A Wounded Heart

Northampton, UK

1st Edition published 2023 by Parkland Independent Books

Text, Copyright 2023 Marc Nobbs

Cover Art, Copyright 2023 Marc Nobbs

eBook Edition, License Notes

This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

The right in UK Law of Marc Nobbs to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright holder.

Bookapy User License

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please go to Bookapy.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Mature Content

This ebook contains sexually explicit material and is intended for free‐thinking individuals over the age of 18. By downloading and opening this book, you are stating that you are of legal age to access and view this work of fiction and that doing so is legal in the territory where you reside.

This book uses uncompromising adult language to depict uncompromising adult activities. If that is likely to offend you, sorry, but you downloaded the wrong book, please go and do something else.

A Wounded Heart is a direct continuation of A Tortured Soul, which itself is a continuation of A Good Man. After a brief Prologue, A Wounded Heart picks up from the exact point that A Tortured Soul ended.

If you haven’t read the first two books, then you probably won’t get as much enjoyment from this book as possible.

It may also be beneficial to have read some of the other Westmouthshire Novels too, but that is not essential. Both Chloë Goodman from Kissed by a Rose, and Will Brown from Eternally & Evermore have significant supporting roles in A Wounded Heart and understanding their back-stories will enhance your enjoyment. Bobby Jones of The Lies Series, David Laird of Charlotte’s Secret, and Chris Austins of Lost & Found, all have minor supporting roles too. In fact, the first book of Bobby’s The Lies Series takes place during the events of A Wounded Heart (although they are not referenced).

All of these stories take place in Westmouth, Westmouthshire—a fictional town and county on the South-East Coast of England. A Wounded Heart makes use of some of the locations established in those earlier Westmouthshire Novels and references some characters not mentioned above and some of the events from them. Keep your eyes open and allow yourself a wry smile each time you spot a reference.

Oh, and one more thing. This book uses uncompromising adult language to depict uncompromising adult emotions and activities. If that is likely to offend you, sorry, but you bought the wrong book.

Prologue

June 2048

“Anything exciting planned for today,” my wife asked as she sat at her antique Queen Anne dressing table, brushing her long blonde hair.

The ornate mahogany desk with the enormous, hinged, triple vanity mirror had been one of my silver wedding anniversary gifts to her almost five years ago. Our thirtieth was coming up in the summer and I needed to start thinking about what to get her for that.

She deserved only the best for putting up with me all these years.

I digress.

She looked at me through the mirror and smiled. I was on the other side of the room, straightening my tie in the full-length mirror on my wardrobe door. It was the morning after Will’s funeral, and we were both preparing for the day ahead.

“Well, I wouldn’t call it exciting. Imogen and I are meeting with Marie to go over the first draft of last year’s accounts. For both BCT and Wintersmith. It’s been a good year, so I’ll need to sit down with the others later and discuss bonuses too. Other than that, it’s the same old, same old.”

“You’re not starting work on Will’s Estate?”

I shook my head. “I’m not doing it. It wouldn’t feel right. I’ll get one of the other members of the team to handle it—I just haven’t decided who yet.”

“Do they know that?”

“They have a fair idea.”

She put her brush down and then pulled her hair back with one hand so she could wrap a hair band around it with the other to make a ponytail.

“What about you?” I asked, turning around. “Any plans?”

“I’ve got a scholarship trust meeting. We’re looking at the candidates for this September’s awards. We need to decide who gets the awards soon. We’re reviewing the performance of the current recipients too.”

“Good. You enjoy running the trust, don’t you?”

She shrugged—a habit she’d no doubt picked up from me after over thirty years together. “Who wouldn’t? It’s important. I’m glad Chrissy asked me to do it when she retired. Of course, It would be better if we didn’t have to award this money to these kids, but we are where we are.”

“You did your best to try and change things. But there’s only so much you can do from the back benches."

"I know. I’ve achieved far more as a campaigner since standing down than I ever did in Parliament.”

I walked around the bed to stand behind her. I put my hands on her shoulders and then bent down to kiss her cheek. “Hey, don’t do yourself down. You did a lot of good as an MP. You fought the good fight—that’s all you can ever do in opposition. And don’t forget you helped to get this Government elected, even if you did stand down. They are doing good things now, aren’t they? You can take some credit for that.”

She reached up with her left hand and placed it on my right. “I know. I know. I just wish…” She tapped my hand a few times.

“I know.” I bent down to kiss her again. “I have to go. I’ll see you this evening.”

“See you this evening. Don’t forget we’re supposed to be having dinner with The Gurus this evening, so don’t be late back.”

“I know. And I’m certain Imogen will make sure I leave on time. And alert the rest of you if I don’t.”

“You best make sure she doesn’t need to, then.” She watched me walk towards the door through the mirror but, before I left, she turned and said, “Paul?”

I stopped and turned back to her. “Yes?”

“I love you.”

I smiled. “I love you too. Always.”

**********

I drove to work thinking about how many times I’d made this same journey, driven along these same roads, since that first time Imogen and I had arrived at what was then the JMS Law Westmouth Office thirty-five years ago. And about how that fleeting stint of Work Experience—just a couple of months—changed things for me so much. Had I not been in that place at the time, my life probably would have taken a much different route.

Sure, I might have ended up in a similar place eventually, but the route would have been different.

Just as there are two or three different routes I can take on my commute, each with a different journey time and with different landmarks on the way, I suppose there were multiple paths my life could have taken. But how many of them would have led to the same destination? How many different people could I have met on those different routes that I never did?

Who knows?

My second year at university was, possibly, the most important of my whole life—setting the route my life would take from that point on. It was also the year my wounded heart finally started to heal—thanks in no small part to the people around me at the time—my Relationship Gurus.

But also thanks to one other person in particular.

No, not my wife—her time would come later. A person who, while I never fell in love with her, showed me that I was, at least, capable of loving again.

And of being loved.

1: But You’re…

Sunday 30 June 2013

Of course I remember you. How could I forget *that* story? This is great news! Not as good as if you’d *found* your happy ending but still great news. I want to hear everything.

I stared at my phone, not quite able to believe that Chloë Fucking Goodman had not only replied to my text but remembered who I was even though we’d only met once and then only for a couple of hours or so. Granted, during that time I told her my life story and she expressed what a great film it would make if I could find a happy ending, but still…

Then the phone’s ringtone burst into life and the screen was filled with the picture of the movie star that I’d found on the Internet and attached to her address book entry after sending her the text. Just in case, you know?

I looked at the achingly beautiful face on the screen for just a second longer than I would with a normal call, then pressed the screen and slid my finger to the right to answer it.

“Hello?”

“Paul? Paul Robertson? This is you, right? I mean… this is you?”

“Er… Yeah. Yeah, it’s me.”

“Oh, thank God. I always worry. You know? That number I gave you is for the phone I use for my family and friends. Not many people have that number. Not like my work phone, the one that agents and stuff have—this is gonna sound awful, but I have someone that answers that one for me, like an assistant, well, they are my manager’s assistant, but you know what I mean. Anyway, they, like, either reply to texts and stuff for me, particularly if it’s, like, scheduling and stuff, because they know my schedule better than I do anyway. Or they divert the call to my private phone if they think I need to take it, but it still shows my work phone number on their phone. I don’t know how that works.

“Why am I telling you all this? I don’t know. Anyway, the point is, last year, I gave my number, my private number, out to someone, and the stupid fool lost it. Some random bloke found it and started harassing me. Sending me dirty texts and pictures of his willy and stuff. It was really freaky. I ended up having to change my number. So, I’m glad it’s you. I’d hate to go through that again. I mean, I know it’s my own fault for giving my number to you and stuff, but it’d still be a pain. It is you, right? The guy from the library?”

She’d said all that almost without taking a breath. It was exhausting just listening to her.

“Yes. It’s me. I was sitting at your desk in the library, and you told me to move. But then you sat down with me and we… we talked.”

“You talked, you mean. I listened.”

“And you listened really well.”

“Thanks. So, what happened next, I guess?”

I shrugged. You know me. “Well…”

“Wait. Where are you? You said you lived in a village in Westmouthshire, right?”

“Micester is more of a town—”

“Micester, right. That’s it. How far is it from town? Westmouth, I mean. Ten minutes? Half an hour?”

“Actually, Chloë… I’m still in Westmouth. I... er… I bought a house here.”

“You bought a house? Damn, you weren’t lying when you said you had some money behind you. Okay, what’s the address? I’ll come right over.”

