindly, showing a row of slightly wonky teeth.
My curious gaze trails along the trolley to the wire racking stuffed with Quavers, Hula Hoops and McCoy’s crisp packets. Alongside a Snickers bar sits an obligatory ‘healthier alternative’ some sort of oat bar in transparent packaging, which looks about as appealing as chewing soggy cardboard. Stacked at the end of the trolley, beside a couple of neon bottles of Tango, is an assortment of anaemic looking packaged sandwiches. I glance at the one labeled prawns and mayo and inwardly grimace at the grey substance squished between two limp slices of brown bread.
‘Um, maybe just a coffee,’ I answer faintly after a moment.
I’m struggling to remember how long it’s been since I last ate. The past twenty four hours are still a blur in my mind, a kaleidoscope of conflicting emotions and thoughts. My stomach rolls, clenching in hunger, but there’s no way I’m playing Russian Roulette with the unappealing contents of that trolley.
I watch as her hand hovers over two towers of neatly stacked paper cups. ‘Medium or large?’
‘Better make it a large,’ I murmur, glancing back at the window, feeling the edges of a headache tightening at my temples and the tension rigid in my neck.
She picks up the large, insulated jug and begins to pour. Setting the cup down on the table in front of me, she lays a tiny, sealed cup of milk and a couple of packets of sugar on the table beside it, adding a little plastic stirrer.
‘Two pounds thirty, please, love.’
I scoot onto one hip and reach into the pocket of my jeans. Laying the crinkled orange train ticket on the table, I glance at the contents of my open palm, there’s an empty chewing gum wrapper, a crumpled five-pound note and a paper clip… Where the hell did the paperclip come from I wonder absently as I hand her the fiver. She pokes a coral tipped finger into her plastic change pot and counts out several coins, which she hands to me with a smile. ‘Thank you for traveling Great Western today.’ She nods before grasping the handle of her trolley and heading down the aisle to pause several seats on to greet another commuter.
Pushing the milk and sugar packets aside, I pick up the cup gingerly, desperately needing the shot of caffeine, and take a tentative sip to avoid burning my mouth. I grimace. I needn’t have bothered being cautious as it’s barely lukewarm and tastes disgusting. I take another stubborn sip, forcing the bitter liquid down and shuddering involuntarily. It’s not the quality of coffee I’m used to, but as it’s the best I’m likely to get for the next several hours, I may as well suck it up.
My father would be horrified if he were here in my place. His finely honed tastes run more towards handpicked coffee beans from an endangered Nicaraguan forest, which have been carefully hand crushed under the feet of poor orphaned tribes’ children and delicately seasoned with the lost souls of virgins, rather than instant coffee on board the London to Cornwall rail service.
My brow folds at the thought of my father, and I snort quietly under my breath, not that he would be caught dead on a train. Aside from a highly lucrative career in investment banking, he also comes from old money, and as such, is an unmitigated ass and unapologetic snob.
An Elliott, I can almost hear his condescending tone, would never demean himself by using public transport that is for the peasants. It was a hell of a way to be raised, and why, at the age of twenty-six years old, this is my first proper cross country train journey. Hell, it’s my first time doing a lot of things.
I thought it would be more exciting. As a boy I’d been desperate to ride the train, my imagination fueled by images of the Hogwarts Express, but the reality is, it’s slightly grimy, smells a bit funky, and as with everything else in my life, has turned out to be a bit of a disappointment.
I gulp down another mouthful of cheap coffee, and it may be my imagination, but I’m sure it’s starting to taste a little better, either that or my tastebuds have gone numb. Setting the cup down, my mind drifts once again, lulled by the gentle swaying of the train. I don’t even flinch at the sudden whoosh of a train on t
he adjacent tracks speeding past in the opposite direction. The rain hammers at the window beside my head, beating out a restless staccato as my thoughts once again return to last night, and I find myself unconsciously lifting my hand to rub the phantom pain in my chest.
