The Home for Broken Hearts

by Rowan Coleman

  “You don’t really think that.” Carla looked skeptical, her light gray eyes narrowing. Matt tried to imagine her in the morning, her face clean of makeup. It was surprising how different some women could look in natural sunlight and without any cosmetic aid. Despite her profession, Carla was wearing hardly any, and Matt liked that about her.

  “Listen, it’s my first night in town tonight. I’m moving into my new place later—but could I take you for a drink first? It’d be great to have someone show me around a bit.”

  “Really? I mean yeah, okay—why not—a drink, yeah, that would be good. Great—I mean fine, whatever.” Carla’s face flitted through a range of expressions from surprise to delight to studied nonchalance within a fraction of a second.

  Seeing Carla’s mobile peeping out of the top pocket of her dress, Matt fished it out, careful not to touch her. He punched his number into it and saved it under his name.

  “Text me, yeah? Let me know where to meet you.” He slipped the phone back into her pocket, feeling more heat between the two of them in that second than he had felt the whole time he’d been talking to Lindsey.

  “Bye then.” Carla swept the bristles of her brush over the tips of her fingers, leaving them dusted with glitter.

  “See you later,” Matt told her. “Look forward to it.”

  Matt followed Pete down the concrete stairs of the studio and out onto the bright street, crammed with office workers clamoring for lunch and a little midday sun before they chained themselves back to their desks.

  “So you’ve got your eye on Carla, then?” Pete nodded in approval. “Nice little arse on that one and not a bad pair for someone so skinny.”

  “It’s just a drink,” Matt said, laughing, as he followed Pete into the back of a black cab.

  “It better not be! You and I know the score, Matt, and let me tell you, you might not spend your afternoons rolling around with naked models, but you mention to any pretty little blonde you meet in the pub who you work for and chances are most of them will be all too happy to show you what they’ve got, in the hopes that you’ll get ’em on the next cover.”

  “Pete—you don’t decide that!” Matt chuckled.

  “I know that, you know that—but they don’t.” Pete laughed. “Best job in the world, mate. Best bloody job in the world.”

  Matt glanced at his watch and sat up. It was almost 8:00 P.M. He’d told the woman on the phone that he’d be at his new lodgings by seven at the latest. It was time to go. Carefully he eased himself off the bed, hoping not to wake Carla.

  “Where you going?” she murmured, rolling over, exposing one delicate, pink-tipped breast.

  “I’m moving into my new place tonight, remember I told you?” Matt smiled, bending over and kissing her freckled shoulder. “We were going to have a couple of drinks and then they turned into doubles and we came back to your place for coffee to sober up and…”

  “Well, we did sober up.” Carla smiled, leaning up on her elbows, her tangle of auburn hair nestling on her shoulders, her black mascara spread under her eyes, intensifying their pale blue hue. She stretched out two slender arms to him, cocking her head to one side and curling her mouth into the sweetest smile in her armory.

  “Do you really have to go?”

  “I do,” Matt said. “I need to move in and I’m already late.”

  “Well, I’ll come with you then,” Carla offered, already pushing back the bedclothes and reaching for her discarded bra. “Help you get moved.”

  “I’ve only got a couple of cases,” Matt said, nodding at his luggage that he’d left in the hallway. There were two reasons he didn’t want Carla to come with him: first, he didn’t really want anyone to know that he was going to live with a widow and her kid and, from what he could make out, some old lady and a German woman. It wasn’t exactly cool, it wasn’t exactly the Bang It! –lad lifestyle that Pete had told him he had to embody. But it was the only place he could find close to work that he could afford and that wouldn’t mean spending a fortune in travel costs. It would do for now, at least while he was still on three months’ probation; once the job was permanent and he knew he wasn’t going to have to go back up north with his tail between his legs, he would look for a bachelor pad.

