Short Extract from Chapter One of A Wounded Heart
You can read the whole of the Prologue and Chapters One & Two on my Patreon right now – the only place to do so until the eBook launch on 31/03/2023. But here’s a very short extract from Chapter One to whet your appetite.
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.”
