‘Hello, love,’ he said cheerfully, addressing Willow’s one visible eyeball. ‘Your neighbour’s out. Any chance you could take this?’
He presented a small box for her eyeball to inspect.
‘I guess so,’ she said, reluctantly peeling back the chain.
‘Cheers,’ said the courier, thrusting the box into her arms. ‘Sign here, please.’
He produced a plastic box with a screen, and Willow squiggled her signature.
‘Fantastic,’ the courier beamed. ‘You have a nice day now.’
‘Thanks, although it’s been flipping awful so far.’
‘Oh… er… sorry to hear that, love,’ he said, dropping his smile and appearing uncomfortable.
He wasn’t used to dealing with females who, now that he could see both of this lady’s eyeballs, looked slightly unhinged. He backed away, desperate to return to the sanctuary of his van.
Willow sighed and shut the door. Putting the box to one side, she took a deep breath. If she was going to behave like a thief, she ought to get on with the burglary… metaphorically speaking.
Moving upstairs, she stood on the landing and peered into the bedroom she shared with Charlie. The hot water tank in the cupboard to her left suddenly gurgled like a rumbling stomach. Willow found her tummy replying. But she dismissed her mid-morning hunger pangs. They were no respecter of the seriousness of this matter. She was about to cross not just a line of trust, but to abuse that trust too.
Stepping into the bedroom, she flung open the wardrobe and surveyed the contents within. There was a central area with a high-placed rail from which jeans and trousers dangled from pegged hangers. Either side were twin rails, one high, one low. The left side accommodated Willow’s clothing. She ignored her skirts, blouses, cardigans and coats, and instead turned her attention to the right side. This area contained Charlie’s suit jackets and shirts. These were the garments that interested her. Willow pulled up her sleeves and, like a pickpocket, got to work.
Her fingers moved like spindly spider’s legs, quickly dipping into pocket after pocket as she worked her way along the rail of shirts. She wasn’t expecting to find anything in the breast pockets, and she didn’t.
Moving down to the lower rail, she began to search more thoroughly. Suit jackets had all manner of hidden places to conceal things. But what exactly was she looking for? A telephone number? A woman’s name? A photograph? She didn’t really know. Presumably if she found something, her intuition would shriek, “Unfaithful Bastard Alert!”
She gulped and took a deep breath as she dug into an inside pocket. One side. Now the other. Moving outward. Past the lapels. Downward. Now frisking the fabric like a security checker at an airport, just in case the very lining was hiding secrets. Swooping up. Another outside pocket, but… oh, it was stitched up. Okay. Move on. Next jacket. And the next. Now the other sort of jackets. The ones that Charlie teamed with jeans.
Willow’s fingers delved in and out. Her pulse accelerated when she came across a small piece of paper. Pulling it out, she gazed in relief at a dry-cleaning ticket that hadn’t been thrown away. Carefully replacing it – nothing must look as if it had been violated – she moved on to a short coat with a fleecy collar. She loved this on Charlie. Indeed, she’d borrowed it once or twice, enjoying snuggling into its cosy, too-big depths.
Her heart skipped a beat as her hand encountered something small, hard and cylindrical in shape. What the heck was this? Withdrawing the object, she felt a shockwave ripple through her. Oh my God. A lipstick.
Suddenly Willow felt nauseous. Her legs were no longer capable of holding her up. She sank down on the carpet, her mind reeling. Who did it belong to? She unfurled her hand, letting the tube roll backwards and forwards across her palm. The case was gold. She twisted it apart, so the colour was fully revealed. It was exactly the sort of shade she liked to wear. A peek at the tiny sticker on the base informed her the shade was called Bad Bitch. A piece of Willow’s mind peeled away as she wondered how many people had blown a marketing budget coming up with such an awful name. And then a lightbulb lit up a different part of her brain.
‘You bloody idiot,’ she said aloud, letting out a snort at the same time.
The snort became a giggle. Then a laugh. Two minutes later she was still convulsing, tears pouring down her face. Willow realised she was in the grip of hysteria borne from relief. The lipstick was hers. She must have put it in there the last time she’d borrowed Charlie’s jacket and failed to take it out. Not so much Bad Bitch, more Silly Bitch.
