Page 1 of Hooked On The One That Got Away (Miss Lovelock’s Agency for Broken Hearts #3)

Chapter One

Willow patted the trunk of her namesake tree, tucked her long ash-blonde hair under her swimming cap and tried not to think about Charlie.

Early summer meant the river was warm enough for her to use her thin cap, rather than the sturdy neoprene one that fastened under her chin and made her feel like an old-timey aviator.

She’d also swapped her long-sleeve insulated swimsuit for the patterned cross-back.

It was obnoxiously bright, borderline fluorescent, but necessary when the river got busy.

Willow tried not to think about what Charlie would have said.

He was the whole reason she was out here, about to plunge into a river and swim with the carp, pike and trout.

And the chub and the tench, Charlie would have reminded her.

Charlie liked to sit on the riverbank and – his words again – dangle his rod over the water. Sometimes he even caught a fish.

Dammit! Three Charlie thoughts in a row!

That was Willow’s cue to get going. She snapped on her goggles and, without hesitating, dived into the river and began to swim.

She hadn’t always been so brave. The first time she’d tried wild swimming, eighteen months ago, she’d dipped a toe in the water, let out a yelp, and shivered on the riverbank, cursing herself for agreeing to do this.

Okay, so there was plenty of actual evidence that cold water swimming had near-magical benefits for both body and mind, and Willow’s certainly needed all help they could get.

Charlie’s desertion – not too strong a word – had crushed her.

That fateful night nearly a year ago, she’d curled up next to Charlie’s warm body in bed, feeling on top of the world, buoyantly happy and excited about the future.

Next morning, she’d woken up alone, with every drop of happiness wrung from her, leaving her as grey and limp as an old, used dishcloth.

That morning had been the worst of Willow’s life.

It was like she’d been cursed by an evil fairy.

The evil fairy of abandonment and lies. Who’d robbed her of everything she believed was good and true and right.

And left her not only with nothing but feeling like nothing.

A nothing person with nothing to live for.

Charlie’s note, left on his pillow, insisted it wasn’t Willow, it was him.

Yes, he’d actually used that old cliché, and it sounded as stale and meaningless as you’d expect.

After five years together, agreeing how happy they were, and making plans, Charlie suddenly about-faced and buggered off.

And had the gall to tell her not to blame herself.

Too right Willow wouldn’t blame herself!

She wasn’t the one who’d flat out lied! She wasn’t the one who’d talked about the future when all the time they were planning their escape!

She wasn’t the one who hadn’t had the balls for an honest discussion!

Or who’d done a midnight flit like they were breaking out of jail , for crying out loud!

Once the initial shock had passed, Willow had cried out loud.

Many, many times. Because no matter how often she re-read Charlie’s note, and the words that said it wasn’t her fault, she couldn’t believe it.

She must have done something, or said something, to make him have doubts.

Maybe even to make him believe that leaving in the dead of night would be the kindest way, that she wouldn’t have been strong enough to know the truth in advance.

Good friends and the sensible part of her mind told her this was rubbish, and that Charlie was a spineless twat who deserved to be smeared in jam and catapulted into the nearest wasp’s nest. But in the dark part of Willow’s mind, doubts still whispered, and even after a year, she hadn’t been able to shut them up.

Her best friend, Maeve, was the one who’d suggested wild swimming. ‘It stimulates your immune system, reduces stress, and it’s a wonderful chance to get out and about in nature,’ Maeve had told her.

‘Will you come with me?’ Willow had asked.

‘God no,’ Maeve had replied, with a shudder. ‘All that slimy weed and mud, and those fishes that can bite your toes off? Not on your nelly.’

‘I don’t think there are any fish that can bite your toes off,’ Willow had replied. ‘It’s not the Amazon.’

‘Have you seen the spiky choppers on this fella?’ Maeve brandished her phone, on which was a photo of a pike. It did have a lot of very pointy teeth.

‘Have they ever been known to attack people, though?’ was Willow’s question.

Maeve spent some minutes googling. ‘Yes! Once! In Wales in 1999!’

‘I thought you wanted me to do this?’ Willow said. ‘I thought you said it would be good for me?’

‘I do! It will be!’ said Maeve. ‘Just don’t wiggle those toes like tasty little piggies, or you’ll be forced to go down a couple of shoe sizes.’

To be fair, Willow hadn’t needed much encouragement.

Every other idea for getting her out of her funk seemed somehow too pleasant.

Too soft. Whereas a daily plunge into freezing cold water would be like a brisk slap, a spur to toughen up, to do better, and be better.

Be the kind of person Charlie would have stayed with.

Normally, Willow was a good swimmer, her strokes smooth and rhythmic, her breathing steady.

But this morning’s intrusive Charlie thoughts had switched her into angry turbo mode, and she was splashing and puffing like a seal fleeing from an orca.

She also wasn’t keeping an eye on where she was going. Or on what might be coming.

‘Watch it!’

An oar slashed into the water beside her, about an inch away from her shoulder. Willow spluttered to a stop as the rowing club’s champion coxless four swept past, their long spindly oars making them look like some kind of water bug. Water bugs, however, did not normally shout abuse at you.

‘Stupid cow!’ yelled one of them. They all looked alike to Willow – broad shoulders, lanky arms and quad muscles the size of marrows. Wearing tight shirts and wrap-around sunglasses, the kind favoured by wankers the world over.

Willow considered giving them the fingers.

River etiquette said they should give way to her, but by not paying attention, she’d drifted out into the middle and thus created a hazard to any craft, let alone one with a crew that faced backwards.

Willow would have to settle for making immature jokes about them being cox-less. The kind Charlie would have made.

Dammit!

Weary now, and sad, and furious with herself for being sad, Willow trod water for a moment more and then turned to swim slowly back to where she started.