Chasing Clouds

by Annabelle Knight

  About the Author

  Annabelle Knight is one of the UK’s most relevant sex, relationship, dating, and body language experts, a bestselling author, sex toy expert and celebrity relationship coach. She has qualifications in life coaching, couples counselling, and psychosexual therapy.

  She regularly appears on television, in the press, and on-air to offer her expertise and guidance on a range of topics.

  Annabelle covers everything from lust to love, and anything that’s in-between.

  Annabelle Knight

  Copyright © Annabelle Knight (2021)

  The right of Annabelle Knight to be identified as author of this work has been asserted in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publishers.

  Any person who commits any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

  A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

  ISBN 9781398408302 (Paperback)

  ISBN 9781398408319 (EPub e-Book)

  www.austinmacauley.com

  First Published (2021)

  Austin Macauley Publishers Ltd.

  25 Canada Square

  Canary Wharf

  London

  E14 5LQ

  Acknowledgements

  Matt Bell

  Sabrina Wagstaff

  Blacksheep Management

  Ryan Wilson

  Lee Pretious

  Jenny Gosling

  Lily Doble

  Roy, Matt, Laura & John

  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to my parents, Julie, and Paul.

  Without your continued love and support this book, or anything else I’ve managed to achieve, wouldn’t have been possible.

  Thank you for everything, I love you both more than words can say.

  Chapter 1

  Elodie Taylor couldn’t have been happier. She reclined and drank in the view before her. ‘Thailand really is incredible,’ she thought to herself as the sun began to set. The lush palm trees were casting long shadows over the crisp, white sandy beach of Maya Bay and Elodie thought that this must be one of the most beautiful places on the planet. The crystal- clear water looked so inviting and with one solitary cloud lazing happily in the sky she wondered if there was any better way to spend a bank holiday. She closed her eyes and stretched, letting out a long, relaxed sigh.

  If only she was actually there. Instead, Elodie Taylor was more than six thousand miles away, sat on her sofa, in a small one- bed flat, in London, flicking through a travel magazine. She tore out one of the pictures and stuck it into her scrapbook. Elodie had been collating bits and bobs from magazines into a large notepad for longer than she cared to remember. She thought of it as her personalised travel guide to the world and hoped that one day she would be able to use it. It contained everything, from places to stay in Australia, to places to eat in Iceland, and everything in between.

  She laid the magazine on her lap. The sound of an ambulance siren wailed by outside, breaking her reverie. She gazed around at the place she shared with her long- term boyfriend, Tom. It wasn’t as homely as she would have liked but Tom’s taste was far more modern than hers, and considering he paid for pretty much everything it was his taste that mostly prevailed. However, there were a few items that had made their way in; Tom knew it didn’t take a lot to make Elodie happy. If she had her own way the flat would look completely different: it would be an eclectic mix of restored second- hand furniture instead of brand new flat- pack stuff. She’d have a few choice arty prints on the walls instead of film posters and definitely more knick- knacks from her travels, if she’d ever been on any.

  No matter how disagreeable she found some of the decor, the one thing that was stand- out about their home was just how spotlessly clean it was. She’d spent the day doing every household chore she could imagine, she’d even sacrificed her beautiful nails for the cause. Elodie wanted the flat to be a den of tranquillity and calm for when Tom came home from work. He’d been tense recently; a combination of sales deadlines and a potential promotion looming ahead, she had reasoned.

  One item that had made its way into their flat was a pastel- coloured patchwork throw that Elodie loved. Its place within their home was draped over the back of a small armchair that was positioned in the corner of their living room. The blanket had been in Elodie’s family since she was a little girl and offered her comfort, and not just the warm kind on a cold evening.

  Elodie’s eyes now rested on a chunky wooden photo frame and within it a photograph of herself and Tom when they had first started dating. He’d surprised her with a long weekend away in Cornwall, after she had dropped in excess of several thousand hints. The picture showed them happy, smiling and considerably younger. She’d barely turned twenty when that picture had been taken. They were clinking glasses at a beachside café in St Ives and she was tanned; even Tom’s milky complexion looked a little sun- kissed. They both looked relaxed and very much in love. Elodie’s eyes fell onto the rum and Coke that her younger self was holding in the photo, a drink she used to love once upon a time. Tom and Elodie had been together for a long time, longer than she’d care to admit, in fact. They were college sweethearts and he was Elodie’s first and hopefully last boyfriend. He was good to her; their relationship hadn’t always been plain- sailing but then again, whose relationship was?

  She turned her attention back to the magazine, which had fallen from her lap and lay haphazardly on the floor by her feet. She opened it back up and took in that gorgeous view once more. She let the fantasy of seeing the furthest corners of the wider world wash over her. She knew it was a pipe dream, but since when had enjoying moments of pure escapism ever hurt anyone? On colder nights Elodie would snuggle up on the sofa with her pastel patchwork blanket wrapped around her and devour luxury travel magazines one after the other, their pages littered with fabulous destinations that she knew deep down she’d probably never get to see. Lost in her reverie, she would desperately wish that she had both the means and the money to travel. Tom was a bit of a homebody and the idea of leaving everything behind to see the world was one that he didn’t like at all. Her friends had encouraged her, at times, to go by herself. Carla and Steph were both very encouraging of her dreams, but even if she could work up the courage to go, her part- time job as a waitress at Betty’s Book Café meant that she could barely afford the luxury of buying travel magazines, let alone the actual trips contained within their pages.

