Miracle at the Museum of Broken Hearts (5 page)

I opened the internet browser and typed in “ParteePizza”, holding my breath as the corporate website filtered onto the screen, along with a giant photo of a pizza dripping with cheesy goodness. My stomach rumbled in response.

Welcome to
ParteePizza, the UK’s biggest and fastest growing pizza chain . . . and the creator of the ParteePizzaPotato!

I shuddered at the thought of pizza and potatoes, but my traitorous tummy
let out an enormous groan. Right, enough about potatoes, I thought, scanning the site. Surely there must be something about the corporation . . . ah, here it was. I clicked the “About Us” tab, then followed the link to “Founder and CEO”, my heart pounding as I waited for my super-slow internet connection.

Finally, a photo appeared on the screen: a woman in her mid-fifties, dressed in a sharp suit, with dark glossy hair cut short in a bob. Although her lips curved upwards, I couldn’t actually say she was
smiling
. For a second, I wasn’t even sure this pulled-together woman was the laughing, carefree one in the locket. Then, I looked into her eyes – those dark eyes that were exactly like Heath’s – and I knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, it was her.

Liz Hough, Founder and CEO of
ParteePizza,
the words underneath her photo said. Hmm. Hough? Heath’s surname was Rowan. Maybe she had remarried?

I scanned the accompanying biography. Businesswoman of the Year, Honorary Business Degree from Bristol University, member of the Board of Directors for children’s charity KidCollection . . . My heart leaped. If she was helping a children’s charity, that must mean something. Perhaps it was a way of placating her guilt? I had to find a way to bring the two of them together.

Liz prides herself on her friendly and open approach to patrons of
ParteePizza. Do you have something to say? Email now:
[email protected]
, and she’ll respond within twenty-four hours.

Yeah, right. I tapped my fingernails against my teeth as I read the text
on the screen. I wasn’t so naive to think it was actually Liz responding to those emails. If I
did
send a message, would it even make it through? Most likely, some corporate lackey would just delete it as coming from a crazy person. No, I couldn’t chance it on an email. I needed to see Liz myself, and tell her about Heath and the locket in person.

I clicked back over to the “
About Us” tab, looking for the address of the corporate headquarters. Ah, they were out in Hounslow, in suburbia-land near Heathrow. Maybe I could pop into work tomorrow morning, unpack the remaining box, then tell Heath I had an important appointment. If everything went to plan (Liz would agree to see me, after I told her why I was there, right?), I could be back in East London by lunch-time. A warm glow filled me as I thought of the two of them patching things up after years of hard feelings, mother and son together again.

Fu
ll of hope, I couldn’t help clicking over to my inbox. Maybe Gareth had emailed? I hadn’t got a message from him since, well . . . I couldn’t actually remember. As nice as the postcard and all those x’s had been, it hadn’t
said
anything. Once again, though, my email was only popular with companies offering penis enlargements.

Oh, well. Gareth was off doing his thing, and that was fine – our happy ending would come sooner or later. Right now, I had two other broken hearts to fix.

CHAPTER
SEVEN

I awoke the next morning to Beano sitting on the bedside table,
tail thumping impatiently. As much as I enjoyed another presence in the flat, sometimes I wished that presence wanted something other than food.

I’d tossed and turned all night as doubts crept in. Was it really such a great idea to turn up at
ParteePizza unannounced? Maybe I should call first . . . Finally, I’d decided to see how I felt in the light of day. Perhaps I just needed time to formulate the perfect words to heal the rift.

Yawning
, I reached out to stroke Beano’s soft fur. It was still dark outside, and I could tell by the bedroom’s frigid temperature that the day would be freezing. After a quick shower, I stood in front of my closet, wondering what to wear. I was still as uncertain about my plan as I’d been the night before, but if I
did
decide to head to ParteePizza later, I’d need to look professional yet compassionate – something that screamed do-gooder, not lunatic.

Finally, I chose a soft gre
y flannel pencil skirt I hadn’t worn since Gareth had left, pairing it with a red polo neck. The red was cheery against the muted colour of the skirt, and the outfit looked pulled together yet upbeat. After jamming on my black pumps, I twisted my hair into a chignon, jabbed on some mascara and blush, then grabbed my trusty turquoise coat and pushed out into the cold grey London morning.

Almost an hour later, I swung through the door of the museum. It wa
s still early, but already the lights were on and the scent of coffee hung in the air.

‘
Honey, I’m home!’ I called out, grinning.

‘
Thank you for coming.’ Heath’s voice drifted down from his office. Oh, oops. I hadn’t realised anyone else was here – Heath must have arranged a breakfast meeting with someone.

A man in a dark suit with a briefcase was making his way down the stairs, Heath following behind. I nodded as the man went out the door, clocking Heath’s anxious expression with dismay.

‘
What’s going on? Who was that?’ I bit my lip. Whoever it was, I could see that it certainly wasn’t something good.

Heath sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. ‘That was a council member. Apparently, even though I’d been assured our planning permission for the museum would go through in plenty of time, it’s been held up for some reason or other.’

‘
What does that mean? We might not be able to hold the opening on the fifteenth?’ My heart dropped as I thought of the many journalists and officials Heath had already invited – all for that specific date. The Christmas season was so busy that if the opening didn’t come off as planned, it would be almost impossible to reschedule before New Year’s.

‘
I hope not
.’ Heath’s tone was grim, and his lips tightened. ‘If you can think of any way to hurry along a group of councillors, please let me know. For God’s sake, there’s only a week until our opening. Guess we’ll have to cross our fingers and hope for the best.’ He shrugged on his jacket. ‘Right, I’m off to the bank. I’ll see you around lunch-time.’

