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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

Dedication

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.