**********

I was still upstairs when the doorbell rang but figuring it had to be her, I left my desk to go and let her in. I only got as far as the top of the stairs when Mark beat me to it. He’d been in the lounge watching TV. In retrospect, perhaps I should have warned him she was coming. From my spot, I could hear everything.

“Hi, is Paul here?”

“Fuck me, you’re… But you’re…”

“Yes. I am. Is Paul here? I have got the right house, haven’t I?”

“But you’re Chloë Fucking Goodman! No offence.”

“None taken.” There was a pause. Quite a lengthy one. Then… “Paul? Robertson?”

“Oh. Right. I…” Then he yelled, knowing I was upstairs. “Paul! Visitor.”

I smiled and decided to play along. “Who is it?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“Try me.”

“It’s only Chloë Fucking Goodman.” Then, at a more normal volume, he said, again, “No offence.”

“None taken. Again. But seriously, don’t worry about it. It happens all the time. Annoying really because my middle name is actually Susan. Although I don’t like it very much and never use it, so I guess it’s my own fault.”

As I descended the stairs, I heard Imogen, who’d been in the kitchen, say “Mark did you just say—OH MY GOD!”

I saw her flash past the stairs and heard Chloë go “Ooohf” as Imogen slammed into her and hugged her like a long-lost sister.

Imogen finally stepped back when I got to the foot of the stairs, but she took hold of both of Chloë’s hands and, with her wonderful Welsh twang even more evident than usual, she said, “Sorry. I’m sorry, but you’re… and I mean… I love you! You’re amazing! I’ve seen everything you’ve ever been in. And I mean everything. And you’re amazing. And I love you. You’re so beautiful. And smart. And beautiful. And I just love you.”

Chloë was smiling a very kindly smile. I got the impression that this sort of thing happened a lot. That was the weird thing about Chloë—the guys all lusted after her because, let’s face it, she was hot, but the girls tended to like her too. She regularly topped polls in girls’ magazines about role models and that sort of shit.

“Paul!” she said, looking right at me. “It is the right house. Thank God! I’d started to worry, you know?”

Imogen turned to face me. “I thought you were joking when you said you’d met her. But you weren’t, were you? You weren’t joking. You really met her.”

I nodded. “And now so have you.”

“I know! It’s amazing. Wait until Nessa hears you were here. She’ll be so jealous, she only left this morning. Oh, I love you, you’re amazing.”

“Why don’t you go into the lounge,” I said to Chloë. “I’ll make a drink and then we can talk.”

“I’ll make it!” said Imogen, rushing back to the kitchen. She stopped, turned and said, “Sorry! What do you want? Tea or Coffee? Or we have some hot chocolate. I think.”

“Coffee’s fine,” Chloë said. “Black. No sugar.”

Imogen nodded and ran into the kitchen while I gestured towards the lounge.

“Hang on,” said Mark. “You can’t go in there.”

“Why not? It’s my lounge.”

“I’m watching the cricket.”

I shrugged. “So?”

“So…? It’s a Roses match.” He saw my blank expression, then explained, “Lancashire against Yorkshire. And we’re beating them!”

“So? You can still watch.”

“Not if you’re going to be talking and shit, I won’t be able to.”

“It’s okay,” said Chloë. “Is there a kitchen table? It seems apt if do this at a table. Like last time.”

“Dining room then,” I said. “There are some bookshelves in there. It’ll feel like the library.”

Chloë giggled. “Hardly. But it’ll do.”

I led her into the dining room and while she sat on one side of the table, I sat opposite.

“This is a nice place,” she said. “I’d ask why you bought it, but I’m guessing it’s part of the story, so I’ll wait. Don’t really want to skip ahead. I do that with scripts sometimes, ‘cause, you know, there’s not really time to read every single word on every single page of every single script I get sent. But I never do it with books. It spoils the fun, don’t you think?”

Before I could reply, Imogen came in with three mugs and a plate of chocolate biscuits on a tray. She put it on the table and gave one to Chloë while I took my mug—the one with a Disney World logo on it that I bought when I was over there.

“That was quick,” I said.

“I’d already put the kettle on. I was going to make one and bring it up to you.” She picked up the last mug and walked around the table to sit next to Chloë.

I stared at her, willing her to go away, but Chloë said, “Imogen, right?”

Imogen’s eyes got really, really wide. “How do you…?”

“Paul mentioned you. Mentioned you a lot actually. His rock I think he called you?” She looked at me with a twinkle in her eyes.

“Really?” Imogen said, focusing her gaze on me. “You really said that?”

I shrugged.

“He told me everything. I think,” Chloë said. “Well, as much as you can expect a boy to tell you everything. There are still a few blanks, but that’s no surprise. Maybe you could fill them in for me after.”

“After what?”

“After Paul brings me up to date. You should stay for this, then you can prod him if he misses anything out.” She turned to me, picked up a biscuit from the plate and before she bit into it said, “Okay, what happened after I left the library?”

I shrugged again. “That evening? Not much. I did a lot of thinking. Thanks to you. But then I had this dream that night. Actually, I suppose it was more of a nightmare…”

And so, just like the first time I met her, I told Chloë everything—or as much as I could—and she listened without interruption. The same can’t be said of Imogen—she kept butting in with titbits of her own. But the long and short of it is that I brought her completely up to date, right up to the point where I sent her that text message.

“So now you’re ready to look for your happy ending?” she asked.

“It’s funny, you know? I hadn’t really thought of it in those terms until I found your number this evening and thought about what you said when you gave it to me, but yeah, I think I am.”

“You think you are, or you know you are?”

I shrugged.

“He’s ready,” said Imogen. “I’m just not sure he knows how to go about finding it.”

“Do any of us?” I asked. “Hell, can you really go looking for a happy ending? Don’t happy endings find you and not the other way around?”

“So, what next then?” Chloë said. “You can’t just sit around waiting for it, or rather for someone, to drop into your lap.”

“Online dating!” Imogen yelled. We both looked at her and she explained, “There are some great dating apps for your phone now.” She blushed. “I’ve heard.”

I smirked, but Chloë smiled and said, “She’s right. I’ve seen some of the people on set using this one where you’re shown pictures, and you swipe them off the screen to one side if you like the look of them and the other side if you don’t. If someone likes you that you also liked, then you can message each other and maybe meet up.”

“Sounds ridiculous,” I said.

“Oh, I agree. But it is fun to look at the pictures that people have uploaded. But really, I don’t think you need that sort of thing yet. You’ve still got two years left on a campus full of good-looking, intelligent women. Chances are your happy ending is waiting for you right there.”

I shrugged. “But what about that reputation I had last year? That’ll get in the way.”

“You mean the one about being an amazing lover?” said Imogen. “Oh, yes, that’ll keep the girls away like the plague that will.”

“She’s got a point,” said Chloë.

Imogen grinned at me, clearly pleased with herself at gaining Chloë’s approval.

“The thing is,” Chloë continued, “This reputation—which probably isn’t as widespread as you think it is, to be honest—will affect different girls in different ways, depending on what type of girl they are. I mean, there will be girls who hear what a stud you are—” She grinned at me and winked at Imogen before carrying on “—and they’ll want to give it a try—”

“Kinda like last year,” Imogen said, “but without Amanda acting like your pimp. Honestly, Paul, tell me you didn’t enjoy having a bevvy of beauties in your bed every weekend.”

“I—”

“What you didn’t like was being told who it was going to be and not getting a say in it yourself, isn’t it?”

I shrugged. She was right. But I was damned if I was going to admit it. It was nice to have different fuck buddies every weekend. Damn it, I liked sex.

Chloë grinned. “So, if you want you’ll be able to have fun with those girls, but I doubt any of them will be your happily-ever-after. Maybe, but it’s a long shot. Then there’s the girls that will run a mile. I’m talking about girls that will cross to the other side of the road when they see you coming for fear that you’ll seduce them and rob them of their virtue if they get too close.” She grinned. Again. “Which is fine. None of them would give you a happily-ever-after either. Too timid or too uptight."

“So, if the girls that are up for it, for want of a better phrase, are not for me and the uptight girls are not for me, who does that leave me with?”

“The ones that can see past the reputation and see the real you,” Chloë said. “The ones that won’t care what you did before. They are the ones that will make you happy.”

“You make it sound easy.”

“Oh, I don’t think it will be easy. In fact, I think that these girls will be a rare breed. Few and far between. But if you don’t go looking for them, you sure as hell won’t find them.”

She picked up her drink and drained the mug. “I better be going, I have to be up early to be in London for a damn interview. They’re a pain in the arse but have to be done.”

