by Sue Watson
I pay for my stuff and leave the shop with my purchases in a thin carrier bag. I’ve put Alex’s postcode into the app on my phone as he suggested. ‘It’s a bit of a maze,’ he’d said. Twenty minutes later, I’m still walking round ‘the maze’, sure I’ve seen some of these houses more than once. It’s not far from the high street, but this part of town isn’t somewhere I often venture, it’s a forgotten area of empty buildings and overgrown weeds, and the only houses here seem to be boarded up. I can’t help but feel vulnerable, especially after receiving the horrible note today, and as I walk, I keep glancing behind me.
There’s no one about, and I’m aware it’s getting later and later. I’m just walking around in circles, have no idea where I am and it’s starting to feel creepy. I’m tempted to call Alex, but feel like such an idiot getting lost following a map in a city I’ve lived in for most of my life. But after another ten minutes, I’m feeling slightly panicky, and decide to call after all, when he calls me.
‘Are you okay, Hannah? Where are you? I thought you said you were close by.’
‘I’m… I’m… not sure. You live on Black Horse Road, right? The app’s sent me somewhere else… I’m down near the canal, I think. I put the postcode in, but…’ I’m freezing, I hope he can’t hear my teeth chattering.
‘Ahh yeah, the postcode can be a bit iffy, it messes with satnavs too. Look, I’m coming to find you, but as I’ve no idea where you are, I’ll have to find you by your phone.’
‘Okay, but I’m not sure how to do that.’
‘It’s simple. I’m going to send a request to your phone – you accept it, then I can see where you are and come and get you,’ he explains.
‘Great,’ I say, relieved.
And, sure enough, within seconds a message comes through for permission for Alex to see my location. I click it and hear him say, ‘Yeah, I can see where you are, stay there – I’m on my way.’ And the line goes dead.
It’s now 8.15 on a wintery Wednesday night. The rain’s coming down, the street’s empty, and I’m shivering, so rather than just stand and wait, I walk slowly along the path to see if there’s anywhere I can shelter from the rain until Alex turns up. I spot a bus shelter a little further on and walk towards it. The state of me. On our last date, I’d had my hair done, new dress, make-up, perfume, the lot – and even though it was raining that night, I managed to avoid the worst of it. But the rain’s so heavy, even when I’ve reached the shelter, it’s bouncing off the plastic and splashing on my head and up my legs.
Within minutes, a car pulls up beside me, the driver’s window opens and I lean in, feeling a tiny bit like a sex worker.
‘Thank God it’s you!’ I say, laughing, as Alex leans over and pushes open the passenger-side door. I almost fall in, rain shaking off me onto the pale upholstery of his Audi. ‘I’m so sorry to drag you out,’ I say, fastening my seat belt.
‘It’s my pleasure, no problem at all,’ he says. His hands are on the wheel and as I settle in and look up, he’s smiling at me.
‘I know, I know, I look terrible, but I promise I’m the same woman you were out with the other night, just very wet.’
‘And even more beautiful,’ he half-whispers, as he leans over, gently putting his lips on mine.
What starts as a peck becomes more and it’s only when a car beeps loudly behind us that I try to pull away. But he keeps going, his tongue pushing more urgently into my mouth, his arms now wrapped around me. I wish I could relax and enjoy it, but the car behind’s beeping again, harder and longer this time, and Alex suddenly stops kissing me.
‘What the f…?’ He looks in the rear mirror and his hand goes to open the driver’s door. He’s about to get out.
‘Alex, what are you doing?’ I say, looking behind – no wonder the beeping is so loud, it’s a bus. ‘We’re at a bus stop, we have to move,’ I call anxiously to him. He’s now opened the door, and is half in and out of the car. The interior light is on and I can see what looks like pure rage on his face. I put my hand on his arm to stop him getting out, and in a moment, he seems to think better of it.
He moves back onto the seat, and wordlessly turns the key in the ignition, puts his foot down and we roar off down the road. Too fast. In the rain. I’m confused, caught between the afterglow of the moment and his surprising reaction to what just happened. I’m trying to understand it, but feel dizzied by it all.
