Page 3 of Hooked On The One That Got Away
‘Swans can break a man’s arm,’ said Maeve.
‘They can’t,’ said Geillis, who clearly knew everything about everything. ‘But they can give you a nasty clout. Best steer clear of them.’
‘Noted,’ said Willow, whose nerves added, ‘Thank you.’
‘Ahem,’ stage-coughed Maeve.
‘Oh, and can we have another round?’ said Willow to Geillis. ‘Please?’
‘Sure,’ said Geillis. ‘Pay at the bar before you go.’
As Geillis strode off, Maeve whispered, ‘You know what happens to people who don’t pay at the bar before they go?’
Willow frowned. ‘No?’
‘We’ll never find out because everyone’s too scared of Geillisnotto pay,’ said Maeve.
The sound of the fiddle in full flight pulled her attention back to the band. ‘Look at his fingers go on those frets. I do appreciate a proficient fingering.’
‘Youcouldask him out,’ said Willow, with a smile.
‘I could,’ agreed Maeve. ‘But you know what you call a musician without a girlfriend?’
‘Available?’
‘Homeless,’ said Maeve. ‘And I’m not sure I’m ready to be a sugar-mummy just yet.’
At least Maeve knewsomethingabout what she wanted, thought Willow. Whereas she’d spent almost a year in limbo, not moving forward, not making any plans. Apart from her job, which she could do in her sleep, all she had in her life was daily swimming and Tuesdays at the pub with Maeve. And the ever-present full-body ache of missing Charlie and wondering what she’d done that was so wrong.
Maeve was right. It was time to move on. Time to start the slow, painful removal of the hooks Charlie had sunk deep into her heart. It was necessary, Willow knew. But that didn’t mean it would be easy.
Chapter Three
Willow hadn’t been bothered by swans up till now. Theywerequite intimidating, with their long, strong necks and black beady eyes, but until Geillis had warned her about them, Willow hadn’t been at all concerned when they were nearby. She’d given them space, and they’d cruised on by. No problem.
This morning, almost as if Geillis had willed it, there was a pair of swans on the bank beside the willow tree, and they werenothappy to see her. Both instantly raised their wings up high, pulled their necks back andhissed. Willow had thought mute swans were just that – silent. These swans not only hissed, it now appeared they also made snorting sounds. Then they startedracing towards her, hissing and snorting and flapping their trulyenormouswings!
Willow turned and ran. She wasn’t proud and she also didn’t want to become the first human killed and eaten by irate waterfowl. She made it back to her car, and once inside, hit the button that locked all the doors. Panting, she looked back but, embarrassingly, the swans seemed not to have followed her. Willow guessed they didn’t want to leave their nest. The nest by her favourite riverbank spot that she’d now need to avoid.
Dammit. Where could she go now? There was limited public access to the river round here. One side was entirely bordered by very large private mansions. Or at least, by their gazebos and boat ramps. The houses were usually miles back beyond a stretch of perfect lawn. There were other swimming areas not too far away, but they didn’t have a willow tree with big gnarly roots you could hide your car keys in.
Oh well, that was what search engines were for. Willow entered her specifications – and lo, a suitable match appeared. A twenty-minute drive, but needs must when your spot has been overtaken by fearsome swans. Besides, it would be good for her to explore and get out of her comfortable rut. She was moving forward, right?
The new spot turned out to be suspiciously ideal. Suspicious because Willow had a sudden sensation that she was being manipulated. That forces beyond her control were aligning to shape her fate. Good thing Maeve wasn’t here. She’d have laughed in Willow’s face, then possibly slapped it to bring her back to her senses.
Willow shook herself vigorously, and the feeling passed. Time for a swim.
She’d checked the route – upstream first for about three miles, turning back before she got too near to the lock. Looked like she’d mainly be in open water, though there were some overhanging trees about midway that she’d need to avoid. Getting tangled in hidden branches was a known risk for wild swimmers. It would be ironic if she’d escaped death by swans only to be drowned by trees.
Acclimatising to cold water had been a gradual process. Willow could now tolerate much longer swims on cold days than when she’d started, which meant swims on warmer days felt positively easy. Today, the weather was calm and bright, and her later start meant the sun had already warmed the top layer of thewater. Willow felt buoyant, cutting easily through the water with smooth, even strokes.
The automatic nature of the physical motion freed up Willow’s brain, which proceeded to start an argument with itself. Maeve was right: Charlie had behavedunforgivablybadly. No decent man leaves without warning, with only a note that says nothing really, except that it wasn’t Willow’s fault. There’d obviously been a side to Charlie that he’d kept hidden, a devious, deceitful and – let’s face it– yellow-bellied coward side. If he’d had an ounce of courage, he’d have been honest with Willow, told her how he felt. Given her a chance to change, to fix things.
All of that was true, her brain acknowledged. But then so was the fact that Charlie was genuinely kind, sweet and loving – and you can’t fake that for five years unless you’re a complete psychopath. Charlie was not a psychopath; Willow had looked up the warning signs when Maeve made that suggestion, and he didn’t tick any of the boxes. He wasn’t superficially charming; he was often awkward and shy. He wasn’t manipulative and predatory; he bent over backwards to help other people and volunteered for community conservation efforts, like tree planting and litter clean-ups. He didn’t purposefully make people uncomfortable with inappropriate sexual comments. He might have been fond of mildly rude jokes, but he picked his moments for those. Usually, he whispered them in Willow’s ear because he loved to make her laugh. And she’d laughed so often back then.
So, which was the real Charlie? The cowardly deceiver or the kind, loving helper? That was the question Willow’s brain couldn’t help her answer. Which meant no answer to the other question that bothered her more: had Charlie truly believed that she was not to blame?
Willow would have to suck up not knowing, because she had no idea where Charlie was. He’d left no forwarding address,and he’d disconnected his mobile phone. He was an only child, and both his parents had died when he was eighteen, in a car crash. Willow might have been able to track down other family members, but would Charlie have told them anything? If he’d wanted anyone to know where he was, he’d have said so in his note.