“Really?” whined Imogen. And I do mean whined. She sounded like a ten-year-old girl. “Do you have to go now?”

Chloë nodded. “Afraid so. But…” She pointed a finger at me. “I want you to keep me informed. Right? And I don’t mean one text six months from now.”

I shrugged. I do that. It’s easier than answering awkward questions.

“That’s what I figured, so…” She turned to Imogen. “If I give you my number, you’ll keep me up to speed even if he forgets. Right?”

Imogen’s eyes went as wide as I’d ever seen them. “You want me to… You mean, you’ll give me your…”

Chloë nodded. “Yes. And I want to know everything that goes on. Okay? We got a deal?”

Imogen nodded—far too enthusiastically if you ask me.

“Good. Here—” She held out her phone to Imogen. “Send yourself a text. That’s easier than trying to remember my number. And you have to promise me you won’t let anyone else have my number. Hell, don’t even tell anyone else you have my number, okay?”

Imogen tapped away on the screen and said, “Yes. Of course. I won’t. I promise.”

“Good.” Imogen handed the phone back just as her own phone, which was in the kitchen, played a comedy notification sound as it received the message and, by extension, Chloë’s number. Chloë stood, and Imogen and I followed her out of the dining room to the door. She held out a hand to me before she left, then pulled me close to kiss my cheek when I took it.

“Good luck,” she whispered in my ear. “I’ll be rooting for you.”

She turned to face Imogen, who crushed her in a bear hug. “You watch out for him, you hear? And tell me everything,” she said when Imogen had let her go.

“Oh, I will. I will.”

Chloë nodded. Smiled at us. And left.

2: Summer Job

Imogen and I were up early the next morning. Since it was the first day of our summer placement at Will’s law firm, we wanted to have a good breakfast at Jak’s, and then arrive at the office right on time to make a good impression. We were due there at nine-thirty, and I figured it was a half-hour drive at most from our house to the business park on the edge of Westmouth where the offices were. So at eight, we walked through the door of Jak’s looking for our usual table.

Well, I say our usual table. That really should be my usual table. This was the first time Imogen, or anyone else, had joined me for breakfast since the end of term a few weeks ago. I, on the other hand, had been in pretty much every morning.

And every morning I’d been greeted by the smiling face of a very lovely nineteen-year-old.

“Hi, Paul!” Marie said as I walked in ahead of Imogen. This was followed by a disappointed sounding, “Oh,” when she saw Imogen walk in behind me.

I offered what I hoped was a reassuring smile and a cheeky wink and was rewarded with a smile back as bright as the morning sun. “The usual?” she said.

“Usual?” I replied. “I have no idea what you mean, this is the first time I’ve patronised this establishment.” This had become a running joke between us.

“XL Full English coming right up.” She shifted her glance towards Imogen. “What can I get for you?”

“Oh, I’ll just have what he’s having.”

Marie frowned. “You sure? That’s a hell of a lot of food.” She grinned. “He eats like a pig.”

“I know!” said Imogen. “I keep telling him he’ll get fat one day, but he doesn’t listen. Okay, better just make mine regular size.”

“Okay. Take a seat and I’ll bring your coffee over. The food will be five or ten minutes, okay? You have yours… er… black? One sugar?”

Imogen nodded. “That’ll do. Thanks.”

We sat on opposite sides of my favourite table—me with my back to the door, Imogen with her back to the kitchen—and Imogen immediately leaned forward and said, “What’s up with her?”

“Huh?” I really could be a terrific conversationalist at times.

“Marie! She’s all like… I don’t know! Has she been kidnapped by aliens and replaced with a clone or something?”

I shook my head. “No, she’s just—”

“Usually such a miserable cow. So what flipped her one-eighty?”

Marie put the coffee down in front of us both. I’d seen her coming, which is why I’d tried to stall giving Imogen an answer, but with her back to the kitchen, Imogen obviously hadn’t. She suddenly looked up at Marie and said, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“It’s okay,” said Marie with a smile. “You’re right. I was a miserable cow. For a long time, actually. Although with good reason. But now I… I don’t know. Things are different. Looking up.” She looked at me. “Partly down to Paul, of course.”

“Paul? Really? How?”

Marie’s smile widened just a little more if that was possible. She really did have a lovely smile. “He spoke to his friend, the lawyer—that’s who you’re working for this summer isn’t it? —and he’s put me in touch with this firm of accountants he knows and they’ve offered me a part-time job. It’s just admin for now, but if I sit my A-Levels again in January, then they’ll consider offering me a training contract. I’ll still have to go and get all my accounting exams and stuff, but it’s a damn sight better than what I had a couple of months ago. I didn’t even think I was going to bother doing my A-Levels again.”

“You did that for her?” Imogen said. “When?”

I shrugged. “It was nothing.”

“Don’t you dare say that,” Marie said. “It may have been nothing to you, but it is everything to me.”

I smiled at her. “I know. I’m just glad I could help.”

“I know. Thanks. Sorry, I didn’t mean to… I’m just so… I wish I could—”

“Hey,” I said. “We’ve been over this, okay? You don’t owe me anything and you don’t have to pay me back, okay? I was just helping a friend.”

Damn! That smile! I swear, it could light up a darkened forest at night.

She nodded, then walked off to serve someone else, dabbing at her eye as she did.

Imogen stared at me.

“What?”

She shook her head. “You are… You’re amazing, you know that?”

I shrugged again.

“Oh, don’t give me that false modesty shit. You’re amazing and you know you are.” She furtively looked around the room to see where Marie was. Then leaned forward and whispered, “She fancies you. You know that, right?”

I shook my head. “Don’t be silly.”

“I’m not. She fancies you. You should ask her out on a date or something.”

“I don’t know. I mean—”

“Hey, remember what Chloë said? If you don’t put yourself out there, you’ll never know if you’ve found your happy ending.”

“And you think…?”

“I don’t know. But do you want to risk missing out?”

“I don’t know, Gen.”

“Fine.” She pulled her phone out of her pocket and started tapping away at it.

“What are you doing?”

“Updating Chloë.”

Oh, shit. What had I let myself in for?

**********

We arrived at the Westmouth office of JMS Law at twenty past nine. I parked the car, and we stood outside the entrance looking at each other nervously.

“You ready?” I asked.

She shrugged—a habit she’d picked up from me no doubt. “I guess.” She took a deep breath.

“You’ll be fine. We’ll be fine.”

She smiled then said, “What does JMS stand for anyway?”

“Jenkins, McCall and Smith,” said a voice from behind us. We both turned and saw Will walking towards us. “Figured you’d get here early so I came down to wait for you. I was over there on that bench.” He pointed to three benches arranged in a U-shape a few yards away from the entrance. “You walked right past me.”

“Sorry,” I said.

“Don’t worry about it. It’s understandable. Anyway, Jenkins, McCall and Smith were The Firm’s founders. But when the last one retired last year, the partners—well, some of the partners, the London-based ones mostly—thought it was a good time for a re-brand. Hence, JMS Law.”

“I get the impression you weren’t keen on the name change,” I said.

“I’m a traditional kind of guy. I like traditional names for law firms.” He smiled. “Come on, let’s go inside and get started.”

As we followed him towards the entrance, Will said, “What do you think of our new building? It’s only been open a couple of months.”

“Really?” I said.

“Yes. First of April to be exact. It was supposed to be built about five years ago, but then the recession hit and the project was put on hold. I was finally able to push it through a partners’ meeting in the middle of twenty-ten. It took a while to get planning approval, and then about a year to build. But I’m really pleased with it.”

It looked to me like it was actually two red-brick buildings joined by a third glass structure. The one to the right of us was a three-storey rectangular box, the red brick punctuated with too many windows to count. It extended out from the entrance we were heading for by quite a long way. As did the building to the left—which created a sort of courtyard, I guess—but this part of the building was curved, kind of like a square with a semi-circle on one end.

Connecting these two was a wall of glass the full height of the building. Will led us through a double-height, double-width door in the centre.

“This is the atrium,” he said. “It’s our reception and waiting area. At the back, there are public toilets and some refreshment facilities. And if you look up, you’ll see there are walkways between the two halves of the building—three on each floor. I think it’s a great piece of design. But then I would—I approved it.” He laughed and took us to the reception desk.

“Have you got the ID badges for two new work-experience people,” he asked the older of the two women behind the desk. The second one was currently on the phone. She must have been about the same age as me and Imogen—very early twenties. If Clarissa’s voice had still been with me, she’d have been saying about now that she was just my type.

