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Her chest tightened. The algorithm was way off course, because she did not want to see that. It was the name of the Cotswold town where she’d been born. The place she’d escaped from as soon as she could, with what she’d stupidly thought was a broken heart, but now knew better. That stifling town that held memories of gawping locals, an embarrassing night in a turtle costume, and a pair of twilight blue eyes …
She stood quickly, hoping to break free from the spell but failing. She was still gripping her phone, and the algorithm goblins were winning. As much as she didn’t want to click onto the article, she couldn’t not look.
No Love in Hartglove was its title. ‘Well, they’ve got that right.’ Her mind brought up an image of her parents, who were still there – and apparently still together – even after the shocking revelations about their relationship that had left her sure love was a lie. A horrible memory slid into her mind, and she promptly shook it away. That ugly scene was another good reason she’d packed her bags and run.
‘The title should be: No Love Anywhere.’
Though now she’d opened the article, she may as well read it, in the interests of her occupation. It sounded like they could do with a love coach in town. She shuddered. Well, it wouldn’t be her. Not even if hell froze over and turned into a particularly lovely ice hotel. Her eyes scanned, picking out the juicy bits.
Statistics show the quaint Cotswold town has the fewest number of couples in the country …
Quaint or out of the Dark Ages?
Hartglove was presented with the Most Loveless Town of the Year award …
Had there been a ceremony? That must have been awkward.
Residents were shocked. The tongue-in-cheek award comes only a year after Hartglove was voted Least Cheerful Town Around. One occupant grumbled it was rotten for people’s spirits, not to mention tourism. Another resident vowed they’d make a comeback. There are even rumours that a surprising plan is underway. We’ll keep you posted.
‘Please don’t.’ She pressed to close the article, a strange shiver running through her. She must shut the flat’s windows.
Alyssa only half wondered if the grumbling occupant might be someone she knew, like Mrs Halfpenny from the convenience shop, who’d always had her nose in everyone’s business, between dishing out fizzy sweets and making pyramids out of toilet rolls. Or perhaps most people were long gone.
And she only vaguely let her thoughts wander to what on earth their ‘surprising plan’ could be. Because nothing that happened in Hartglove was any of her business – and she would make sure it stayed that way.