  The second reason was that he didn’t want Carla to think that what had just happened meant anything. That the sex they’d had would lead to greater intimacy. Matt had broken his own rules. He hadn’t told Carla up front that he wasn’t looking for a relationship. He hadn’t told her definitively that he wasn’t looking for a girlfriend, his usual blunt disclaimer when he approached any woman. In theory, his blunt honesty should have put girls off, but so far that had rarely happened. Women heard what he said, they shrugged their shoulders as if they didn’t care—but almost all of them seemed to secretly think that he would change. Each one thought she would be the girl who would change him; one night with her and he’d change his mind, be desperate to settle down, get a couple of kids and a dog. Almost without fail, they were upset and hurt when they realized that Matt never stuck around for more than a couple of weeks at the most. When he’d remind them about his disclaimer, they’d look bewildered and hurt, as if they really believed that a few nights of sex, a few days of laughing and kissing automatically meant the beginning of a grand romance. Sometimes Matt felt bad about letting them down, but at least he always had his declaration to hide behind—proof that he had not led them on. But in the heat of a moment saturated with vodka, Matt had forgotten to make his intentions clear to Carla.

  “You should stay right there, relax,” he instructed her.

  Carla flopped back onto the bed, stretching her arms above her head and smiling.

  “If you insist.” She smiled happily. “Today certainly turned out a lot better than I expected. Not that I do this sort of thing all the time—never, actually. There was just something about you that seemed… right.”

  “For me, too.” Matt pulled his jacket on and sat briefly on the edge of the bed. “You are a fantastic girl, Carla.”

  He meant it—Carla was funny, beautiful, and warm and engaging in bed. She deserved someone a lot better than him.

  “And life’s for living, isn’t it? I mean, how boring would it be if no one ever took a chance…”

  Matt didn’t reply, even though he knew that Carla was looking for some sort of reassurance. Obviously, going to bed with a man she had met only a few hours earlier wasn’t normally her style, and she wanted him to tell her that she hadn’t made a terrible mistake.

  “So when do you want to meet up again?” Carla went on after a moment’s silence. “I’m supposed to be hanging out with my girlfriends tomorrow, but I could cancel if you want.”

  Don’t do that, Matt thought. Don’t just decide to change all your plans for me.

  “I’ve got to work,” Matt told her, glancing at his watch. “New boy—lot to prove. Need to deliver a kick-ass column.”

  “Oh, okay, no worries—well, just call me when you’re free then,” Carla said, a tiny frown line insinuating its way between her eyebrows.

  “Sure. See you.” Matt got up, picked up his cases, and closed Carla’s front door behind him, knowing that she’d be flopping back on the bed, her fingers in her hair, wondering what she’d done.

  “Hello.” A boy opened the front door and greeted Matt without the faintest flicker of a smile. He was a good-looking boy, with intense eyes and an odd smudge of lilac paint across the bridge of his nose. “Are you Matt Bolton, because if you are, you’re late.”

  “I know, I’m sorry,” Matt said, taken aback by the boy, suddenly very glad that the last remnants of the vodka he’d indulged in with Carla had receded to no more than a slight fuzziness around his temples. Somehow, he got the feeling that he was going to need all his wits about him. “I got held up at work, you know.”

  “What were you doing?” The boy questioned him closely, with slightly narrowed eyes. “Were you interviewing Chloe Brand, Britain’s sexiest babe 2009—was
she wearing a bra?”

  “Wha… what?” Matt spluttered, glancing around as if this were a trap set to catch him out. “How do you know about Chloe, kid?”

  “This kid, Harvey, from school, nicks his dad’s copies of Bang It! out of the recycling bin and brings them to school. He charges us a quid a look. It’s worth it, though.”

  “Christ!” Matt laughed. “Does your mum know?”

  “No, and she’d kill me if she did, she still thinks I’m a little boy… so anyway—were you?”

  “No, I was not.” Matt shook his head. “I don’t do that sort of thing—no one really does that sort of thing. They take those photos somewhere else, far away from the office, and then a staff writer makes up the interview.”

  “Really?” The boy looked disappointed. “You mean Chole isn’t really a huge Arsenal fan, and she doesn’t really love to watch a match wearing only the team colors and a pair of stilletos?”

  “How old are you?” Matt asked, peering through the crack in the door to take in what looked like an ordinary hallway in an ordinary home.

  “Twelve, nearly,” the kid told him. Matt could tell that the “nearly” part was very important to him.

  “Makes sense. I guess I was interested in the same things at your age. Guess I have been ever since.” Matt lowered his voice. “Look, if you want to pay a pound a pop to look at your mate’s mags, that’s your business, but all I do is write stuff, all the words that you and your friends probably never look twice at. My job’s boring, mate, I promise you.”

