Page 8 of Hooked On The One That Got Away (Miss Lovelock’s Agency for Broken Hearts #3)

Chapter Eight

Willow and Charlie had moved in together as soon as they could.

And they’d moved out of London when Willow got the job at the advertising agency.

Charlie had been happy to follow her. He was at a big city law firm and torn between how much he hated it and how much they were paying him.

Willow’s copywriter salary had been generous enough for him to be unemployed for a while, and when he took the job at the small local law firm, Willow had, much to her relief, been able to quit advertising and go part-time at the Council.

Between them, they could afford a cute two-bedroom maisonette in a quiet street, which Willow had loved living in.

But when Charlie left, he’d also left only enough money to pay his share of the rent until the end of their lease in three months’ time.

Willow simply couldn’t afford the whole rent on her own salary, so she gave notice, and was now sharing a house with two others.

She had a spacious bedroom and her own bathroom, and the house was modern and clean.

Her housemates were perfectly pleasant young professionals with busy jobs, whom she hardly ever saw.

Willow knew she had nothing to complain about.

But it didn’t feel like a home the way the maisonette had. It felt crushingly lonely.

Charlie had taken barely anything with him.

The intensity of Willow’s hurt had initially made her want to get rid of everything – rip it up, burn it in a field, fly tip it on a back road.

But hurt had quickly been overtaken by grief, and a wild hope that he’d come back.

So, when she’d had to leave the maisonette, she’d packed all his clothes, books and possessions into boxes, labelled them with his name and taken them with her.

Now, they sat stacked on the top shelf of her wardrobe, where she saw them every time she reached for her clothes.

Willow held open the wardrobe door and stared up at the boxes.

What had she been thinking, keeping them?

Why on earth had she tortured herself with daily reminders of Charlie?

He didn’t deserve her attention. And if he wanted his stuff now that he was back, he should have organised for it to be collected. Time to clear some shelf space.

There were eight boxes in total, and as most of them contained books, they were heavy, which made Willow cross.

Her bedroom was on the top floor and now she’d have to lug all these boxes downstairs one by one.

Her housemates would be home in a couple of hours, but even after nine months, Willow didn’t feel she knew them well enough to ask for help.

Oh well. Swimming had made her arms strong and given her good cardio fitness. She’d be able to manage it.

Three boxes were stacked in the hallway and Willow was just heading back upstairs when the front doorbell rang.

Her housemates hadn’t said they were expecting a delivery, so it was probably someone collecting for charity.

Willow considered pretending no one was home, but she knew her silhouette was perfectly visible through the front door glass.

The doorbell rang again. Willow sighed and opened the door.

Standing there was a young man in tradesman overalls. Willow was immediately struck by his eyes. They were the exact same green-gold shade as Geillis’s at the pub. And despite the rest of him looking nothing like her whatsoever, Willow felt compelled to ask, ‘Do you have a sister?’

The young man blinked at her. ‘Uh – no?’

Willow could understand why he might be bemused. ‘Sorry. I’m not some weird matchmaker scouting for single women. You just look like someone I know.’

‘Okay ...?’

This was not how his day usually went, Willow could tell.

‘Let’s start again,’ she said. ‘Hi, hello, how can I help?’

‘Uh, I’m here to fix a broken tap.’

‘Oh!’ Willow was surprised. ‘No one mentioned that to me.’

The young plumber glanced down at his phone screen. ‘Is this number 17?’

‘No, that’s next door,’ said Willow. ‘Easy to be confused, all these houses look the same.’

The plumber glanced around the street and nodded. He had a round face that would have been entirely ordinary if it weren’t for the eyes. Which lighted on the stack of boxes.

‘Moving house?’

‘Having a clear out,’ said Willow. ‘There are five more upstairs. My quads are getting quite the workout.’

‘Uh – do you want a hand? I’m early, anyway.’

Willow speculated on whether this was the kind of elaborate ploy a serial killer would use but decided she’d risk it. The boxes really were bloody heavy.