I’d always accepted that the trajectory of my life was finite, a course plotted out for me since conception. What I’d wanted for myself had never been a consideration, or even a conscious thought. There was only duty coupled with the bone-weary weight of familial expectation. Admittedly, I’d had a very privileged upbringing, but it’d come with so many invisible strings and conditions, I often found myself wondering if it was worth it. It was like living in a goldfish bowl, endlessly swimming in circles because it was all I’d ever known and infinitely safer than the overwhelming vastness of the ocean.
All that had changed after last night. I’d broken that damn goldfish bowl, smashed it to pieces, and now, there was no going back. With that silent admission came a strange mixture of fear and guilt pounding in my chest, flirting around the edges of full-blown panic, but woven in amongst the nerves is a faint, very thin shred of… hope.
I’d expected to feel oddly liberated once I left, but instead, I feel a curious kind of numbness. Maybe it’s shock. I glance over to the large black waterproof backpack sitting on the seat beside me. All it contains is some new clothes and underwear, my toiletries and a paperback novel I’d purchased at Paddington Station. That’s it, my whole life in one bag, and if there’s one thing, I’ve learned over the past twenty-four hours, it’s that it’s scarily easy to disappear from your own life.
‘Tickets please.’
I look up at the sound of a throat clearing to see the guard eying me suspiciously. Giving him a perfunctory smile, I slide the ticket off the table and hold it toward him. He doesn’t take it, instead he leans over and glances at it before giving a grunt of approval and moving further down the carriage. Digging in my backpack for the book I settle in comfortably and open the first page. I can’t remember the last time I’d read for pleasure. My father had always considered reading to be a waste of time unless it was some dry, academic tome that could double as a doorstop.
I sink a little further into the worn, padded seat, losing myself to the story and giving my overactive brain a welcome respite from an incipient breakdown. It’s a strangely cosy little cocoon with my jacket wrapped around me, the hum of the train beneath me and the gloomy rain pattering against the steamed-up windows.
A short while later I feel the train slow to a stop, and a crackly announcement echoes through the carriage, barely legible beneath the layer of static.
‘Excuse me,’ I flag down the guard as he passes. ‘I didn’t quite catch that. Where are we?’
‘Just outside Truro,’ he replies. ‘Storms brought down a tree on the tracks the other side of the station.’
‘How long do you think we’ll be sitting here?’ I frown in concern.
‘Not too long.’ He shakes his head. ‘We’re just waiting for them to move the train ahead of us into a siding, then we can pull into the station. I’m afraid it’ll take longer to clear the line though. You’ll have to disembark at the next station where there’ll be a replacement bus service.’
I nod as I pack my book back in my bag waiting patiently. After a few minutes the train jolts and begins to move again.
‘Head out the main entrance.’ The guard motions to me as we slide slowly into the station. ‘The buses will be parked just outside. Follow the other passengers if you’re not sure.’
‘Thanks.’ I stand and inch out of the gap between the seat and the table.
Heading to the end of the carriage behind an elderly couple I step down as the wind whips forcefully along the length of the platform tugging at my hair and clothes. Hiking the backpack further onto my shoulder and ducking my head down, I follow behind the others, my ticket clutched in my hand, and I exit the station. There are several buses parked out front, and I head to the nearest one, climbing the steps and flashing my ticket. The driver barely looks up from his newspaper as I edge along to the back of the bus, settling into a seat, and once again staring out the window.
I wish I could shake this awful numb feeling, but I can’t. There’s a sly little voice inside me that keeps questioning if I’ve done the right thing, but I don’t have time to dwell on it, the buses engine gives a sudden growl, and a moment later we’re pulling away, leaving the train station far behind. I think about retrieving my book and picking up where I left off but I’m so exhausted. I’ve barely slept in days. I’ll just rest my eyes for a moment I think to myself as the rumble of the bus fades away.
I wake abruptly to utter stillness. It takes me a moment to realise I can no longer hear the engine, and glancing around, I realise I’m the only one left on the now parked bus. Looking up I find the driver standing watching me having obviously just shaken me awake.
‘We’re here, son,’ he rumbles with a thick Cornish accent.
‘I must’ve dozed off.’ I cover my mouth as I yawn so widely my jaw gives a loud creak of protest.
‘Ay, that you did,’ the driver agrees. ‘Out like a light.’