“Of course, Mr Brown. I have them right here,” said the older receptionist. She picked up two plastic cards on blue lanyards from the desk by her keyboard. “Here you go.”

“Thank you, Helen,” Will said as he took the IDs from her. “Paul, Imogen, this is Helen, who’s been here longer than I have. I keep trying to get rid of her, but she won’t go. I’ve sacked her five times, but she just turns up the next day like nothing happened.” He grinned as Helen suppressed a girlish giggle. She was probably old enough to be Will’s mother, but they obviously had a good relationship.

“Nice to meet you, Helen,” I said.

“See,” said Will, “What did I tell you? He’s a natural. Knows whose good side he needs to get on without prompting.”

“I’m sure he had a good teacher,” she replied.

The second woman finished on the phone and looked up. “And this is…” Will paused. “Paige,” he said tentatively. The girl smiled and nodded. Will looked at us and said in a stage whisper, “I think that’s the first time I’ve gotten her name right.”

Paige giggled again and said, “You’ve never gotten it wrong yet.”

“Oh, haven’t I? I must be thinking of someone else.” He grinned at her and then addressed me and Imogen again. “Paige has been with us a couple of months now and is our new… What is it? Office Apprentice or something? Ten years ago, the role would have been called an Office Junior, but the Age Discrimination laws effectively stopped you from advertising that job because it discouraged more mature, experienced people from applying. So, it became the Office Assistant. Of course, that meant more mature, experienced people did start to apply for those types of jobs and since experience will usually be preferable to no experience, the Government suddenly found that the number of younger people out of work went up. And I mean it went up quickly. Naturally, they decided they needed to do something about it and introduced a new Apprentice scheme, where they paid employers to create jobs for the young people put out of work by the Age Discrimination laws. Things like this are the reason I don’t like employment law.”

“But that’s mad!” said Imogen.

“That’s the Law for you.”

“But, they changed the law then changed it back? Why?”

“No. The last Government introduced a law to tackle one problem, but it ended up having consequences they hadn’t expected so the next Government introduced a law to tackle the new problem.”

Imogen just shook her head.

“But anyway,” Will said, “Paige’s job is not Office Junior although her duties are exactly those of a Junior from ten years ago. Isn’t that right, Paige?”

“I don’t know,” she said with a smile, “I was in primary school ten years ago.”

Will rolled his eyes. “I feel older and older every year.”

“Don’t worry,” said Helen, “You get used to it eventually.”

Will pointed at her with a fake scowl and said, “You’re fired.” He looked at Paige. “Both of you. Now, where’s my coffee?” All three laughed. This was obviously a standing joke.

**********

Will took us up to his office on the top floor of the right-hand side of the building and gave us what he said was his ‘standard’ warning to all new employees—a lecture about client confidentiality and warnings about the various regulations we would be subjected to and how it was vital that we complied with all of them—then his office manager gave us a tour of the building and showed us where we would be working—a large open plan office where several secretaries and admin clerks worked. In fact, my desk was opposite Imogen and next to Paige. She had only been covering for the second receptionist who had a doctor’s appointment first thing and was going to be late.

That first day we were shown the firm’s computer system and given our primary task for the summer—database maintenance. We were going to have to tidy up the database of clients and cases to make sure the details were up to date and they were all flagged for the appropriate marketing efforts by the firm. Will assured us that wasn’t all we’d be doing—he’d let the other lawyers in the office know that both Imogen and I were available for research purposes if needed—but we had to have something to work on when we weren’t needed for other tasks.

The first week flew by. The atmosphere at the firm was quite pleasant—we were all there to work, that much was clear, and there was pressure to do the work quickly and accurately, but everyone seemed to be friends and get along well. Imogen and I were called upon a few times to research a point of law for one lawyer or another but most of the time we worked diligently closing and archiving files, updating addresses and changing names. It wasn’t the most stimulating work, but it was good experience. Plus, we got to browse through some of the files and see what real-world law work looked like.

As I switched off my computer at five o’clock on that first Friday evening, Paige, at the desk next to me, picked up her bag, slung it over her shoulder and said, “A few of us are going to the pub, do you two want to join us?”

I looked at Imogen, who shrugged back at me. “What about Mark?” she said. “He thinks it’s fish and chip night.”

“Text him,” I replied. “You know what he’s like. He’s not exactly going to turn down a night in the pub is he?”

“You can get fish and chips there, if you like.”

“Mark will say it’s not the same,” I said with a smile, “so he’ll probably have a steak instead. Come then, let’s go.”

**********

"You should ask her out," Imogen said as we walked towards the front door of our house.

"Ask who out?"

"Paige, silly."

"Paige?"

"Yes, Paige. You know, cute blonde with big boobs you've just spent a couple of hours sitting next to and flirting with."

"I wasn't flirting." I opened the door and stepped inside.

"You weren't?" Imogen said as she followed me in. "Well, the next time you are can you let me know so I can see the difference? Because it sure looked like you were flirting to me." She took her coat off and hung it on one of the hooks by the doorway. "And she was definitely flirting with you."

"Was she?"

Imogen sighed. "They're right. They are all right. You really are clueless."

We went into the lounge to find Mark sitting on the sofa watching cricket. I'm sorry, but I don't get cricket. I don't get the attraction of standing around playing the stupid game—if that’s what you can call it when you’re just standing around waiting for the ball to come near you—and I definitely don't get the attraction of sitting around watching other men standing around playing the game.

"Who's clueless? And who's flirting?" Mark asked without taking his eyes off the screen.

"Him," Imogen said, hitching her thumb in my direction. "Clueless. This really cute girl has been flirting with him all week, then asks us to join her and some of the others for a drink after work and carries on flirting with him, and he claims not to have noticed."

"Oh, right," Mark said, not sounding the slightest bit interested.

"Look," I said as I sat down. "Paige is a nice girl. And, yes, I'll give you that she's cute. But she wasn't flirting with me. She was just being friendly, that's all."

Imogen sighed again and rolled her eyes. "Clueless," she muttered as she took her phone out of her pocket and turned to leave the room.

"You making a brew?" Mark called as she left.

"Make your own,” she called back as she went upstairs. “I need to text Chloë."

Seriously, what had I done to deserve this?

I looked at the TV. “Can we watch something else?”

“It’s a T-20 match!”

“And?”

Mark looked at me like I’d asked him to eat a puppy. “You don’t like football. You don’t like cricket. There’s something wrong with you mate, I swear.”

I shrugged. “It’s my telly.” That had become a standing joke between us. He rolled his eyes and tossed me the remote control.

“Here. Have it. I need to go and get ready anyway.”

“Get ready for what?”

“Going to the pictures with Gen.”

“What? Like a date?”

“No. Not like a date. Just friends.”

“Why didn’t you invite me then?”

“Because you make too much fucking noise when you eat popcorn.”

I picked up a cushion from the armchair next to me and threw it at him, but he dodged it and ran upstairs.

**********

My phone beeped receipt of a text message and I picked it up off the bedside cabinet to read it.

Imogen has told me about two girls just this week. You should do something about at least one of them if not both. Remember what we talked about. You need to put yourself out there.

I stared at the handset. This was the third text from Chloë this evening. I suspected she and Imogen were having way too much fun with this whole keep me informed thing.

But she was right. I did need to put myself out there. And I should ask someone out—either Paige or Marie.

Paige. It had to be Paige. Asking out Marie would be weird. She was a friend. Mind you, I could say I was just taking her out to celebrate her new job. Or could I? Would she get the wrong idea if I did that? What was the wrong idea? I mean, she was cute. And clever. And funny. But…

I don't know. I needed to stop overthinking things.

I tapped in a reply to Chloë.

Okay! I'll sort something out.

Her reply came back almost instantly. I'm surprised she could type that fast.

Good. Do it now and tell me when you have.

Fucking hell. I had Chloë Fucking Goodman running my life for me now?

I shook my head and opened the phone's contacts app, scrolled through it, and found the number I wanted to call.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Paige, it's Paul. From work."

"Yeah, I know. What's up?"

"Nothing, I… Well…" Okay, how long had it been since I actually asked a girl out? I honestly couldn't remember. No, wait, that's a lie. It was when I asked Vanessa out and she… Before I… You remember that, right? I suddenly felt very nervous. I could feel my heart pounding against my ribcage. "I mean, what it is, is… My housemates are going to the cinema tonight and leaving me home alone and I wondered… I mean… Do you fancy going out somewhere? With me?" I cringed even as I said it.