  “Oh.” Charlie looked disappointed, then perking up slightly he added, “Do you have PS3?”

  “Not on me,” Matt said. “I shared one with my old flat-mate but I had to leave it behind when I moved. I’ve got a PSP, though, and a DS—is that enough for you to let me in?” Matt nodded at the doorway.

  “S’pose.” The kid shrugged and stepped aside, yelling, “Mum, he’s here!”

  A woman hurried out of a back room, wearing an oversized man’s shirt and a pair of baggy jeans; her dark hair was tied in a knot on her head, and, like the boy, she was splattered with lilac paint. She had the most remarkable pair of green eyes, like a summer meadow.

  “Oh, you must be Matt,” she said, greeting him with an outstretched paint-spattered hand. “We were worried that you’d been mugged or got lost; it’s a jungle out there. I’m Ellen and this is Charlie.” She placed a hand on Charlie’s shoulder and he reflexively shrugged it off.

  “No, no—nothing so interesting…” Matt thought briefly of Carla’s closed eyes as he had kissed her, the setting sun turning her skin a shade of pale gold. “Just caught up with work, first day and all that. Sorry, your sister, Hannah, is it? She gave me your number, I should have called and let you know I’d be late.”

  “No, no—I don’t want you to think you have to keep me apprised of all your movements. I’m not that kind of landlady. To tell you the truth, I have no idea what being a landlady is all about yet. I’m sort of making it up as I go along.”

  She began to walk up the stairs, talking as she went, and Matt assumed that he was to follow her. “Well, I’m not sure what Hannah told you. You know what the rent is and that it includes utilities. You’ll get a key, of course, and a shelf in the fridge in the kitchen if you want one—it saves on labeling, apparently—but there is room for a fridge in your room and a microwave if you like. Otherwise, just come and go as you please.”

  Slightly breathless as they reached the top of the stairs, Ellen pushed open the attic door and stood back, allowing Matt into the room first.

  “There’s a large bedroom, and a bathroom, my husband and I always thought that…” She trailed off for a second, to a moment in time that Matt couldn’t fathom, before snapping back into the present. “Anyway, I hope you like it.”

  Matt walked into the room and looked around. It was large, almost the whole footprint of the sizable house, with dormer windows on one side that looked out over the street and VELUX windows on the other, letting in plenty of light. It was furnished with a slightly aged-looking double bed, a rather worn red sofa, a dark wood wardrobe, and a desk. Through a door to the right Matt could see the bathroom. It was basic; it was perfect.

  “It’s great,” he said, turning to Ellen, smiling.

  “Oh, well—good.” Ellen dropped her eyes from his and tentatively touched her hair, as if she had only just remembered that she had screwed it up into a careless knot a few hours earlier. Matt noticed the holes in her pierced earlobes, redundant without earrings.

  “Um, Matt…” Matt watched as Ellen’s mouth undulated with uncertainty.

  “Yep?” he said, offering an encouraging smile.

  From the look of her, she was somewhere in her thirties, pleasant-looking—something like the women who after getting married and having kids sort of give up on trying to attract men because they just don’t need to anymore. Matt had to admit that he was relieved; after talking to the openly flirtatious sister, he’d been a little concerned that his new landlady would be something of a temptation, the kind of temptation that it would be a very bad idea to give in to and the kind that he invariably did, hence his swift exit from the Manchester Evening News. But as sweet as she seemed, there was nothing about this woman to tempt him. She was a widow and a mum, and as far as Matt could see, those two things defined her. There was no danger of entanglement here.

  “Ellen, I’m hard to offend—tell me what you’re worried about.”

  “Well, it’s just that you’ve met Charlie.” Ellen finally found the courage to look up at him again. “He’s at an impressionable age and, well, it’s only been a year since his dad died. I don’t think he’s even begun to work that out yet.”

  “Must be tough.” Matt nodded; his father had walked out on him and his mother when he had been a little younger than Charlie was now. The fact that his dad was still alive somewhere didn’t ease the sense of bereavement that Matt had felt for a very long time.

