The Unbreaking of a Heart

Chapter 1

Rose

“He left me on read.”

Erin crossed her legs in a manner that made her look like a contortionist.

“I hope you deleted him.” Fallon was never one to remain on the fence.

I sat back, legs curled under me, wondering if a nap would be rude, given this was the first time in weeks since the four of us had managed to get together.

“Rose, don’t you know him?” Harriet dug me in the side with a fingernail that should’ve been listed as a lethal weapon.

“Know who?” I sipped the merlot that was nicely warmed to room temperature.

Fallon shook her head slowly, giving me a stink eye that was utterly disapproving. “Are we keeping you up? Sebastian Duffy. The bloke you worked with at the hospital in Camden.”

I sat up, awake now Seb’s name was mentioned. “Why were you messaging Seb?”

Erin joined in with the glaring. “I met him when we went out for drinks and you introduced us. Remember?”

I thought back, by-passing the pressure she was attempting to ply. “I thought I warned you against accepting Satan’s number?”

Erin shrugged and topped up her wine. “You did. I mistook it for a challenge. We went for a drink two weeks ago and we’ve been messaging since – until he left me on read for three days.”

“He’s an arsehole. Delete him.” I put my glass down on the side table, careful to aim for a coaster.

We’d gathered at Fallon’s house because it was the biggest and she was a stickler for being house-proud.

“Seriously, there’s a thread online dedicated to the souls of those he’s eaten, and I’m not referring to anything pleasant. ”

“Or you can give me his number.” Fallon reached for a piece of cheese. “Let me play with him.”

I considered the idea briefly. “He’d give you a run for your money.

” There was probably a thread somewhere on the internet about Fallon too.

One where men sobbed about their broken hearts, ripped apart by my beautiful, brilliant, surgeon friend when they tried to persuade her that she did indeed want a long-term relationship and not just a friends-with-benefits arrangement.

“Sounds like a challenge.” Fallon twisted her almost black curls into a top-knot on her head, the same way she’d been wearing her hair since we were kids.

The four of us had met eighteen years ago, all on the same ward in hospital, being treated for a variety of heart conditions.

I’d been eleven and just starting secondary school, Fallon and Harriet a couple of years older, and Erin a few months the eldest. We'd stayed in touch.

Our parents had felt it was good for us to have the kinship and understanding of the shared experiences.

We all knew what it was like to have the fear and stigma of a heart condition – to miss school, milestones and parties because we were too ill, to have family always worried, and to stress over even the smallest sniffle.

Most people never experience that in their lives, let alone as children.

We’d grown up together after that, even sharing holidays and houses.

I lived with Harriet in Hampstead, sharing a two-bed flat owned by my aunt Ava, and rented to me at a fifth of the market price.

Erin roomed with three of her colleagues in Wimbledon, and Fallon had her own place in Clapham, a property that’d been in her mother’s family for years and she’d somehow inherited.

I saw Fallon and Erin at least once a week, although times when we could get together was rare, so I really shouldn’t be falling asleep tonight.

“Technically, we’re all spinsters.” Erin helped herself to a cracker, applying it with a creamy stilton. It was wine and cheese evening, which made us sound far posher than we were. “Independent, unmarried women over the age where females are usually married.”

“I have no intention of ever not being a spinster,” Fallon said, settling back into a huge armchair that was probably another heirloom.

“I have money, I can support myself, I have no intention of having kids, I can find a man to entertain me when I’m in the mood – why would I choose to have an overgrown man-child leaving his dirty underwear in the middle of the bathroom floor? ”

“Some men are house trained,” I added. “I imagine Sebastian Duffy has a full-time housekeeper though.”

“Is he rich?” Fallon squinted at me. “Rich men are even lower down the scale of unhousetrained man children.”

“Is that why you only date men who left school at sixteen?” Erin taunted.

“I don’t date anyone.” Fallon pulled a blanket over her. “I can set you up with one of the doctors at work, Erin, if you need a photo of yourself with a hot bloke to post on your socials to piss Sebastian off.”

Erin shook her head. “I’ve heard too much about your colleagues. I have a date on Sunday with the brother of one of the interns at work.” Erin was a journalist on a women’s magazine, although she really wanted to be an author.

“You can have a date with more than one man. And Jonah isn’t that bad.” Fallon reached for her wine which Harriet had just topped up.