Pocketing the lipstick, she rocked back on her heels. The worst was over. She was sure of it. Even so, best to check everything. Just to be on the safe side.
Willow continued peering into everything. Even Charlie’s shoes. She also slipped her hand inside every sock in his bedside drawer. There were no love notes, nor receipts for meals in unfamiliar restaurants. There now remained only one thing left to do. And it was a biggie.
Quivering like a fox cornered by a hunting hound, she went into the box room that doubled as Charlie’s study. There, on the desk, was his laptop. He’d never made any secret of his password. He used the same letters and numbers for everything. From paying a gas bill or accessing his gym membership, to viewing his on-line bank statements. It was the latter that Willow was interested in.
Her heart was now hammering like a woodpecker on amphetamines. She’d gone well and truly past the point of no return. Snooping on Charlie’s finances was just the pits. But she couldn’t help herself. Both Anna’s words and those of this morning’s anonymous caller kept reverberating in her brain.
I want you to promise me that you’ll never marry Charlie… promise me… promise me… promise me… leave Charlie… leave Charlie…
Her eyes flit from one side of the screen to the other, taking in a couple of direct debits, a standing order to their joint account which took care of the monthly bills, numerous purchases at the station café, and the restaurant that Charlie had taken her to last weekend for her birthday.
Everything was in apple-pie order. The only thing that puzzled her was a large cash withdrawal from an ATM. The transaction date was yesterday. Charlie wasn’t one to carry cash on him, much preferring the ease of contactless purchasing. Strange. She chewed her lip thoughtfully. And then it came to her. Of course. It was to do with the tetchy client. Charlie would have withdrawn that money to provide the wretched man with a butter-him-up breakfast and, later, a lavish dinner liberally garnished with flattery. Charlie would keep all the receipts incurred and later claim it back as expenses.
She logged out and snapped the lid down. What a fool she’d been to allow the likes of Anna and an anonymous madwoman to put the wind up her. There was no need to look for complications or sub-plots when there were none. She’d found nothing, because there was nothing to find.
Willow let out a huge sigh of relief. Charlie might be allergic to the M word, but that didn’t make him a bad person, and certainly not an unfaithful one.
Feeling both disgusted and ashamed of what she’d just done, Willow went downstairs to make a cup of tea.
Thirty-One
Armed with a cuppa, Willow glanced at the clock on the kitchen wall. It was getting on for lunchtime. Now that her despicable act was behind her, she felt able to think about food.
Rustling up a quick cheese sandwich, she scoffed it greedily. Realising that she currently had the luxury of time to respond to Emma’s earlier text, she picked up the phone. Her bestie had asked for details about the man in Willow’s house while Charlie was away. Never had Willow been so ready to get so many things off her chest… although she’d be omitting the details of going through Charlie’s belongings and especially his bank statement.
Willow tapped out Emma’s number. With a bit of luck, her friend would be on her lunchbreak and available to talk. Willow was delighted when Emma picked up said she was free to gossip.
‘I’ve had a right morning,’ Willow moaned. ‘It was so bad that Jean s
ent me home.’
‘Battle-axe Jean sent you home? My goodness, whatever’s been going on?’
‘What hasn’t?’ Willow countered.
‘You’d better bring me up to date. And what’s all this about another man in your house?’ said Emma in astonishment. ‘I couldn’t believe what I was hearing when listening to your voicemail. Are you going to lob a bombshell at me and say you’ve met someone else?’
Willow wasn’t sure, but just for one moment she could have sworn Emma had sounded hopeful about Willow having another man. But before the thought could even take root, she dismissed it as having an over-active imagination, no doubt brought on by the events of the last few hours.
‘No, I haven’t met another man’ – Willow gave an astonished laugh, as if the very idea of her two-timing Charlie was absurd – ‘but you go first, Ems. I was really concerned when I read your text this morning. What’s all this about you not being in a great place, and this guy you’ve been tentatively seeing suddenly wanting to cool things?’
‘Oh, isn’t it always the way with men?’ Emma grumbled. ‘They love you and then flaming well leave you.’