I reach out and wipe the fogged up window. Staring out I can see little picturesque houses and winding streets, but it’s the view beyond them that draws my attention. I can see the grey sea churning violently in the wind. The frothy white peaks of the turbulent waves are clearly visible, and there’s something about all that wild beauty and raw power that calls to me.
‘Is this Penzance then?’ I murmur curiously.
‘Penzance?’ the driver repeats in surprise. ‘Ah, no, lad, this is the Bay, one of the coastal towns a short distance from Newquay, you’re still quite a ways from Penzance.’
‘Oh.’ I frown. ‘But the guard on the train said the bus would take me to Penzance.’
‘Yeah, it probably would’ve, if that’s where we’d been heading.’ He scratches his chin thoughtfully. ‘Reckon you got on the wrong bus.’
I blow out a slow breath. ‘Yeah, that sounds like me.’ I sigh in resignation.
‘Well, you’re welcome to stay on the bus. I’ll be heading back to Truro in a bit, and you can pick up the right bus from there or wait to see if they’ve cleared the lines and are letting the trains through yet.’
I consider his offer but find my gaze once again drawn to the window, to the storm-tossed sea, and I feel a churning in my belly followed by an unfamiliar sense of longing.
‘No, it’s okay.’ I decide impulsively. ‘I think I’ll just take a look around.’
‘Well, I’ll be heading out in about an hour. You can find me at the cafe over the road if you change your mind.’
‘Thanks.’ I smile gratefully as I grab my backpack and climb off the bus.
The stinging rain hits me as soon as my feet touch the road, slapping at my cheeks and pulling at my dark hair. I try to pull the hood of my jacket up but give up as the wind just keeps knocking it back. Resigning myself to the fact I’m going to get soaked, I breathe in the heavy brine scented air and find, strangely enough, I don’t care.
Slinging my backpack over one shoulder, I set off down the narrow winding street, keeping my gaze firmly fixed on the sea peeking through gaps between the houses. Before long the streets open up into wide grassy dunes, and the road turns to the wet crunch of damp sand beneath my shoes as I clamber up and get my first proper look at the bay.
It’s glorious, I think in wonder. The waves are choppy and really high, the crash and boom keeping pace with the storm. I can taste the saltwater on my lips. Not realising I’m grinning widely, I scamper down the other side of the small sloping dunes and hit the beach. There’s not a single other person in sight. It’s just me and a wide sandy crescent that stretches for miles in each direction curving at the edges of the headland.
Dropping my backpack down onto the sand, I head closer to the water. The wind is buffering me harder now, slapping my wet hair against my forehead. I can feel the pounding
of the surf in my chest as I reach the water’s edge, not caring that the briny foam is washing up and over my feet soaking them instantly.
The ocean sweeps out for miles, lost in the horizon, until I can’t tell where the sea ends, and the sky begins. It feels like I’m standing at the very edge of the world, and I find myself wondering if this is what the Vikings felt when they believed the ocean spilled over the edge into nothingness and starlight? It is a fanciful thought, and one so out of character I find myself laughing out loud. Christ, if anyone could see me now, they’d think I’d lost my mind standing on a lonely beach laughing like an hysterical idiot.
Back home in London, I’d felt like I was slowly suffocating, but now, the numbness that had plagued me the entire journey suddenly evaporates, leaving me feeling like I can finally breathe for the first time in... well... forever. I tilt my head back, closing my eyes as the rain bathes my face, listening to the roar of the ocean.
I feel alive, the thought pounds through my mind in a fierce rush, only to be replaced two short seconds later with the thought… oh my fucking God I’m going to die.
I’d been so preoccupied with the wild romance of it all, I’d somehow managed to miss the giant wave heading straight for me. It crashes over me, sweeping my feet out from under me and dragging me forward into the churning tide.
I kick as hard as I can, spluttering as my head breaches the surface, but another wave hits me, pushing me down into the swirling vortex, forcing me down and rolling me along the ocean floor. It’s littered with tiny sharp stones which scratch and stab at my hands as I try desperately to grab on, anything to stop myself being swept further out to sea.
