Page 14 of Hooked On The One That Got Away (Miss Lovelock’s Agency for Broken Hearts #3)

Chapter Fourteen

Willow woke from a nightmare in which Charlie, wearing Harvey’s waistcoat, confessed to her that he was responsible for the Jack the Ripper murders.

Slinking around his legs was the black cat from Geillis’s arm and in the background, she could hear pigs snorting and swans hissing, like a scary version of “Old Macdonald Had A Farm”.

‘Thanks, subconscious,’ Willow said out loud. ‘Super helpful.’

The cows were still munching in the field, and didn’t bother to look up as Willow parked her car. Next to it the tyre tracks of another vehicle were gouged into the grass verge. Boy racer, probably. Wheels spinning as they hit the accelerator.

Willow put on her swim shoes and pushed her way past tall weeds down the footpath, got into the water, swam within about half a mile of the sewer pipe – and stopped.

What was that smell? She trod water and looked up ahead.

As she stared, a fish bobbed up to the surface, belly first, and floated there, not moving.

Willow was not about to swim closer and poke it; if it wasn’t already dead it soon would be.

She swam to the overgrown riverbank, and with difficulty clambered up.

There was no path here, so she fought her way along through weeds and grasses, trying to avoid the stinging nettles.

On the surface of the water around the sewer pipe, she could see swirls of grey muck, spreading steadily downstream.

Sewage was rarely brown, the anonymous texter had said.

Another fish popped up, gasped, and rolled over. Willow was suddenly furious .

Carefully, she brought her phone out of the swim buoy’s dry storage pouch.

She took photo after photo, and video for good measure.

Noted down the time and grid reference for the place.

There was no way she was getting back in that water, so Willow fought her way back along the bank to her start point, cursing as a stinging nettle she hadn’t spotted whipped her bare leg. Ow, ow, ow!

She didn’t bother to change. Got in her car in her damp swimsuit and drove home as fast as she dared.

Ran upstairs to her bedroom and uploaded all her material to the url she’d been given – yes, she remembered the password – then sat, heart thumping, still in fight mode, until it occurred to her that there was nothing more for her to do. Her part was over.

Willow felt ridiculously, frustratingly disappointed. And – she checked the time – it was still only 8.05am. She had a whole Saturday ahead of her and nothing exciting or even interesting planned.

Bugger that.

A quick online search reminded Willow that she really did live in a village. Her choices for fun today were an architectural documentary festival at the local boutique cinema, Zumba at the church hall ( Burn it up at any age! ), badminton lessons at the sports centre, and the farmers’ market.

Willow seriously considered catching a train to London. But what would she do there? Wander the streets surrounded by crowds of strangers and feel even more alone?

She played eeny-meeny-miny-moe between Zumba and the farmers’ market. Then she played it again to make the market win because she wasn’t in the mood to be upbeat. Time for a shower. She’d grab coffee and breakfast from one of the food carts.

The stalls, this morning, were the usual eclectic mix.

Despite being officially termed a farmers’ market, as well as fresh and artisan produce, you could buy beaded macrame potholders, chunky pottery, crystals and dream catchers, and tote bags made from old curtains.

There was even a woman who’d draw a portrait of your dog.

Willow wandered, coffee in one hand, bacon sandwich in the other, happy to browse, though she was definitely coming back for one of the massive chocolate chip cookies she’d spotted at the cake stall.

Willow did like to eat healthily, but not today.

Today, she needed sugar, caffeine and salty fat.

The bacon sandwich was satisfyingly greasy and, luckily, came with a robust paper napkin that Willow used to wipe her hands.

She found the rubbish and recycling bins with pictographs on the lids to show you what went in each.

Willow duly placed her empty coffee container in one, and the greasy napkin in another.

It might only be a small step for the environment, like her photos were, but everything added up, didn’t it.

At least, she hoped so. It would be a terrible injustice if the polluters won.

But then again, if they lost, what would happen to Charlie?

Geillis had refused to answer her questions, so Willow was still in the dark about the activists’ end game.

If it was prosecution, was Charlie senior enough to be implicated?

Even if the only punishment was a hefty corporate fine, it would still be a black mark on his employment record and his reputation.

His dreams of starting his own law business might never get off the ground.

Argh, this is unbearable . The not knowing, the worry, the confused feelings she still had for Charlie – Willow didn’t know how much longer she could stand it. But there was nothing she could do to resolve any of it, and that sense of powerless was the worst thing of all.

A voice pulled Willow out of her head and into the world.

‘Can I tempt you with a flower?’ it said.

It was the pink-haired woman who now owned the Oak and Whale. This was her flower stall, of course, and it was bursting with vibrant summer blooms.

‘I’ve just got these beautiful irises in.’ The woman picked a bunch out of a galvanised metal bucket. ‘Irises stand for faith, wisdom and hope.’

‘Oh, I could do with double helpings of all of that,’ said Willow. ‘How much?’

‘My pleasure, dear.’ The woman wrapped the flowers in wax paper and handed them to her. ‘You’ve been unhappy. But I believe things are about to change for the better.’

Willow found it hard to believe any such thing, but she didn’t want to be rude.

‘Well, I now have a pretty bunch of flowers’ she said, with a smile. ‘And I’m about to go and buy a giant chocolate chip cookie, so yes, things are looking up.’

‘I’d highly recommend the peanut-butter stuffed brownie,’ the woman said. ‘It’s large enough to share.’

Willow had the oddest sense that this woman knew something she didn’t. But, let’s face it, her mind wasn’t terribly reliable right now, being awash with confusing thoughts and emotions.

‘Thank you,’ she replied.

The woman nodded and turned to greet another customer. Feeling suddenly self-conscious, Willow took her bunch of flowers and hurried away.

Back at the cake stall, Willow joined the very long queue. She should have bought a cookie when she spotted them earlier. By the time she got to the front, they might have sold out, which made Willow irrationally cross. She realised she was crushing her flowers, so she took a breath.

Two customers were served, then three. Willow’s view was blocked by the people in front of her, so she could only see who was buying when they walked away.

The person being served right now was taking their sweet time.

Willow started tapping her foot. Not that it made any difference, but it did release some of her pent-up frustration.

At last! Captain Indecisive was finally walking away. Willow was flabbergasted to see he held only one small paper bag. One bag! How long do you need to choose a couple of items, max?

As if drawn by the force of her indignation, the man turned. He was wearing a faded T-shirt and cargo pants, and his hair was a shaggy light brown. And he was gazing at her with a desperate, naked longing.

All thoughts of cookies vanished, along with any lingering doubts. Willow ran right to him, threw her arms around his neck and kissed him as hard as she could. And Charlie grabbed and held her and kissed her right back.