‘Is that what’s happened then? He’s cleared off?’
‘Not totally’ – Willow could sense Emma shrugging – ‘but he might as well have done. After all, he wants us to take a break. Just for a bit. But how long is “a bit?”’ Emma complained.
‘I don’t know,’ said Willow sympathetically. ‘But you’re worth far more than taking a back seat whilst waiting for some guy to make up his mind about whether he wants to be with you or not. He sounds like a mind-messer. And didn’t you say he was already in a relationship?’
‘A relationship in the throes of dying,’ said Emma defensively.
‘Nonetheless, it does sound’ – Willow picked her words carefully – ‘a teensy bit complicated.’
When Emma didn’t reply, Willow was worried she’d offended her.
‘I mean, the likely reason for him wanting a break–’
‘Yes?’ said Emma eagerly.
‘Is to extricate himself from his current relationship, and then have a bit of time to himself. Just to, you know, catch his breath.’
‘Do you think?’
At the other end of the line, Emma’s voice had whooshed like a high-speed elevator from deep despair to sky-high hope.
‘Yes, I do think. In fact, I’m positive,’ said Willow, crossing her fingers. ‘But it doesn’t stop me from worrying about you, Ems. I don’t want you getting hurt.’
‘Too late for that.’
Gloominess whipped away Emma’s previously positive tone.
‘But don’t fret about me. I’ll get over it.’ She gave a derisive laugh. ‘After all, I’ve had plenty of practice over the years.’
‘I just know that there’s someone out there waiting for you,’ said Willow encouragingly. ‘You’ll see.’
‘Yeah, well I wish he’d hurry up and come along and help me get over this guy. Why are all men dickheads?’
‘I don’t know.’
Willow didn’t believe her man was a dickhead but decided to go along with Emma’s opinion given her blue mood.
‘Anyway, enough about me and my failed relationships,’ said Emma. ‘So do tell. If you’re not secretly giving Charlie the run-around, how come you’ve had another guy in your house? Has he gone?’
‘No, he’s still there,’ said Willow mischievously.
‘And Charlie knows about him?’ asked Emma, mystified.
‘He does. In fact, it was his suggestion.’
‘Okay, now you’re really blowing my mind. Let me get this straight. Your boyfriend wasn’t around last night, but this other guy was?’
‘Yes.’
‘And he stayed the night?’
‘Yes,’ Willow giggled.
‘And Charlie condoned this man sleeping with you?’ said Emma in astonishment.
Willow burst out laughing.
‘Okay, I’ll come clean. So, when I tried calling you, it was with the intention of having a bit of a bitch-fit rant. I was really fed up. Last night Charlie had to unexpectedly go away on business, which was disappointing enough – lately, I’ve hardly seen my boyfriend – but to cap it all off, Charlie’s allowed his mate from work to move in. Ben. I felt miffed actually, because Charlie didn’t even think to ask me how I felt about the arrangement. Typical man. Anyway, it transpires Ben hasn’t been happy with Anna – that’s his girlfriend – for ages, so now they’ve gone their separate ways. However, they’ve got to sort out selling their house, and as neither of them wish to suffer each other’s company before the house is sold, Charlie told Ben he could move into our spare room. I came home last night to find the hallway stuffed with plastic sacks and suitcases, and was far from impressed. But I could hardly tell Ben to sling his hook. Nor could I have a private row with Charlie about it because he was hastily stepping over everything and fighting his way towards the front door. He had an overnight bag in one hand, and said he was off to see a demanding client who’d threatened to take business elsewhere. So there I was, still in my coat, saying a rushed good-bye to my boyfriend, and expected to cook dinner for another man. Anyway, Ben and I shared a companionable meal together. Obviously mad-arse Anna came up in the conversation, and before you tell me off for being rude about her’ – Willow lowered her voice confidentially – ‘she is most definitely mad-arse because, do you know what that woman did?’
Willow paused dramatically but didn’t wait for Emma to reply and swept on.
