The break up, p.1
The Break Up, page 1
About the Author
CHARLOTTE BARNES is an author and academic from Worcestershire, UK. She is a lecturer in Creative and Professional Writing at the University of Wolverhampton, and she has guest lectured at several universities around the West Midlands.
Charlotte has published a number of poetry collections, as Charley Barnes, and several novels. She has penned a trilogy of detective novels – the DI Watton boxset – and a selection of psychological thrillers, including Intention and All I See Is You.
When Charlotte isn’t writing, she’s likely reading or wandering with her pup, Benji, in tow.
The Break Up
Charlotte Barnes
HQ
An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.
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London SE1 9GF
www.harpercollins.co.uk
HarperCollinsPublishers
1st Floor, Watermarque Building, Ringsend Road
Dublin 4, Ireland
First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2022
Copyright © Charlotte Barnes 2022
Charlotte Barnes asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
E-book Edition © March 2022 ISBN: 9780008511586
Version: 2022-03-21
Table of Contents
Cover
About the Author
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Acknowledgements
Dear Reader …
Keep Reading …
About the Publisher
For every Lily, Betty, Cora, Molly and Faith I’ve known –
I’m lucky there have been so many of you along this journey.
Chapter 1
Neither of us knew where we were; we were taking the sat nav at face value and hoping Google Maps would get us home. But it didn’t matter how long it all took. We had that horrible lovesickness that radiates off happy couples – and it was bloody brilliant. After the day we’d had, there was no way we could be anything but disgustingly pleased with ourselves. I could already imagine the fake groans of the girls when I told them about the day and the sites and—
Rowan reached over and squeezed my hand. I took a glance at his profile. It was dimly lit by oncoming headlights, and I could still see a smile teasing at his cheeks. He pulled over as soon as we found a pub.
‘This’ll do, right?’ He steered onto the car park and straight into a space, where he hurried to yank the handbrake on. ‘Edi Parcell …’
‘Yes, Rowan Ness?’
He smiled and let out a huff of air. ‘We’re engaged.’
We chased each other along the car park and through the door of the pub. Our laughter grabbed everyone’s attention, but we refused to apologise. I could only think, I’m engaged! on a loop, as though that were a response to everything in the world now.
Rowan leaned on the bar and waited for the woman behind it to migrate our way.
‘You kids eating?’ she asked.
Rowan glanced at me and I shook my head. Of all the pubs on all the country roads, we’d managed to stumble into the ‘They’re not from round here …’ sort. There were awkward glances flickering in our direction long after our happy laughter had died away. And I wasn’t convinced I could keep my glee in check for an entire meal without alarming or outraging someone – assuming we hadn’t done that already. I caught the eye of an elderly farmer who I flashed a wide smile to, only to have the expression met with a steel glare.
‘Just drinks,’ Rowan answered. ‘A lemonade for me and …’
‘You’re not even having a sneaky one?’ I asked.
‘Heck no, I’m driving important stuff around with you in the car, Parcell.’
I turned to the barwoman. ‘I’ll have a lemonade, too, please.’
‘Edi, you don’t have—’
‘We can have a proper drink when we tell everyone.’
Rowan shrugged and turned back. ‘Two lemonades then, please, and whatever you’re …’ His offer died out as the woman turned away from him. ‘Okay, never mind,’ he faced me. ‘I’ll tell her when she’s back.’ He held his hand palm up and out towards me and I placed my hand into it. He laughed. ‘I want your phone.’
I dug around in my pocket. ‘Why?’
‘To turn it off.’ He powered down his handset and rested it on the bar. By then the woman was back, setting two half pints of pop in front of us. ‘Thank you. Take one for yourself, too?’ Rowan handed her a twenty-pound note and she smiled.
‘You’re celebrating?’ she asked when she gave the change back.
Rowan nodded to me to break the news and I felt myself bounce. ‘We’re engaged!’ I made the announcement with such enthusiasm that even the miserable sods around us murmured a congratulations. ‘Yes, we’re engaged,’ I said again, but a little quieter.
‘Congratulations,’ she replied.
We waited until she was out of earshot to pick up where we’d left off.
‘Why are we turning our phones off?’ I asked, powering mine down, too.
Rowan eased it free of my hand and rested it on the bar with his. ‘Because from tomorrow things are going to be mental and we’ll hardly have a minute to ourselves for bloody ages.’ He pulled me towards him. ‘And I’d like a minute or two with my future wife, to myself. Is that okay?’
Future wife. I felt the phrase echo in my head. ‘Christ. Wife.’
He laughed. ‘That usually comes after the engagement?’
‘I hadn’t thought about it that way.’ I quickly tried to change the tone. ‘So people know?’