“You go on a date with him then,” Harriet said. “I dare you to actually go on a date with someone.”

“I do date.” Fallon sunk into the cushions. “Just behind closed doors. Besides, he’s a colleague and he has at least one degree. I think he might have a PhD.”

“Whose heart are you breaking at the moment then?” I asked her. Fallon’s sex life was more entertaining that a reality TV programme.

She swirled her wine. “The landlord of the bar near the hospital, although I don’t think his heart’s at risk. I also had a night with a musician last weekend – remember the one we met the other month?”

“Nick?” I remember him. I’d been out with Fallon the night she’d met him, in a bar in Notting Hill. I’d met a man who I’d since been on a few dates with the same night, although we hadn’t arranged anything for nearly two weeks and I wasn’t sure I’d be bothering to contact him.

“Nick.” She shifted suddenly. “Did I tell you Tally’s boyfriend caught her cheating with his brother?”

“What?” That was Erin.

“Noooo.” Harriet. “Why would she do that?”

“Have you seen his brother?” Fallon placed her glass down and started to tell the tale.

I half listened, already knowing this piece of gossip because Tally, who was Fallon’s younger sister, was a trainee at my family’s law firm, and my cousin, Eliza, had been full of the goings on the night before.

It was all very busy and I was hitting the quota of people I could deal with for a week, especially since we’d just had Christmas and all I wanted to do was hibernate.

My family was big, expansive and noisy. I had three younger siblings – technically half, but that detail wasn’t really relevant – and our dad was one of seven.

My aunts and uncles had produced a plethora of offspring, and my originally very quiet and calm childhood had exploded into a cacophony of never knowing a moment’s peace since.

Which wasn’t great when you identified as a character in a Jane Austen novel, and paid the bills by being a psychologist, a career that unhelpfully involved people.

“Rose? Rose, are you listening?” Fallon’s voice sliced through thoughts of what my cousins were up to and whether I was about to miss someone’s birthday.

“Not really.” I sat back and smiled. My friends were used to me – that was what happened when you met on the same ward and it became a five-night sleepover, just with a few medical interventions to keep things interesting.

Fallon’s brows raised. “Did you hear what I said about Carter?”

I sat up, back straighter, muscles tense. “Carter? As in our Carter?”

“That would be the one.” She didn’t look amused. “Do you already know and you’ve not told us?”

“Told you what?” I had zero clue what she was going on about.

“When’s the last time you heard from him?”

I felt as if I was a mouse that’d been circled by cats. The three of them were staring at me as if I'd grown a second head.

I had to think when it was. Earlier last year, Carter and I were in touch most days, the time difference the only thing that slowed down our responses.

He was over in the States, finishing a residency before deciding where he was going to be located permanently.

I was in London, with no chance of moving away because I loved the city too much, and also didn’t see the need for change unless it was necessary.

“I haven’t heard from him since the start of December – apart from a text on Christmas Day.” Which was odd, and I had noticed it – I’d just been too busy with work and another of Eliza’s crises to pay it much attention.

I saw the exchange of looks between my friends. Fallon’s black eyes didn’t even try to be discreet; Harriet looked uncomfortable and tried not to make eye contact with me; Erin picked her finger, a habit of her lifetime.

“What?”

“Maybe he wanted to surprise you.” Harriet hugged a cushion, one that announced she had no more fucks to give.

“Carter, surprise me?” I shook my head. “I know I’m being dense so can someone just switch a lightbulb on?” I was getting anxious now – not knowing things bothered me. I needed the facts so I could feel in control.

“He’s moving back to London.” It was Fallon who broke the news. “Next month. I thought you knew.”

I stilled, breathed, let my adult self take a pause. Rose the child would have a dozen questions about when, what, how exactly, and then another two dozen about why Carter hadn’t told her himself. The adult psychologist had learned to breathe.

“I didn’t know, but I guess we’ve both been busy. How did you all find out?” I let my shoulders relax and I put my wine glass down. I’d had enough anyway.

The wine consumption had whittled down anyway, none of us big drinkers. I gave it about ten minutes before someone put the kettle on for a brew.

“Fallon told me,” Harriet said, happily throwing Fallon under the bus. “Then I forgot. I’ve got something I need to tell you all as well.”

“You’re getting married?” Erin whipped her head round.