"Oh, Paul, I… I mean, I'd love to, I really would, but I'm babysitting for my sister tonight. It's her wedding anniversary and I'm staying with my little nephew while they go out for a fancy meal or some dinner show or something. We're going to sit and watch Disney movies and stay up past his bedtime. He's very excited."

"I'll bet he is." I did my best not to sound disappointed, but I don't think I did a very good job.

"So, I can't tonight, but how about some other time?"

"Yeah. Some other time."

"Tomorrow?" Was that the sound of hope I heard in her voice?

"Erm… Yeah. Tomorrow. That'd be… Tomorrow."

"Okay. I'll text you my address tomorrow and you can pick me up at, say, seven? Or is that too early? Eight?"

"Seven's fine."

"Excellent. I'll see you then, then."

"Yeah. See you then."

We ended the call and from the doorway, Imogen said, "See who when? Have you actually asked someone out? Was it Paige? Or Marie?"

I sighed. "Paige."

"Excellent. I'll text Chlo—"

"No. I'll do it."

She shrugged. "Whatever. We're off now. See you later."

I heard the front door close behind Imogen and Mark as I tapped a message to Chloë into my phone.

I have a date tomorrow night. Satisfied now?

She replied almost immediately.

I'll be satisfied when you find your happily-ever-after. But this will do for now. Have fun.

3: Date Night

I parked up in front of Paige’s house just a few minutes before seven and got out of the car to go and knock on her door. I wasn’t even halfway up the garden path when the door opened and Paige came out dressed in a cute little yellow summer dress that complimented her golden locks hanging in loose curls around her shoulders.

“Come on,” she said, taking my arm and hurrying us back towards the car. “If we get any closer to the house, Mum will drag you in for the third degree.”

I arched an eyebrow at her, but she shook her head and steered me back towards the car. Before we got to the end of the path, the door behind us opened and a woman who looked like an older version of Paige called out, "Have fun tonight, Sweetheart, but if you're staying out all night, just send me a text to let me know, okay? Oh, and don't forget to use protection!"

"Muuuum," Paige whined as she tried to hide behind me and drag me to the car all at the same time. She hurried to get in the car and looked anxious to leave.

As I started the engine and pulled away from the kerb, she asked, “So, what are we doing tonight?” She tried to sound upbeat and hide the embarrassment she clearly felt over her mother.

“I don’t know,” I replied. “What do you fancy?”

“Honestly? I’m starving. I haven’t eaten yet, so…”

“Okay. There’s this little Italian place just off the seafront that Will took me to for my birthday last year.”

“Capellos?”

“That’s the one.”

“I’ve heard it’s nice there. I know Will takes clients there sometimes. but I’ve never been.”

“Okay. We’ll go there,” I said, making a right-hand turn at the junction to head towards the centre of town.

“Are you sure? I mean…”

“If you’re asking if it’s expensive, don’t. I don’t know. If it is, we’ll go somewhere else.”

She nodded.

We didn’t speak for a while and I noticed her looking out of the passenger window while I kept my eyes on the road. But then she said, without looking at me, “Please don’t think badly of me.”

I glanced at her and said, “Huh?”

She finally looked at me and said, “For still living at my Mum’s. I’ve been looking to get my own place, I really have, but everything is so expen—”

“Hey,” I said, risking a glance at her. “Forget about it. How many people our age live on their own? Most still live with their parents. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

“You don’t, though. Do you?”

“That’s different. And if I could still be living at home with my parents, believe me, I would be.”

She looked out of the window and quietly said, “Sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“It’s okay. Don’t worry about it.”

She turned to look at me again, then said, “We haven’t gotten off to a good start tonight, have we?”

We were at a set of traffic lights, so I could look at her and smile. “Want to start again?”

She grinned. “Shall we?”

I winked at her and put the car in gear as the lights had gone green. We didn’t speak again until I’d parked the car in one of the seafront bays and we got out to walk to the restaurant. It wasn’t an awkward journey, but it wasn’t exactly comfortable either. I started to wonder if this evening was a good idea. If things continued to go badly, it might affect our relationship at work. Our desks were next to each other. That could prove to be awkward.

“We could go dancing after we’ve eaten,” Paige said as we crossed the road. “In Central Pier.”

I chuckled.

“What?” she said, sounding hurt.

I shook my head. “Nothing. I just… I went to Central Pier a lot with my friends last year. I guess I think of it as a student bar. But it’s not really, is it?”

“No! No way. It’s the best club in town.” She smirked. “Actually, it spoils it when the students are in. They can be so… rowdy.”

I smiled at her. “I can’t disagree with you. Some of my friends are certainly… rowdy.” I paused. “We used to go to Porky’s a lot too.”

“Now that’s a student bar. You wouldn’t catch me dead in that dump.”

“It’s cheap though. You don’t need to take out a loan to get a drink.”

She laughed. As did I. And I felt myself relax just a little bit. I think she relaxed a bit too.

At Capellos, we were seated at a table for two in an alcove at the back of the restaurant and I ordered a bottle of wine as we looked at the menu.

“Paul…” Paige said through gritted teeth.

“What?” I whispered back.

“You said if it was expensive we’d go somewhere else. Sorry, but I can’t afford these prices.”

“So? You’re not paying.”

“Of course, I am! I always pay my share.”

“Not tonight. I asked you out. I’ll pay the bill.”

“But that’s not fair. And besides, how can you afford it? You’re a student working in your holiday. There’s no way they’re paying you more than they pay me.”

“Don’t worry about it. I can cover it. Just… order something nice and stop worrying.”

She looked uncomfortable with the idea. What did I do now? The prices at Capellos were on the high side, but I could easily afford them. But how did I tell Paige that without making it sound like I was bragging? And if I told her about my wealth—for want of a better word—what would that mean? How would she feel about it? Would she turn into a gold digger? Or would she run a mile, thinking she wasn’t good enough for someone with money or something stupid like that?

I watched her as she shifted uncomfortably in her seat and studied the menu. I wondered what she was thinking. Was she looking for the cheapest thing on the menu?

“Paige?” I said. She looked at me but didn’t answer. “Order what you want, okay? Not what you think I can afford.”

“But—”

“But nothing. You can buy me a drink in Central Pier. That’ll make up for it.”

She rolled her eyes. “Pier’s expensive, but not that expensive.” But she went back to looking at the menu. We made some suggestions to each other, and I noticed that she was suggesting the cheaper items, but I didn’t say anything about it. Eventually, we decided and I called the waitress over to order. Then we sipped our wine while we waited for the food to arrive. We’d skipped starters but ordered some garlic bread to share as a side which would come before the main courses. I suppose that, technically, that makes it a starter, doesn't it?

"Paul?" She said as I bit into a slice of garlic bread. Was garlic bread a good choice for a date? I suppose if we were both eating it, it didn't matter. I covered my mouth as I chewed and answered with my eyes that she should go ahead and say whatever it was that was on her mind.

"I have a confession to make."

I swallowed, took a quick sip of wine and said, "Go on…"

She took a deep breath. "I…" She looked down at the table. "I looked you up. On the database at work." Then she looked up at me. Waiting.

I knew exactly what this meant—I'd looked myself up on the database as soon as I'd had access. I was a client of the firm. There were all sorts of details in the database.

"I know I shouldn't have done it, but… When Will sent the e-mail around saying you were coming for some work experience… I heard all these rumours and… I know I shouldn't… I never expected… I'm sorry, Paul, I really am."

"Hey," I said, smiling. "It's okay. This is actually easier." I tried to put the best spin on the situation I could. I was thinking on my feet. Sometimes that was a good thing. Sometimes, not so much. "I guess, this way, you already know everything. I don't need to hide anything from you or worry what you might think when you find out."

She half-smiled. "I don't know if I know everything. Only what was in the files."

"Which is."

"Like you don't know. I bet you looked yourself up on the first day."

I shrugged. "Humour me."

She shook her head, still wearing that cute little half-smile. A knowing smile. "I know that we held some money in trust from your parent's estates until you were eighteen. I know that you received some money from the Liddington estate—I've only heard rumours, but it was tragic what happened to her. So you—What? Shit, were you close? Of course, you were. You had to be or—Shit, I'm sorry."

"No. No, it's fine," I said, wiping an unshed tear from my eye. "Go on. What else."

She hesitated. "I know you bought a house not long ago."

I nodded.

"That's it. That's all that was on the database."

I took a moment to compose myself, sipping again from my wine glass. "All the facts, none of the detail. Right?"

She nodded.