‘Nope.’
‘You didn’t tell anyone?’
‘Not true, actually, sorry. Your parents know because I asked them.’
‘You asked both of them?’
He smiled. ‘I asked both of them whether they thought you’d say yes. I didn’t ask their permission, because you are your own woman, and no man or woman owns you. But I wanted your mum involved because, well, why wouldn’t she be?’
I kissed him. ‘Bloody love you.’
‘Bloody love you. So, they know. And the lads know but the girls don’t.’
‘And Mum and Dad don’t know you planned it for today?’
He shook his head. ‘Not a clue. But I know the temptation will be great to get on the phone to Betty and Molly and, and, and … So, before that temptation kicks in, let’s just be us for a bit?’
‘Deal.’ I sipped my drink.
‘Did I hear that right?’
We both craned to find the source of the question. There was an older man perched on a barstool behind Rowan. He was wearing a thick jacket and a flat cap, as though he were ready to up and leave the pub at any second, and his cheeks had that rosy blush that comes from endless hours of outdoor work. The question was slurred, though; the words sounded lazy as they left him.
‘You two are engaged?’
It was Rowan’s turn to bounce on his heels. ‘You heard that right, sir.’
‘Jesus.’ From his tone it was clear he didn’t exactly share our delight. ‘You can’t have known each other five minutes.’
‘Actually,’ Rowan started, ‘we’ve known each other since we were fresh out of school. Not secondary school either but …’ This was one of his favourite stories to tell, even though the older we got, the more tweaks he made to it. ‘… And then I saved her from the playground bully, essentially.’ I shook my head and he noticed. ‘Even though you would have definitely hit Owen on your own one day.’
‘Even though
‘So you’ve been together since you were knee-high?’ The words knocked into each other in the same way as before. The man leaned forward slightly and then in a jerked motion he snapped back. I recognised the gesture from the boys I’d avoided at university; he was a drink away from tipping off his seat. ‘Like, since you were wee?’ he added.
‘You heard right.’ Rowan tried to sound breezy, but I knew he was forcing it. He’d always had a terrible poker face. ‘Couldn’t let this one get away.’
‘No.’ The man didn’t sound convinced. He narrowed his eyes like he was physically inspecting something. That, or trying to work out the maths of an especially tricky equation. He laughed and the noise was a horrible one: outdoor work mixed with too much alcohol mixed with … Does he smell like smoke even from here? ‘I can’t get my head around kids so young trying to be so grown up.’
‘Well,’ I took over, ‘when you know you know.’ I physically turned Rowan back to face me and positioned myself so I didn’t knock eyes with the man still sitting behind. ‘Leave it?’
‘He’s being friendly.’
‘No, Rowan, I don’t think he is.’
He shook his head. ‘Okay. So, future wife—’
‘Edi is fine.’ I play-punched him. ‘But you can have future wife for tonight.’
‘How do you want to tell people? Update our social media and call it a day?’ He took a sip of his drink and it felt timed for dramatic effect. ‘Or we tell our families privately and then invite friends out one evening for drinks and tell them all in a massive group.’
‘Fewer messages involved.’
‘Get all the responses at once.’
‘Don’t accidentally forget to WhatsApp someone who you should have remembered.’ I was certainly leaning towards the second option. ‘Okay, this weekend? I can text the group chat and suggest …’ I reached for my phone and Rowan pushed my hand away. ‘Tomorrow, I can text the group chat tomorrow and suggest drinks for this weekend. Friday?’
‘Perfect.’
‘I’m sorry …’ The intrusion erupted from behind Rowan again and from the brash tone of it I guessed the man wasn’t really all that sorry at all. ‘But you’re engaged, like, to be wed?’
‘Smithy,’ the barwoman cautioned, and I was glad of it. She spoke with the curt tone of a woman who handled drunk men all too often. ‘Leave it alone.’
‘Come on …’ He’s not leaving it, I thought as I pulled in a big breath. ‘They’re engaged,’ he reminded her before he turned back to us. ‘You’re mid-twenties at a push, like, and you’re engaged to be married already in your lives. By Christ.’ He paused to wet his lips with beer. ‘Are the pair of you sure you’re thinking straight?’
‘Smithy,’ Rowan answered, using a tone surprisingly like the barwoman’s, ‘I’ve never thought straighter about anything in my life.’ He turned around and kissed me square on the mouth. It wasn’t exactly the stuff of Notting Hill, but it’d do …
Chapter 2
The morning after, I woke with a dull feeling of tiredness still. The bubbles and excitement of our quiet celebration had kept me and Rowan awake until the early hours of the morning. We’d stayed at mine – to avoid his noisy, nosy housemates – and as the sunlight flooded in through wildflower-print curtains, I thought everything in the world was a bit perfect. I rolled over to face Rowan’s side, though, and saw that perfect or not, I was waking up alone. The bathroom door was wide open, too, so that ruled out him disappearing for a morning wee. It crossed my mind for the flicker of a second that he might be making breakfast for us both, but I laughed the thought away.