  ‘One day,’ she promised herself.

  She sighed again and pushed herself up from the sofa, leaving the magazine open on the small side table next to her. She stole a glance at the time: Tom would be back from work within the hour and with him he’d bring his usual whirlwind of chaos. When it came to keeping a home, Tom and Elodie were at opposite ends of the spectrum. He brought in the bacon while she, well, she did enough to fill her time. There was always something to be done, and to be honest it didn’t bother her that they had what some of her friends described as ‘unbearably traditional roles.’ It was these ‘traditional roles’ that made their relationship work, unbearable or not. This fact was met with much disdain from some of her friends and co- workers. They couldn’t quite believe that a modern woman could be happy running around after a man. But it wasn’t like that. Elodie ‘didn’t do’ running, even when she’d bee
n forced to in PE during year seven. They both pulled their weight equally, Tom even more so in Elodie’s opinion After all, without him she wouldn’t even have a home to care for. After deciding to make a nice salad for tea, she absent- mindedly padded into the kitchen and opened the fridge. Something fresh and tasty would be ideal now that summer was upon them. After all, it’s like her mum had always said, ‘Lighter nights call for lighter meals.’ She took out her mobile and connected it to the speaker in the living room, deciding that with good music came good food.

  It was less than an hour later when she heard the familiar jangle of keys in the front door. The noise kicked her into gear: if she were honest with herself, she’d have to admit that it wasn’t exactly the salad that had taken up all of her time. Elodie had been daydreaming about a far- flung destination wedding for her and Tom. Of course, they weren’t quite there yet, but it didn’t hurt to have an idea of what she wanted for when the time came. Her friends had often called Tom mean when it came to money; he always seemed to have plenty for himself but refused to fritter his earnings on anything that didn’t directly benefit him. But that was his prerogative; and, besides, Elodie knew that he was saving up for something special. Something in platinum maybe, with diamonds perhaps and that possibly came in a little turquoise box too? She shook this thought from her head quickly and finished wiping down the kitchen worktop. She threw the cloth back into the sink and gave the place a final once- over; everything had to be simply perfect for his arrival.

  “Hey handsome, have you had a good day?” she chimed sunnily as she heard him walk into the living room. The happy edge to her voice faded slightly when she went to join him and saw his face. Tom looked dishevelled and extremely irritated. What she saw now was a far cry from his usual crisp appearance, his white shirt was creased and dirty and his usually coiffed hair a complete mess.

  “Everything OK?” she asked tentatively.

  “What does it look like, El?” Tom snapped.

  Elodie took a step back, as if the brashness of his tone had a physical effect on her. He looked at her and his expression softened.

  “Sorry, babe. The car’s about knackered. Took me an hour to get it going after work and halfway home I realised that I’d left some important paperwork at the office. I really needed to get that shit done tonight. I need to show Clive that I’m better than Pete if I’ve got any chance of getting this promotion. The interview’s this week and I need to show him I’m the best.” He let out an exasperated sigh and slumped onto the sofa, rubbing his temples as he did so. “What’s for dinner?” he asked, sounding slightly less irritated and a little more defeated.

  Elodie perked up a bit; if there was one way to cheer Tom up it was with good food.

  “Follow me please, sir,” she said in an over- exaggerated French accent as she took a low bow and stifled a giggle. She looked up and thought she saw the faint hint of a smile play around the corners of Tom’s mouth. Like a match to an ice cube, she was beginning to thaw his frosty demeanour. Tom got up and brushed down the front of his shirt.

  “Give me a minute, babe. I need to get out of these clothes,” he said turning on his heel and heading to the bedroom, unbuttoning his shirt as he went.

  “Just stick it all in the wash basket and I’ll sort it out later for you.” Elodie fussed, not wanting to add to Tom’s stress levels in the slightest.

  Tom grunted his acknowledgement and disappeared, closing the door behind him. Elodie spied the perfect opportunity to finish preparations for their dinner. She took out the vintage candelabra and lace tablecloth that she had found in a bric- à- brac store. Tom had bought them for her, much to his distaste. ‘Why do you like crappy old things?’ he had asked her over and over again. But no matter how hard Elodie tried she could never get him to see the value in giving pre- loved items a second chance.

  Elodie checked the time: it had just gone seven- thirty. Tom had been home for half an hour now and other than their brief conversation when he’d first walked in she hadn’t seen him since, which was almost impossible when you considered the small size of their flat. She knocked on the bedroom door, and immediately resented having to do this. The action made her feel slightly foolish and like a stranger in her own home.