  “You won’t… I mean you wouldn’t…” Ellen struggled to form a sentence. “It’s just Hannah told me a bit about your work and…”

  “You want to know if I’ll be parading topless models through the house and leading Charlie astray?” Matt asked, thinking of Charlie’s opening interview a few minutes earlier.

  “Well, yes, frankly.” Ellen’s smile was bashful, and Matt noticed the very fine crinkles that blossomed prettily around the corners of her eyes.

  “No, I won’t. I promise.”

  “Of course, you’re a young man,” Ellen said, as if the twelve years between them were really a hundred and twelve. “You’ll want to bring friends back. A girl sometimes, maybe even girl s.” She stressed the last letter of the sentence with a raised brow.

  Matt couldn’t help but grin as the color rose in Ellen’s cheeks.

  “All I’m asking is that you be discreet—you know, in the shared parts of the house.”

  “Of course,” Matt assured her. “Look, Ellen, this is your home. I know that. Your sister told me what happened and why you’re taking in lodgers. I don’t want to make things any more difficult for you. You’ll hardly know I’m here, I swear.”

  “Thank you,” Ellen said. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be rude or put you off or anything like that.”

  “Don’t be silly.” Matt picked up one suitcase and dumped in onto the bed, where it bounced once. “You’re a mum, looking out for your kid. I wouldn’t expect differently.”

  “Right. Well, if you want to come down and make yourself something to eat or drink, then feel free. I’ve got to finish painting the dining room for my last lodger. I think Hannah told you about her. She’s due in a few days.”

  “Old lady who writes sex books, right?” Matt asked as he unzipped his suitcase and opened the wardrobe to find a selection of mismatched hangers.

  “Well, it’s more like historical fiction, but anyway, Charlie and I—and Sabine, that’s our German guest—will be in there if you need us.”

  Ma
tt glanced at his watch. It had just struck nine.

  “She’s arriving in a few days, you say?”

  “Yes, I know.” Ellen looked stricken. “I’ll be lucky if the paint’s even dry. I had no idea it would take so long. Trouble was, the patterned wallpaper kept on showing through the paint. We’re on our fourth coat now and it needs at least one more, and apparently the room absolutely mustn’t smell of paint by the time she arrives. Come to think of it, Simon hasn’t even told me when her chaise longue is to be delivered.…”

  Ellen frowned, the tiny crease deepening between her brows.

  Matt pulled his work shirt off over his head, discarding it in a tangled heap on the bed as he fished a faded T-shirt out of his case.

  “Sounds to me like you need a hand.” He grinned briefly at Ellen before pulling the top back over his naked torso. “It’s the room at the back, right?”

  “Only if you’re sure.” Ellen’s smile was uncertain.

  “Sure I’m sure.” Matt trotted down the stairs and Ellen waited for a moment before following.

  For some reason, she felt more out of breath on her descent that she had on the way up.

  CHAPTER

  Six

  Ellen jumped when the alarm clock sounded so that the pages of The Sword Erect that she had been reading slipped to the floor, skimming one over the other as they fluttered gracefully downward. Her clock was set for 6:30 A.M., but sleeping much beyond 5:00 in the morning was something that Ellen had been a stranger to since she’d lost her husband. She’d stay up late, as late as she could, fighting the drag of her heavy lids to the very last second in the hope that she would eventually wear herself out enough to sleep through until morning. But no matter how hard she tried, Ellen’s nights had evolved into an exhausting routine. She’d drift off over a book somewhere around 2:00, sleep for a few fitful, restless hours, and just before 5:00 her mind would jerk her awake with the panicked sensation that she had forgotten something. Ellen’s heart would be pounding in her ears, her eyes wide open as they adjusted to the dark, her weary mind seeking, against her will, to remember the terrible truth. Then it would all come back to her, and in those first seconds it would tear through her just as vividly and as painfully as it had when the poor young policewoman first broke the news. Nick was gone. He was not asleep in bed beside her and he never would be again. She would never again hear his voice, never feel his touch, never listen to the sound of his breathing. And as that reality washed over her yet again with the cold indifference of a wave breaking over a rock, Ellen would have to spend several moments gasping for air, fighting both for and against life, until her heartbeat slowed and she thought of Charlie, asleep in his bed, waiting for her to make him breakfast. Then she would have a reason, her only reason, to get up.