‘Not that future husband of mine,’ I said quietly into the room to try the phrase on for size. It didn’t taste right yet, though, and I thought that was even more reason to keep trying. ‘Future husband, dear future husband …’ I kept going until I broke out into a gentle hum of music, my bum moving in sync to my song as I danced flat against the bedsheets.
‘It is bloody connected to the Wi-Fi.’
The words burst in from the living room and brought with them a horrible realisation: He’s calling his parents. The night before we’d agreed to call his today. Out of our respective relatives, they were the trickier customers and so, bloated on bubbles and bright-eyed feelings, we’d agreed to tell them before telling mine. And he’s coming good on the promise, I thought as I threw back the duvet and climbed out of bed. I plodded to the bathroom and considered nesting there. But I couldn’t spend the entire Skype call hidden away. To start with, Rowan would think I was having an IBS flare-up; and second, Mum had raised me better than to ignore my in-laws.
I heard the ringer for the video call, so quickly pulled my hair into a ponytail – and arranged my face in a suitable smile. Rowan tapped the seat next to him when I walked into the living room.
‘Come on, it’ll be fine.’
‘Rowan, dear.’ I heard her before I could see her. ‘Oh, and Edith.’ My stomach turned at the thought of her being able to see me already; like she was some kind of wildlife predator, higher up the food chain. The screen flickered then, though, and both his parents came into view. Rowan’s dad was smiling. Rowan’s mum was the sort of woman who surely asked her facial technician to make it impossible for her to smile – or frown. ‘It’s so lovely to see you both.’
‘You’re looking well,’ Gregory said – always Gregory, never Greg, I had learnt early on – although it wasn’t clear whether he was speaking to one or both of us. ‘Wonderful to be able to have a chat, too. Penny and I are delighted with the news, of course. Marvellous, just – truly, a huge congratulations to you both.’
When did he tell them? I tried to keep my face neutral. But for them to already know, he must have told them before he called. And if he told them before he called then he must have broken our pact from the night before and, what, texted them?
‘Thanks so much, Dad.’
‘Thanks, Gregory.’ The excitement overrode the irritation, and I was painfully aware of the growing grin that gave me the appearance of a woman who’d slept with a hanger in her mouth. ‘It was such a beautiful surprise.’
Meanwhile, Penny managed to raise something that wasn’t quite a grunt, as though even being disinterested was too much cheer for the occasion. ‘A surprise for us, too,’ she said, although the remark went uncommented on.
Rowan tried to steer the conversation. ‘You’re looking well also, the pair of you. North is treating you well?’ Out of view of the camera he felt around for my hand and gave it a tight squeeze. It was a sore point, that Rowan’s parents had moved so far out of Birmingham. Rowan didn’t mind it much. But his parents – despite him being in his final year of university, with a house for afterwards already lined up – had expected him to move with them. When he’d asked what would happen to his relationship with me, his mother had said, ‘Well, if Edith really wants to be a part of this family …’
‘It is, immensely well, boy, immensely,’ Gregory answered, and Penny grumbled again. They’d moved there because Gregory – the owner of four high-end car dealerships in our hometown – had decided to try to conquer a different part of the country, with a new set of partners to support the venture. He was essentially a car salesman, but the first time I’d said that he’d gave me such a fierce look that I’d thought he might never speak to me again. I was thirteen at the time. I hadn’t made that mistake again. ‘We’re getting a lot of interest up here with hiring firms, people who aren’t necessarily looking to buy, but for their companies they’d like to …’ He then went on to explain the definition of what it meant to hire a car, in case Rowan and I weren’t sure. And this is what you’re marrying into. I squeezed Rowan’s hand again and tried to tune back in. ‘… some of the older clients from that way.’
‘Your father is excited at the prospect of turning the wedding into a large-scale business meeting.’
‘We’d better get a big enough venue then.’ Rowan forced a laugh. ‘So, Mum—’
‘Actually, son,’ Gregory interrupted. He put his arm around Penny and gave her a squeeze. ‘I’ve been doing a lot of work with the Flynns.’ From the look on Penny’s face, an ignorant bystander might think someone had just announced she were pregnant with a litter of piglets. It was the most animated I’d seen her in years. And it was the most contact I’d seen Rowan’s parents have with each other. ‘You remember them, don’t you? Skye’s parents?’