  “Tom?” she called through the door. “Dinner’s ready when you are,” she finished proudly. Elodie hesitated, straining to hear a response. Tom hadn’t called her in, nor had he answered her through the door. She knocked again, a little louder this time.

  ‘Maybe he’s fallen asleep,’ she surmised silently. There was still no answer so she tried again, repeating herself, again turning her volume up a notch.

  “Yes! I heard you the first time!” Tom barked eventually, his tone stark and uninviting. Elodie backed away, feeling a little hurt. Tom opened the door. He had on fresh clothes and was towel- drying his hair.

  “I had to shower El, I told you that,” he said in a matter- of- fact way as he walked past her, chucking the towel on the bed as he did so.

  His tone reminded Elodie of a parent scolding a child. She racked her brain but couldn’t remember him saying anything about having a shower, but then again maybe she’d been pre- occupied. Tom was sitting down at the table when Elodie turned around; he held his cutlery in his hands and banged them on the table in a pretty fair imitation of a king waiting to be served. Elodie smiled. If her friend Carla could see this she’d be rolling her eyes and telling Elodie off for encouraging such misogynistic behaviour. Carla was one of Elodie’s best friends; she was a budding model, a fellow waitress at Betty’s Book Café and a very strong, independent woman who never took any crap from anyone.

  “Stop it, Tom,” she reprimanded, only half- seriously. “You look like a caveman.” Tom put his cutlery down and beat his chest mockingly. This resulted in an over- dramatic eye roll from Elodie who walked over to the countertop to retrieve their meals. She proudly placed the large bowl in the centre of their small table and sat down opposite Tom.

  “Dig in!” she said, extending a hand in a very glamorous assistant- like way that made her giggle. Tom stared at the bowl and then looked at her, an odd expression on his pale face. Elodie assumed that the expression was gratitude; she was wrong.

  “Is that it?” Tom asked bluntly. “Are you telling me that you’ve been at home all day and I come home to a few leaves, some balsamic vinegar and some vac- packed ham?”

  “It’s prosciutto and it’s delicious,” Elodie answered, feeling her cheeks turn pink with a mixture of embarrassment and shame.

  She really had thought Tom would enjoy the meal. She didn’t understand how he could react in this way. He was lucky she’d made him anything in the first place. She simmered for a second then took a deep, calming breath. If there was one thing Elodie Taylor could do, it was to try and see things from other people’s perspectives. Tom had just come back from a rough day at work, he was obviously stressed and she was sure he didn’t mean to sound rude.

  “We’ve got some nice bread too,” Elodie improvised, quickly getting up and bringing back crusty bread rolls for Tom. He took them from her and grunted a thank you. Elodie was determined that his bad mood wouldn’t rub off on her so she changed the subject hastily and began to chat about her day. She told him about how the tumble dryer had eaten another one of her socks and how she’d listened to a great podcast while she cleaned the flat from top to bottom, how she’d run some errands for him and, when she’d lost another nail in her cleaning frenzy, had eventually put her feet up with a magazine and a cup of green tea. She gestured to the sofa; the mug was still resting on the arm and there was a suspiciously Elodie- shaped dent in the cushions. Tom didn’t so much as crack a smile as she regaled him with these stories; instead, he shovelled salad into his mouth and tore off chunks of bread at various intervals, dipping them in the balsamic vinegar before shoving them in to join the salad. Elodie grimaced; she knew he’d had a terrible day in the office, but really,
there was a limit to her patience, especially when it came to bad table manners. He hadn’t even said thank you, for Christ’s sake. There was an uncomfortable silence between them now, which Elodie found as confusing as she did irritating.

  It was then she hit upon a bright idea. Why hadn’t she thought of this sooner? Tom had a big interview for an internal promotion coming up, he’d been working long hours and taken on lots of extra responsibilities to prove his worth to his boss, Clive. The bottom line was that Tom was stressed and he didn’t know how to cope with it. ‘What’s the best way to deal with stress?’ she asked herself. ‘Relax!’ she answered instantly. She didn’t have to rack her brain for long to come to the conclusion that there was no better place to relax than on a beach somewhere. What Tom needed now, more than ever, was a holiday. St Ives seemed like a lifetime ago and they’d had so much fun. This way Elodie could scratch her travel bug itch and Tom could relax and unwind; it would do them, both as individuals and as a couple, the world of good. She got up and journeyed over to the magazine she’d been reading earlier and flipped it open to the page that showed the beautiful beach in Thailand.

  “This is what we need,” Elodie said softly, “you’re so stressed and we’ve not been away in so long. It’d be really good for us. Don’t you think?” she added hesitantly.

  Tom looked at her and frowned. He shook his head and pushed the magazine away from under his nose.

  “We’ve been over this time and time again,” he said through gritted teeth. “I can’t afford something like that, Elodie. You’re not interested in camping with my mates or going away with my mum and dad to Spain. You want the very best but you aren’t willing to work for it. Do you know how fucking annoying it is to work, all the goddamn time? No you don’t, because if you do four days at a push you complain about how tired you are. Jesus, all you do is pour coffee and talk to Cara!”