"Is that why you came out with me tonight? To get the details?" I felt my anger rising and fought to keep a lid on it. It wouldn't do to lose my cool in a restaurant like this. Or on a first date. Not that there would be a second date at this rate.

"No! God, no. Paul, no. You have to believe me, no. I didn't… I mean… I know I shouldn't—"

"Forget it," I said, perhaps a little harshly. "Just…" I winched and shook my head. "Let's just enjoy the meal, then call it a night. Okay?"

She looked sad as she nodded her agreement.

I knew this would be a bad idea. And it was Imogen and Chloë's fault. They pushed me into it. They—

"I'm sorry," Paige said, softly.

I looked at her but didn't say anything. Before she could continue, our meals arrived. We ate in near silence, only commenting on how good the food was occasionally. We declined dessert and I settled the bill before we left.

As we crossed the main road on the seafront to get back to the car, Paige said, "I'll understand if you just want to take me home, but… Will you give me a chance to explain? Please."

I studied her face—her eyes mostly—looking for some sign of… something. All I found was a young woman who was upset that she might have offended me and was looking to put things right. Was I naïve? Maybe. But I also wasn't completely heartless. I had a heart. It was just wounded—as someone once told me.

I nodded.

It was a pleasantly warm evening, so I suggested we go and sit on one of the benches on the promenade that looked out over the sea. We sat slightly apart, and Paige turned her body towards me as she started to speak.

"I… Damn. How do I… Bear with me while I try and get this out, okay? I'm not very good at this. Not very… What's that word? Ellie-something."

"Eloquent?"

She blushed. "Yes, that's it. Eloquent." After a short pause, she said, "I didn't look you up in the database because I was being nosy or anything. It was more…” She looked down at her lap. “What's that Will says?” She looked up at me again. “Professional curiosity. I'm just an admin apprentice at the moment, the lowest of the low, but I don't want to stay that way. I want to learn. And Will wants me to as well. I'd like to work towards being a Paralegal and maybe, one day, even getting properly qualified. I know that's a long shot, but…" She shrugged. "So, anyway. I've developed this habit of looking up clients after I've come across them—either on the phone or in reception or even just taking tea into a meeting. Will's encouraged me to do it. To look up clients and see what sort of work we do for them.

"So, when we got that e-mail and someone said you were a client of the firm as well, I just looked you up automatically. I didn't for one second think we'd be sitting at adjacent desks or that we'd be out on a date at the end of your first week, or I never would have done it."

"Where did you think I'd be sitting then?"

She shrugged again. "I don't know. Some of the other girls had talked about work experience people from the university before and… Well, it wasn't complimentary. It made me think that you'd be just the same, you know? Sitting in one of the solicitor's rooms or in with the paralegals and thinking you're better than us admin staff just because you're doing a law degree.

"And when I looked at your files and saw how much money you had—sorry, I know I'm not supposed to talk about it, but, you know that I know, so… you know? But anyway, I saw that and just thought I was right, you would think you were better than the rest of us. Some posh boy with a trust fund rubbing the rest of our faces in it.

"But you're not. You're not like that at all. You're doing work they had me doing at first. So…" She shrugged and then went silent.

I stared out to sea. Was that really what people thought of me? Was that how the whole firm thought of me? How many of them had looked me up? All of them? Was I really seen as a posh boy with a trust fund? I mean, I guess I was—maybe not posh, but I certainly had a trust fund. Was this what Will had warned me about over two years ago when he told me about my inheritance from my parents?

"Say something," Paige said. "Please."

I looked at her. Then out to sea again.

"She was my girlfriend. We were supposed to be together forever."

"Who was?"

I looked at Paige. "Clarissa. The Liddington Estate as you called it. She was my girlfriend. I was in the car with her when… I got injured too. I was unconscious for a couple of days. I was unconscious when…"

Paige reached out to put her hand on top of mine, which was resting on my thigh. "I'm sorry, Paul. I didn't know."

I shrugged. "Details. How could you know? I don't suppose it was in the file." I looked out to sea again. "I'm sure when she got Will to write her Will the way she did, she never thought that it was going to be needed any time soon. I bet she thought it would be filed away and forgotten until the next time it needed changing or whatever.

"When Will told me about it, I told him I didn't want the money. That I didn't need the money. I told him to give it to charity. But, rightly, he told me that wasn't what she wanted. That I should honour her wishes. And I intend to. I'll hold on to it until I can put it to good use. To help people. Something Clarissa would have approved of."

It felt… odd… talking about Clarissa on a date. Yet, at the same time, it felt like exactly the right thing to be doing on this date.

We both looked out at sea for a few minutes, lost in our own thoughts. Mine were of Clarissa, and I fought the urge to cry. I have no idea what Paige was thinking about.

"I'm sorry," she said, eventually. I looked at her. "I'm sorry about your girlfriend. I'm sorry I looked you up on the database—that was wrong and if I could go back and change it I would. I'm sorry I spoiled tonight. But I'm not sorry I told you what I'd done. I couldn't have had that hanging over me—I needed you to know what I'd done and that I was wrong, and I was sorry. And if this means we don't go out again—then I'm even more sorry about that. I like you, Paul. I know I haven't known you very long, and I know I don't know you very well—yet. But I like what I do know about you, and I'd like to get to know you a bit better. A lot better. If you'll let me."

She'd looked right into my eyes while she spoke, and I looked right back into hers.

"I think… I think I'd like to get to know you better too." She smiled and it lit up her eyes. "But…"

"But what?"

"Be patient with me. I'm… I'm not in a good place. It's better than it was. I spent nearly two years running away from… from this big gaping wound in my heart… A wound where Clarissa used to be. Where she still is, actually. So…"

Paige squeezed my hand, which she was still holding from earlier. "Can I help?"

"Honestly?"

She nodded.

"I don't know. But I'm willing to give it a try."

4: Summer Romance

I got a text message from Lisa while I was eating breakfast on Sunday Morning.

Feels like I haven’t seen you for ages fancy lunch at vickys place?

I smiled. She was right. Even though she was back in Micester for the break from university before she started her final year, Lisa had bagged herself a summer job and I'd hardly seen her. It would be nice to meet up and chew the fat over lunch.

Great idea! But Mark will probably want to come when he hears we're going to Millie's. He likes the food there. Is it okay if I ask him and Imogen along?

I didn't even have time to set the phone back down on the breakfast bar before it beeped again. How the hell did girls type messages that fast?

Great can’t wait to meet gen at last I’ll call em and book a table see u there at one

I suppose if you're not going to bother with those pesky full stop and commas it makes typing those messages a bit quicker, but still…

I replied that we would see them at lunch and put the phone down just as Mark walked into the kitchen. He headed straight for the corner where the kettle and toaster lived.

"Lunch at my sister’s place?" I asked.

He nodded and grunted, which I took as a positive answer, but to be sure I said, "Leave here about half-twelve, okay?"

"Time for a few games on the Xbox then," he said. "I swear, I'm gonna beat your arse this time."

"In your dreams, Mark. In your dreams."

**********

Mark, Imogen and I arrived at Millie's a little early, but Lisa and Emily had still beaten us there. Jessica, my now Sister-in-Law, had reserved us the same table at the back of the restaurant that we'd had that day in January after the first semester exams when we'd ultimately bumped into Del Stevens. I thought this might bother me, but it didn't. It really didn't.

After I introduced Imogen and Mark to Lisa, we quickly ordered and Jessica brought us out a bottle of wine on the house—it was a bottle of good stuff too—the conversation began and although I was, I really shouldn't have been surprised by the first topic.

"So," said Lisa, "How did it go last night?"

"How did what go?" I asked, knowing full well what she meant.

"Your date," Emily said, already sounding exasperated.

"Oh that," I said, trying to make it sound like no big deal. Then I feigned surprise and said, "Wait a sec—how did you two know about it?" I looked squarely at Imogen, who at least had the decency to look embarrassed. "So, you're reporting on my love life to three people now? Why not just get a Twitter account and broadcast it?"

"Don't be hard on her, Paul," Emily said. "We asked her to keep us informed this summer. To make sure you're okay, you know? We care about you, that's all."

"I know," I said with a sigh. "I know. And to be honest, I'd have been more surprised if Gen hadn't told you."

"Who's the third?" said Lisa. I was hoping they'd both missed that, so I feigned ignorance. It usually worked.

"Third?"

"You said Gen was keeping three people informed. Me and Em—that’s two. So who's the third?"

Imogen looked at me and I shrugged. She could tell them about Chloë as far as I was concerned. If they were talking about the movie star, they wouldn't be talking about me.

