Page 10 of Hooked On The One That Got Away
‘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.Somepeople 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 withmyname on them!’
If she believed in conspiracies, Willow thought, this honestly would feel like a plot to force her and Charlie together. Whichwas nonsense, of course, but she had to admit the coincidences were pretty weird. Andannoying.
‘Charlie,’ she said, firmly. ‘You left your things with me a year ago, withnoinstructions. 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.
