Page 9 of Hooked On The One That Got Away
Dammit, she was stuck. And frustrated. And, even more annoyingly, sad. Despite her best efforts, seeing Charlie had stirred up regret as well as anger. What a waste those five yearswith him had been. Not to mention the past year she’d spent trying and failing to get over him.
But, oh, how she’d loved him. Howhappyshe’d been in her blissful ignorance. How convinced she’d been that Charlie was The One, her soulmate. And that they’d be together forever.
Willow thought back to when she and Charlie had met. It had actually been under a table. At an engagement party for one of Willow’s friends from university, held at a flash restaurant in London. The happy couple-to-be were doing very well in finance in the City and had spared no expense. Willow had bought a new dress for the occasion, much shorter and sparklier than her usual taste but the sales assistant had sworn that it suited her, and it seemed to fit the glitz of the occasion. Trouble was that she’d tried it on while standing up, and at the party had discovered that when she sat, the dress rode up so high she was in danger of being arrested for flashing. Crossing her legs only made it worse, so Willow was forced to spend most of the party on her feet. By midnight, she was so weary and sore – and to be fair, quite drunk – that she simplyhadto sit down, and the only place where no one could catch a glimpse of her hooha was under a table. Willow crawled into her hiding place on all fours and bumped her head on – someone. A young man, sitting cross-legged on the floor. His head was tilted sideways to avoid the underside of the table, and he was gazing at her with a smile. Which, Willow observed, created a ridiculously cute dimple in one cheek.
‘Lost something?’ he asked.
‘My dignity,’ Willow replied. ‘Have you seen it?’
‘Probably in the same place as my tolerance for people who work in finance,’ he said. ‘I’ve already tried to sneak out twice, but I keep getting spotted. It was either hide under here or barricade myself in the loos and listen to those same people do endless lines of coke.’
‘It’s my skirt,’ explained Willow, still on all fours. ‘If I sit down, it rides up to my neck. And if I stay on my feet any longer, I’ll never walk again.’
The young man not only had a dimple, but also kind brown eyes, delightfully shaggy hair that Willow itched to run her fingers through, and themostkissable mouth. She’d never experienced such instant attraction before, and the sensible part of her warned that champagne was probably a big influence. The rest of her was responding in a way that meant the sensible part could take a running jump. She was going home with this man, she knew it. And she was already imagining what he was going to do to her.
‘I’m Charlie,’ he said.
‘Willow,’ she replied, a little breathlessly.
Charlie cupped her face with his hand and kissed her. His mouth was soft and strong, and the touch of it ignited every nerve in Willow’s body. His tongue flicked against hers and she moaned, and then almost cried out when he broke the kiss.
‘Blimey,’ Charlie murmured, his eyes wide. ‘I think we’d better leave, or we’ll become the after-dinner entertainment.’
‘I’ll fend off anyone who tries to stop us,’ said Willow. ‘I did a self-defence class once.’
‘Good to know.’ The dimple was back. ‘Right, let’s make a run for it.’
The pair slid out from under the table. Charlie whispered, ‘One, two, three –go.’
Willow remembered laughing and stumbling through the partygoers, and once outside, hailing a cab to Charlie’s place, where they’d ripped off their clothes and devoured each other for hours with an intensity of passion that Willow had never before experienced.
And as she walked back from Harvey’s to the council offices, Willow wondered if she would ever feel like that again.
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 therest 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?’