I nodded and watched him go, my mind racing.
Could
I think of a way to hurry along the councillors? All it needed was someone influential; someone with a bit of business clout . . . someone like Heath’s mum. As a big businesswoman, she could put pressure on the council somehow, right? ParteePizza did have quite a few outlets in East London.

Yes, this would be perfect.
I’d tell her Heath still cared, and that assisting the museum would be the ideal way for them to make up again. It would, too – it’d show Heath his mother cared about more than money. No matter what had happened between them, she couldn’t refuse this chance to get her son back again, I was sure. I might have been hesitant to head to ParteePizza earlier, but with the perfect opportunity for closure falling into my lap, I was certain now this happy ending was destined to be.

Adrenaline shot through me and I rushed out the door, hurrying along the street toward the Tube. If everything went smoothly, I could visit Heath’s mum and be and back again before he even noticed I was gone.

Two hours and one
major Tube delay later, I emerged from the Hounslow Tube station. The map I’d Googled told me ParteePizza’s headquarters were nearby – thank goodness, because my pumps were killing me. Navigating through a gaggle of teenage mums and their prams, I trotted down the street, my heart beating fast. What if Heath’s mum was out of the office? What if . . . no. I pushed away the flicker of doubt and took a deep breath. I’d come this far. There was no stopping now.

Ah, here it was. I
paused in front of a metal and glass building, the windows emblazoned with the giant red and yellow ParteePizza logo. Smoothing down my skirt and jamming my curls back behind my ears, I fixed a confident smile on my face before opening the door.

‘
Hello,’ I said brightly to the security man behind a desk. ‘I’m here to see Liz Hough.’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘Name?’

‘
Er, um, Rose. Rose Delaney
.’ God, why did I sound so unsure about my own name? Come on, Rose, I told myself sternly. Get it together. ‘I don’t have an appointment,’ I added hastily, as he picked up the phone. ‘It’s, it’s about her son. Heath.’

The security guard’s other eyebrow flew up and he threw me an inquisitive look. ‘Jess?’ he said into the receiver. ‘A lady is here to see Mrs Hough. No, no appointment. About Mrs Hough’s son, she says. Heath.’

Silence fell, and
my heart beat so strongly the vibrations almost knocked me off my feet.

‘
Okay, I’ll send her up,’ the man said finally, and a whoosh of relief swept through me. Major obstacle cleared! From now on, it would be smooth sailing.

‘
Top floor.’ The security guard handed me a visitor’s badge in the corporate colours (bonus, it matched my top) and motioned me toward the lift.

Okay, de
ep breaths, I told myself. Soon, I’d face Heath’s mum and deliver the best news an estranged mother could dream of. I couldn’t wait.

The lift
dinged at its destination. I wiped my sweaty palms, then strode over to the receptionist’s desk.

‘
I’m here to see Liz Hough? The CEO of ParteePizza?’
Duh.
I wanted to smack myself as soon as the words left my mouth. Of course the receptionist knew Liz was the CEO of bloody ParteePizza! I could see by the woman’s condescending expression that she agreed I scored high on the idiot factor.

‘
Mrs Hough is ready for you,’ the receptionist responded smoothly. ‘Please go on in.’ She pointed toward a foreboding oak door.

A
swarm of butterflies circled in my gut as I approached. Should I knock before entering? Swing open the door and yell: ‘I come bearing glad tidings?’ Nervously, I rapped on the solid wood, ears twitching as a voice responded ‘Come in’.

‘
Hello.’ I
cracked opened the door and tiptoed into the room, unsure what to expect. Decorated in soothing muted tones from beige to dusky pink, the office was a departure from the harsh oranges and reds the rest of the building was slathered in, and it calmed my nerves. Anyone who liked these colours couldn’t be all bad, right?

Liz Hough swung away from the windo
w, and my mouth dropped open at her resemblance to Heath. ‘Hello,’ she said in a clipped voice. ‘Please take a seat.’

God, and they both spoke in that calm, controlled way. I lowered myself carefully onto a stiff leather sofa.

‘
So.’ Liz settled into a scary-looking ergonomic chair behind her metal desk. ‘You’re here about my son. How much is it going to be, then?’ Her flinty eyes met mine, and I blinked.

‘
Er
, how much?’
What?

‘
Yes.’ Liz reached into a desk drawer and withdrew a cheque book. Flicking to a fresh cheque, she glanced up at me. ‘Come on, now. You said it was about my son. You didn’t have an appointment. I’m not daft – I know how these things work. What, did Heath spin you his tale of woe? Evil mummy CEO of ParteePizza who abandoned her son for a career? How much should I pay you so you don’t tattle to the tabloids?’

My eyes popped and for a second, my mind went blank before racing at a hundred miles an hour. Holy. Crap!
Heath’s mum was going to pay me to stop her story from reaching the papers?
That
was the first thing she thought when someone wanted to see her about her son? Logically, I could understand why she might be worried. ParteePizza had built its image on jolly families, and having its CEO splashed across the news with such a negative story certainly wouldn’t do the business any favours.

‘
No, no!’ I forced a laugh. ‘I’m not here for anything like that.’ I caught sight of a photo on the corner of her desk – a dark-haired boy, nestled in Liz’s arms and looking up at her like she was everything in the world to him. A dark-haired boy that wasn’t Heath. My heart caught. Liz had moved on to a new family. It might be too late for Heath to have that growing up, but he
should
have a mother in his life now. Determination pumped through me.

‘
I’m here because I know Heath would like to see you.’ My words echoed in the silent room.

Liz tilted her head. ‘Really. And how exactly do you know that? The last time I saw my son, I believe his words were something along the lines of “see you when hell freezes over”. Or “go to hell”. Something with hell.’ She laughed, but I caught a flash of pain in her eyes.

Digging into my
bag, I drew out the locket and handed it over to her, watching as recognition slid over her face when she popped it open.