‘Anna phoned me at the crack of dawn. Can you believe it? It was still dark outside, that’s how early it was. Anna said she was really fond of me – ha, can you believe that! – so much so that she was most concerned about my own relationship, and said I must never marry Charlie. Indeed, she wanted me to promise her. Can you imagine? How flipping mad-arse is that? The woman is clearly bonkers. Meanwhile I have Ben on the other side of a paper-thin bedroom wall, which I’m far from happy about. I mean, can you imagine what it’s going to be like trying to have quiet sex knowing that Ben will be able to hear everything? But that’s not all.’
Willow paused but only to take a deep breath.
‘When I arrived at work this morning, I’d barely been there two minutes when Jean answered the phone and there was yet another mad-arse woman asking to speak to me. So I took the call – which infuriated Jean big time – but was greeted with long silence. So I got a bit stroppy which prompted the woman to hiss two words. “Leave Charlie.” It really freaked me out. Ooooh, my flesh has erupted in goose bumps just thinking about it. I mean, what the hell was that all about, eh? And who would even do such a thing?’
Willow rattled to a standstill and waited for Emma to reply. The subsequent lengthy pause had Willow assuming her friend was too gobsmacked to speak.
‘Ems? Hello? Are you still there?’
‘Yes… I’m here,’ said Emma faintly. ‘I was, er, just trying to get my head around everything you’ve said. I mean… wow! How barmy. I don’t speak to you for one night and in less than twenty-four hours your private life has gone nuts. Have you told Charlie?’
‘No, not yet. But I will. I guess I’ll have to pick my moment when he’s back home and Ben isn’t around. Flipping heck, I can’t even have a private conversation with my own boyfriend now that someone else is living with us.’
‘Do you know how long this guy is going to be with you?’
‘Ben said he wants to buy a newbuild over at Ebbsfleet, but the site is still wasteland. It looks like he’s going to be with us for a while.’
‘Poor you,’ said Emma.
However, her tone lacked sympathy, and Willow noted this. She was surprised. And puzzled. In fact, Willow could have sworn her friend was now sounding quite jolly.
‘I must get back to work,’ Emma chirped. ‘Are you still on for Saturday?’
‘Yes. Definitely. I’m looking forward to it. Charlie and Ben are in Birmingham for the weekend – another work co
nvention – so I can hang out with you for as long as you like.’
‘Great!’
There it was again. A definite note of cheerfulness in her friend’s voice. Was she imagining it or… surely Emma wasn’t pleased that Ben was living with them and cramping not just their style but also their sex life? Willow shook her head, as if dismissing the thought. Emma’s emotions were all over the place right now. Of course she’d be down one minute and chipper the next. And then Willow tutted. Why was she overthinking everything?
‘I’ll come round to yours on Saturday morning and pick you up,’ said Emma. ‘Parking is always hell in town on the weekend, so it’s pointless taking two cars.’
‘That’s kind, but are you sure you don’t mind being the driver?’
‘Not at all. See you about ten’ish. And I hope you’re up for getting a tattoo with me.’
‘Hm, we’ll see. Although’ – now it was Willow’s turn to be chirpy – ‘Charlie did suggest me having his name put on my wrist.’
Emma’s tone instantly switched to the voice of doom.
‘I wouldn’t.’
‘Why ever not?’
‘Tattoos last forever, but sometimes relationships don’t.’
Thirty-Two
Charlie arrived home from work while Willow was chopping veg for dinner.
From her position by the kitchen window, Willow observed her boyfriend coming through the garden gate. Her heart sank at the sight of Ben bringing up the rear.
Willow was certain Ben wouldn’t have told Charlie about Anna’s weird phone call. Telling Charlie served no purpose. Ben had made no secret of the fact that Anna was a hothead. Even if Charlie was told, he’d likely dismiss Anna’s action as that of a woman with an axe to grind… and not bothered about who got in the way of that axe.
Willow deliberated whether to tell Charlie herself about Anna. Hm. Maybe. However, Willow did want to tell Charlie about the anonymous phone call at the library. After all, that had been unpleasant. She would tell Charlie in a quiet moment… whenever that might be.
Willow's Wedding Vows: a laugh out loud romantic comedy with a twist! Page 14
