Page 5 of Hooked On The One That Got Away
Charlie whipped off the nubbly green jersey he was wearing over his t-shirt and offered it to her. Willow’s desire not to become hypothermic won over her instinct to throw it in thewater. She pulled it on. It smelled like Charlie and was still warm from his body heat. Willow wondered if the day could get any worse.
‘Can we talk?’ Charlie sounded subdued. ‘Can I – explain?’
‘Ha!’
Willow’s bark of sarcastic laughter startled both of them. Charlie’s expression became worried and wary.And well it might, thought Willow. She was angry again. No, scratch that – she wasfurious. All this time, she’d been wondering what it wasshe’ddone wrong when it wasCharliewho felt guilty, who needed to justify his actions to her. It was suddenly all so blindingly obvious.
‘No,’ she said. ‘No, we can’t talk. No, you can’t explain. What you did to me was unforgivable. It was deceitful and unkind.Morethan unkind – it wascruel. You nearlydestroyedme, Charlie–’
Her voice cracked. She hugged herself for comfort, took a breath and shook her head.
‘Willow, I’m so–’
‘I have to go,’ she said, and started to walk towards the towpath.
‘But – how far away’s your stuff?’ Charlie called after her. ‘I could drive you–?'
Willow ignored him. Swim shoes weren’t great for walking, but they’d last the mile or so back to her car.
Somehow, she knew Charlie wouldn’t follow her. This meeting, strange as it was, had felt like the closure she’d needed for a year. She’d spoken her mind, told him how she truly felt. Made it crystal clear how much he’d hurt her. She’d also made it clear that she no longer needed him to explain because nothing he could say could change what he’d done. It all felt liberating to Willow, like a weight had been lifted. Charlie meant nothing to her now. She was free.
By the time she reached her car, Willow was warm enough to discard the jersey. She considered shoving it in a rubbish bin but instead stopped off at the local charity shop and handed it over as a donation. And then she went home to shower and change before work.
Chapter Five
The town council offices were in a pleasant old Georgian brick building. There weren’t many staff; the big decisions in the area were made by the county council. Willow’s desk was next to the two-person team at Community and Amenities, and in front of the Admin Officer. She liked her colleagues well enough but vastly preferred getting out and about to gather content and chat to people. Today, she was popping in to see the graphic designer who did the quarterly magazine layout. Harvey had got into the game back before desktop publishing, when, as he liked to tell Willow, his tools were a Rotring pen, scalpel and hot glue. Willow was curious about how he’d used each of those but wasn’t entirely sure she wanted details.
Willow didn’t know much else about Harvey’s background except that he was from a posh if cash-strapped family, and though he must surely be over fifty, had one of those pink, cherubic, unlined faces framed by a shock of mostly still-golden curls. His office was tiny, consisting of a wall of bookshelves, his desk, and an extraordinarily messy table with two chairs for holding meetings. His desk, by contrast, was spotless. Basically, because everything that had ever been on it was now on thetable. Willow had got used to propping her notebook against the nearest pile of stuff.
As usual, Harvey’s outfit looked faintly Dickensian, with a tweedy waistcoat over a collarless shirt. The clothes probablyhadbelonged to his Victorian ancestors. Truly posh people never threw anything away.
‘Right-ho,’ he said. ‘What razor-sharp pieces of investigative journalism do we have for this next issue?’
‘Hot Dogs restaurant has finally been sold,’ replied Willow. ‘No guarantee the new owners won’t knock it down and start again, so brace yourself forPreserve Our Mock-Tudor Heritageprotesters chaining themselves to the bike rack outside. Um … a record amount of litter was gathered by volunteers in the spring clean-up, and another retirement home is opening.’
‘Is that really necessary?’ said Harvey, his expression pained.
‘Ageing population,’ said Willow.
‘I’d sooner die,’ said Harvey.
‘Well, yes, that is the other option.’ Willow scanned her list. ‘And we’re going for best-kept village again, despite having not won it for the last sixteen years, whichcouldseem like a hint to stop trying.’
‘Only a curmudgeon doesn’t enjoy a nice hanging basket of petunias.’
‘Noted,’ said Willow with a grin. ‘Of course, there’ll be the usual Council committee reports. And – actually thisisquite interesting – a local not-for-profit has been set up to investigate creating hydro power from the river. Clean energy and all that.’
‘At leastsomethingabout the river will be clean,’ muttered Harvey.
Willow paused. ‘What do you mean? The river’s clean just here, isn’t it? It better be, I swim in it every day!’
Harvey pursed his lips. ‘Itseems,’ he began, slowly, ‘that the local water company is illegally dumping raw sewage in it.’
‘Is there alegalway to dump raw sewage?’
‘Well, that’s the problem,’ said Harvey. ‘Water companiescanlegally discharge sewage if there’s a heavy rainfall, to prevent the sewers from backing up. But apparently they’ve been spilling in dry times, too.’
Willow was aghast. ‘I’d heard this was going in other places. But not inourriver? Why is this happening? And more importantly –why is no one stopping them?’