‘I’d love a hand,’ she said. ‘Thank you.’

The plumber carried most of the boxes down himself.

‘What are you going to do with them?’ he asked, as he stacked the last one. ‘Dump or donate?’

Willow hadn’t got that far. Now she thought about it, she couldn’t quite bring herself to dump everything. People could make good use of Charlie’s stuff.

‘Donate,’ she replied.

‘Uh, I volunteer at the charity shop,’ he told her. ‘I’d be happy to drop them off for you.’

Willow smiled. Some people really were wonderful.

‘You’re a star.’ She held out her hand to shake his. ‘I’m Willow, by the way.’

‘Ash,’ said the plumber, taking it. His hand was warm and a little calloused. ‘Uh – I’d better get on.’

‘Yep, that tap’s not going to fix itself,’ said Willow.

She watched until he’d loaded the last box into his van, waved as he headed to the neighbour’s, then shut the door.

A strange feeling washed over her. Willow couldn’t tell if she was relieved or sad that the boxes had finally gone.

Maybe she was simply touched by a stranger’s out-of-the-blue kindness?

Whatever the truth, Willow was suddenly desperate for a cup of tea and a sit down.

She’d got the latest Olivia Hayfield novel from the library, and a bit of fun, clever escapism was exactly what she needed.

Half an hour later, Willow was comfortably engrossed in her book, when the doorbell sounded again. This time the caller kept their finger on the bell, making one long, loud jangle that shattered Willow’s peace to smithereens.

‘What the–?’

She got off the sofa and, now feeling panicky, ran to the front door and yanked it open. There, finger still on the bell, was Charlie. Looking outraged.

‘You got rid of my stuff!’

‘What?’ Willow was totally flummoxed.

‘My stuff! My things! I was walking past the charity shop in the high street and saw some guy taking a bunch of boxes into it with my name on them!’

If she believed in conspiracies, Willow thought, this honestly would feel like a plot to force her and Charlie together. Which was nonsense, of course, but she had to admit the coincidences were pretty weird. And annoying .

‘Charlie,’ she said, firmly. ‘You left your things with me a year ago, with no instructions. Can you blame me for getting rid of them?’

‘But – you knew I was back.’

Charlie’s expression was unusually mulish. Normally, it was hard to get him riled about anything. This had obviously struck a nerve.

And he did have a point, which Willow was never going to concede.

‘Which reminded me that I had your things stored away,’ she white-lied. ‘And seeing you’d had more than one opportunity to ask for them, I figured–’ Willow raised her hands in a shrug.

Charlie had been taut with outrage and now he sagged against the door frame and blew out a breath.

‘Right …’

He gazed down the street, looking suddenly so mournful that Willow’s heart did a little flip. Then he gave the door frame a quiet thump with his fist and met Willow’s eye.

‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘For, you know, everything, but also for going off at you just now. It just–’

‘Just what?’ Willow prompted.

‘It hurt ,’ he said, roughly. ‘It hurt like hell, knowing you were getting rid of all traces of me. And I know I’ve no right to expect anything more, but …’

His voice was starting to break, and he paused, ran a hand over his face.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, again. ‘I’ll leave you alone.’

And he strode off, his shoulders hunched in the way Willow knew meant he was embarrassed and angry with himself.

Willow was so close to calling out after him, calling him back.

But where would that lead? Possibly, if emotions were running high, to what Maeve would call an ‘ex-ccident’.

But it would only be temporary – she and Charlie were over, he’d made that clear – and then Willow would be back to square one, feeling sad and abandoned. She owed it to herself not to go there.

But why? Why was Charlie so hurt by her getting rid of his stuff? He was the one who made a clean break, so why should it matter to him at all?

Willow could see one of her housemates walking up the road. She didn’t want to explain why she was loitering in the doorway, so hurried back inside. Tried to focus on her book again but her brain couldn’t settle.

There was only one thing to do. Willow picked up her phone and called Maeve.