"Er…Hang on," said Imogen as she got up to leave the restaurant.

"Where's she going?" Emily asked. I shrugged. It's what I do.

"Probably to ask permission to tell you who the other one is," said Mark. "She's not supposed to tell anyone she's got her number."

"Who's number?" Lisa asked.

Mark grinned. "Can't say. Not unless she says so."

Imogen returned—far too quickly in my opinion. Was Chloë really that interested in my story that she would respond to Imogen's text straight away? Or had Imogen, God forbid, actually called her?

She sat down and looked at me. "She said I can tell them, on the condition that the four of us meet up sometime next week. She really wants to meet both of them."

"Who does?" Lisa and Emily said at the same time.

Imogen looked at me and took a deep breath before addressing the girls. It was moments like this, when she demonstrated how she could be in charge of a tricky situation and keep things calm, that told me she'd be a really great lawyer. I'd certainly want her on my side if it ever came to it.

"You have to promise not to overreact," she said. "You have to promise that you won't shout out, or go crazy—although, I admit, I did kind of lose it myself the first time I met her. It was a bit of a shock though, she just turned up at the door unannounced."

Emily and Lisa both nodded and Emily said, "I promise."

"And you have to promise not to tell anyone else. At all. No one. Okay. Not even Amanda. Actually, especially not Amanda."

They both nodded again.

Imogen took another deep breath. "It's Chloë Goodman."

"Bullshit," said Lisa.

"What? The Chloë Goodman," said Emily.

Now Imogen nodded.

"She's not lying," said Mark. "I opened the door to her last weekend. I swear. I opened the door, and there she was, bold as fucking brass. Chloë Fucking Goodman. Unbelievable."

"But… But…" Emily stammered.

"How? Why?" asked Lisa.

"I met her in the uni library a while back. The day before Clarissa's birthday in fact. And we talked."

"Paul told her his whole story," Imogen said. "And she came around the house for an update after he sent her a text telling her he was ready to find a happy ending."

"Huh?" said Lisa. She must have been taking secret eloquence lessons from me without my knowledge.

"She told him his story would make a good movie if it had a happy ending, so she gave him her number on a whim and asked him to tell her how the story ended. He then forgot about it and left the number in with his lecture notes. When he came across it again filing them away, he texted her. And now, she wants to help him find the happy ending his story needs."

"That is so cool," said Emily, sounding like a star-struck teenager.

"This is real, right? You're not having us on."

Imogen rolled her eyes. "She said you wouldn't believe me." She took her phone out and tapped the screen a few times then held it out to Lisa, who took it.

"Hello," she said, when the call connected. I could just make out Chloë's voice on the other end of the line because I was sitting next to her.

"Hi, is this Lisa or Emily?"

"Er… It's… It's Lisa. Is that really you?"

"Yes, it's me. Can I quickly say hello to Emily, please?"

Lisa handed the phone over and I could no longer hear Chloë's side of the call.

"Hello… Yes… Ah ha… Yes… Okay. I'll tell him. Okay. Bye."

She hung up the call and handed the phone back to Imogen, then looked at me. "Chloë says you have to tell us everything about last night, and we're to properly grill you because she wants a full rundown when we meet up with her on Wednesday evening."

Mark looked at me and grinned. "Mate, you are in so much shit, you know that, right?"

**********

I think most people in the office—or, at least in our little open-plan part of the office—figured out something was going on between Paige and me on Monday morning. It's not as if we were obvious about it, there were no public displays of affection or anything so crass, but there was an air of something between us, whether it be the looks we gave each other that lasted a little longer than one might expect, or the shared smiles or the slightly more intimate way we were when chatting at tea break or over lunch—little touches on the arm, leaning in closer to each other, that sort of thing.

We weren't a couple. We weren't together. But there was something there, as they say.

And people noticed.

Just after lunch, I got an e-mail from Will asking me to go up to his office. He said he had a small research project for me. When I got there, he invited me to sit down and handed me a file.

"I need you to look at the potential Inheritance Tax liability for this client whose Will I'm drafting. He owns a lot of farmland and some commercial property and we're looking to minimise the liability as much as possible. I want you to research it—ask Imogen to help if you feel the need—then report back and we'll see if you draw the same conclusions as me."

"Okay. I can do that. When do you want it back by?"

"Say, Wednesday morning. You have a login for the online library, right?"

I nodded.

"And someone's shown you how to use it?"

"It's pretty much the same software we use at university," I replied.

"Good. That'll help. I have trouble getting my head around Inheritance Tax sometimes—particularly when it’s this complicated with so much real estate involved—I just want to be sure I haven't missed any recent precedents."

I nodded again.

"If you need to stay late, or work on it from home, keep a note of your hours so I can make sure you get paid overtime."

"There's no nee—"

"Not for you, maybe. But I'm sure Imogen will appreciate it. Now, before you go and get started, there's one more thing."

"What's that?"

"You do know that company policy forbids romantic liaisons between staff members, don't you?"

"Er, I…"

"And if we were in Headquarters or one of the offices in and around London, I'd be putting a stop to anything going on between you and a certain Administrative Apprentice."

"Will, I'm sorry, I didn't—"

"But we're not. I think it's a stupid policy and I choose not to enforce it. I think as long as any personal relationships don't affect working relationships, then they should stay personal. All I'm saying is—be discreet. I know you have been so far, and I appreciate it and would appreciate it even more if you kept it that way. Clear?"

I nodded. "I will. Thanks."

Will nodded back. "Good. So, Imogen said it went well Saturday. When are you seeing her again?"

I rolled my eyes. "Did she tell everybody in my address book?"

"Just the ones that care about you, Paul."

**********

Wednesday. That was when Paige and I saw each other again. We went to the cinema on one of those two-for-one deals and for pizza afterwards at one of the big chains. It was pleasant.

And we saw each other again that weekend too. We went dancing in Central Pier. That was very pleasant too.

And that was how the summer went. Paige and I went out on dates twice, sometimes three times a week. We kept things discreet at work, just like I'd promised Will, and nobody mentioned it again.

Were we girlfriend and boyfriend? I don't know. We certainly didn't refer to each other that way—at least, I didn't. I don't know how Paige referred to me with her friends. But we were definitely dating. And exclusively so.

“There’s something I keep meaning to ask you but never have,” I said. It was a Wednesday evening in the middle of August and Paige and I were enjoying a chicken and chips basket meal at our lane in the bowling alley between games. I’d won the first one with a score of one hundred and eighty-five. I was getting better, but so was Mark. We played most weekends and were currently battling to see which of us would break two hundred first. My highest was one-nine-two. His was one-nine-three.

“Sounds intriguing. What is it?” Paige answered.

“It’s not. Not really. I just always wondered—well, since we first met, I mean—why you didn’t go to university. You’ve got the smarts for it, so why not?”

She popped a chip into her mouth and shrugged. “Just didn’t.”

“Oh, no. You’re not fobbing me off that easily. Not this time. Come on, tell me.”

Paige was still something of an enigma to me in many ways. We got on well and we could talk about almost anything. Within reason. I stayed away from the horrors of my past for the most part. Oh, we had discussed it, which means I’d given her a potted version, glossing over what I thought I could get away with. Actually, I think she’d gotten more of my story from Imogen than from me—which shouldn’t surprise anyone.

We talked about work a lot. About what we were both doing and learning and about the law and the firm’s clients. And we talked about what was going on in the world.

But we never talked about her. About Paige.

I’d still not set foot in her house, although she’d been to mine plenty of times. I’d not met her mother even though I regularly picked Paige up at her house. It was clear she had no intention of introducing us any time soon. And she never mentioned her past. At all. Not her school days. Not her old friends. Not her extended family. Nothing. It was if she had no past.

It was very odd.

Or was it?

I didn’t talk about my past if I could help it. And I avoided the subject if I thought I could get away with it. But I knew there were times I had to talk about it. Times I had to explain things.

I’d found that out on our first date. Talking about Clarissa then made this whole relationship with Paige so much easier for me because I wasn’t deliberately hiding anything.

But Paige was. Or I thought she was.

And it bothered me.

“No, really. There’s nothing more to it than that. I just decided it wasn’t for me and figured I’d rather go and start working. Start earning.”

I shook my head. “I’m not buying that. You’ve told me loads of times how you hope you can qualify as a Solicitor one day. You can’t do that without going—”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t know that then, did I?”

“So why not—”

“Just drop it, Paul. Please. I didn’t want to go when the applications had to be in and probably wouldn’t have been able to afford it even if I did. I might try and go part time at some point, but not now. Just… Just leave it at that. Okay? Please.”

I nodded. There was something odd going on here. I knew there was. But didn’t know what. And that was frustrating. The White Knight in me—the one that helped Marie get a place at an accountant’s this summer and before that helped Lily Williams and Lauren Simms when they had problems, hell, the one that first stepped out of the shadows so long ago to help a girl having trouble with her new stepfather—he wanted to help. But he couldn’t help if he didn’t know what was wrong.

Paige wiped her hands on a napkin and stood up. “Ready for round two? I swear I’m going to score at least a hundred this time.”

**********

As the weeks progressed, my dates with Paige became more physical—from holding hands in the cinema or dancing up close, to kisses goodnight, and eventually to full-on make-out sessions, either on one of the seafront benches or in the car at a parking spot up on Westmouth Hill that looked out over the bay. Actually, I think some of the people in the other cars were doing a lot more than just making out—but we never went that far.

It was all very… Normal. I think that's the right word. She still didn't open up about her past, and I still hadn't met her mother, but other than that, things progressed as you might expect things to progress between two young people who'd met and decided they liked each other and wanted to see what might happen between them.

Chloë, in particular, was quite impressed.

"I'm so proud of you," she told me. "We all are." We were having Sunday lunch at Millie's. Besides me and Chloë at the table, there were also my three treacherous friends—Imogen, Lisa and Emily—who were still keeping Chloë up to date on my love life on a regular basis, and Mark, who frankly was just there for the food.

It was the first weekend in September and Imogen and I were entering the last two weeks of our work experience at Will's firm. We'd then have a week to prepare for the second year of our course before lectures started.

"It's not really that big a deal. Is it?" I said.

"Yes!" said Imogen, Lisa and Emily together. At the same time, Mark shrugged and said, "Nah, mate." The girls all looked at him and he said, "Yes. Looks like it is, actually."

I shook my head and chuckled. We were eating dessert. I was surprised he was even paying attention while he tucked into a huge bowl of apple crumble and custard.

"Paul," said Lisa, "This really is a big step. Be honest, this time last year could you really have seen yourself where you are now? The thing with Vanessa—Yes, yes, I know, that wasn't a thing, there's no need to look at me like that—but we all know it really was. And now this with Paige. It's a million miles from where you were when you got back from The States."

"I know. I know. But…" But what? What was that feeling nagging away in the back of my mind? And no, it wasn't a certain voice from my past.

"It's because you haven't shagged her yet," Mark said before spooning some more crumble into his mouth. "What?" He said with his mouth full as the girls all looked at him aghast.

"You can't say that!" said Imogen.

Mark swallowed his mouthful and said, "Why not? It's true." All four girls stared at him.

He looked at me and I just shrugged and said, "I get what you're saying, but you're on your own with this one, mate."

"Cheers," he said, before addressing the girls. "Look, it's like, for blokes, right? If you're not having sex, then you're not really going out, are you? I mean, you're not really boyfriend and girlfriend. That's why him and Ness kept telling each other and everyone else they weren't an item. They weren't doing it, so it didn’t count. Right?"

"I guess," said Chloë, hesitantly.

"Look, after they did it—Paul and Ness, I mean—they stopped telling everyone they weren't together. They didn't start calling each other boyfriend and girlfriend or nothing like that, but they stopped denying it, didn't they?"

“Well, yeah,” said Imogen, “but that doesn’t mean anything.”

Mark shrugged. “If you say so. But ask yourself this, or ask him if you like, is this just a summer romance? What happens when he finishes work experience?”

All four girls looked at me and I looked back at each one in turn. “I haven’t thought about it,” I admitted.

“Exactly,” said Mark. “If you were banging her, you can be damn sure you’d have thought about it. Thought about if you were going to carry on banging her not.”

“Mark!” said Imogen, sounding even more indignant than before. Fortunately, he was saved from anything further—or maybe I was—by a new voice.

“Erm… Excuse me, but… Are you… I mean, you’re Chloë, aren’t you?” It was amazing to me that Chloë’s level of fame was such that a lot of the general public didn’t even use her last name.

She looked at the young girl—she must have been eleven or twelve at most—and smiled. She put her finger to her lips in a shushing gesture, then beckoned her forward. When the girl got closer, she whispered, “Yes. I am. But don’t tell anyone or they’ll all want to come over and say hi.”

The girl giggled and nodded. Then she said, “Can I have a selfie with you?”

“Oh, we can do better than that,” Chloë said. “Give your phone to this big lump here.” She gestured to Mark.

The girl handed the phone over then Chloë put her arm around her and moved her head close to the girl’s and smiled her movie star smile. Mark snapped a bunch of photos then handed the phone back to the girl.

“Are you going to put those on the internet?” Chloë asked as the girl looked at her new photos.

The girl looked at her and nodded. “Is that okay?”

Chloë flashed that famous smile again. “Of course, it is! Just remember to tag me in when you post it and I’ll share it with my followers.” She gave the girl a fake stern look. “You are following me, right?”

The girl nodded again. “Twitter, Instagram, Facebook. Everywhere.”

“That’s my girl. Well, tag me in and I’ll share it and it’ll get loads and loads of likes. Okay?”

“Yeah. That’d be so sick.”

“Don’t forget to mention the restaurant as well. Okay?”

The girl nodded, then smiled and hurried back to her parents a couple of tables over. Chloë watched her as she flicked through the photos to show her mother. The girl's father looked across at us, smiled and mouthed, "Thank you."

Chloë just smiled and nodded at him.

"Doesn't that bother you?" Emily asked.

"What? The fan-selfie thing?" She shook her head. "Not really. I used to hate it but I think I’ve learned to appreciate it and it’s just part of the job now—at least, that's how I look at it. Four or five years ago, I'd have been signing autographs, but now everyone wants a selfie instead."

"But," said Emily, "I mean… You're in a restaurant. With friends. Don't you think it's rude to interrupt like that?"

Again, Chloë shook her head, those famous brunette locks seeming to shimmer in the light as she did so. "Not the way she did it, no. You get some people who come up to you while you're eating or whatever, but she's been itching to come over here for ages and her parents made her wait until we'd near enough finished. Mark's the only one still eating and that's because he eats like a pig and is the only one who had dessert." She winked at him while he spooned some more crumble and custard into his mouth. Mark just shrugged.

"And besides," Chloë continued, "And I don't mean this to sound conceited or anything, but I just made that young girl's day. Hell, I've probably made her year. She'll be telling her friends about this when she gets back to school and showing them the pictures and she'll be really popular for a while. And she'll always remember the day she had her photo taken with Chloë Goodman." She paused. "There's another one. Over there. The young man. Sixteen maybe? Seventeen? He's been sneaking looks over this way ever since he sat down. But I'm betting he's too shy to come over. They are at that age. It's easier for them the younger they are."

She looked at her watch. "I should be going. I need to stay in London tonight as I'm on breakfast television tomorrow. Early start. But watch this. I'm going to make that young man's day too."

She gave us all goodbye kisses on the cheek, then stopped by the young man's table on the way out. She bent down to speak to him, but we couldn't hear what was said. Then the star-struck teenager took out his phone, handed it to his dad and looked like a deer in the headlights as Chloë posed for pictures with him. In the last one, she kissed his cheek firmly. Then she stood, waved to us and left.

5: Being Gentlemanly

“It’s still warm,” Paige said as we got back to the car. It was Friday night and we'd been for a meal after work. “Let’s go for a walk along the seafront.”

I raised an eyebrow in question as I looked at her over the car’s roof. “A walk?”

“Yes,” she said with a cheeky grin. “A walk. And then… maybe… You know.”

I chuckled. “That’s what I thought.”

It wasn’t a long drive and I parked in one of the bays by Central Pier since we didn’t plan on staying too long. They were time restricted, so if we’d planned on going dancing, I’d have had to park somewhere else. It was indeed a warm night, even though it was now September. And we weren’t the only couple strolling in the twilight hand in hand or arm in arm, talking and looking out over Westmouth Bay as the seagulls cawed and the waves crashed on the beach.

“Damn, there’s someone sitting on our bench,” she said.

I held my tongue. It wasn’t our bench. It couldn’t be. I’d sat on that bench a lot with Vanessa doing the same sort of things I did with Paige. I’d sat there with Clarissa too doing those things. And I’d sat there with Emily and Imogen just talking and watching the sea.

That was a preview of A Wounded Heart. To read the rest purchase the book.

Add «A Wounded Heart» to Cart