‘What… what were you doing? Were you going to say something to the driver?’ I ask, incredulously.
‘No, no, I was just looking to see if I knew him.’
‘We were at a bus stop. It was a bus.’
‘Yeah, yeah. I didn’t realise until I got out… I thought it was someone I knew.’
I’m confused. When the bus sounded its horn the second time, Alex’s immediate reaction seemed to be one of anger, which doesn’t suggest that he thought he knew the other driver. And it’s dark and rainy – he clearly wasn’t getting out of the car to say hi to someone.
‘You seemed angry,’ I offer quietly.
‘God no, not at all – I just thought it was a guy I used to… know.’ His voice fades. ‘So how was your day?’ he asks, changing the subject. I wonder if I imagined his anger – or perhaps it was a moment of road rage and he’s a little embarrassed.
‘I had a terrible day,’ I answer blankly, my mind still on what just happened, feeling that he overreacted; but we’ve all been there, an angry beep, a two-fingered salute in response.
‘Well, hopefully your day is about to get better. You okay?’ he asks, probably seeing the questions in my eyes.
‘I’m fine,’ I say, as he slows down to turn off the road and rests his hand gently on my knee.
Perhaps he did think he knew the driver behind, or perhaps the beeping shook him a little. He’s bound to be a bit nervous because we’re new to each other and I get the feeling he’s the protective type, and perhaps thought that I was upset by the bus driver’s reaction. I mustn’t overthink everything, he’s a nice guy, it’s a third date, all I have to do is enjoy it – and settling down into the warm, expensive, new-smelling car, I’m sure I will.
‘I don’t know how I ended up there.’ I smile. ‘I couldn’t find your road, the map app on my phone is useless.’
‘It’s the postcode. Like I said, it causes no end of problems.’
We’re only a few hundred yards from where he picked me up and he turns into Black Horse Road. ‘Oh, I’m such a fool, I was only a few minutes away – I dragged you out into the cold, wet night, I’m so sorry.’
‘Not at all, don’t apologise,’ he says, pulling up outside a gorgeous terraced house. In this rather derelict area, this place is an anomaly, with a potted bay tree either side of the front door and the porch light revealing a tiled step, and a small, neat front garden.
‘Is this you?’ I say hopefully. This is so nice, the sort of place other people live. But with Alex it could happen to me. This could be somewhere I live. In that instant I check myself, I mustn’t get carried away.
‘Yep, this is home,’ he says, pulling on the handbrake.
‘It looks lovely, though I haven’t a clue where I am,’ I add uncertainly.
‘Don’t worry, I’ll drive you home,’ he offers, to my relief.
‘Thanks,’ I murmur and pick up my carrier bag of wine, climb out of the car and follow him through the front gate.
He unlocks the door and ushers me in. ‘Welcome to Casa Alex,’ he says, his arm on my shoulder as he turns on the hall light.
I’m engulfed in a delicious warmth, the smell of cooking and home as he helps me off with my rather unglamorous, wet parka and hangs it carefully on the hat-stand, like it’s the most precious thing he’s ever had to care for. He reaches down for my work satchel.
‘It’s fine,’ I say, instinctively pulling it to me. He looks a little taken aback at this and I apologise, explaining that my laptop is in my bag.
‘Ooh, are all your secrets in there?’
‘No, so
rry. I’m acting like I have the world’s biggest diamond tucked away in here. It’s just instinct to keep it with me. Everything’s on my laptop, all my work stuff.’
‘Ahh, whatever makes you comfortable.’ He smiles. ‘There’s a shelf here you can leave it on if you like?’
‘Thanks, I’ll leave it here,’ I say. I’m such an idiot, making a fuss about a bloody work laptop.
He gestures for me to go through the hall into the kitchen ahead of him, so I step in front of him, but when I reach the kitchen, I’m suddenly aware he isn’t following me.
‘Hey, are you coming too?’ I say.
‘Just a second,’ he replies. ‘You go ahead.’
I carry on, as he suggests, but turn discreetly to see him fumbling around in his pockets, then he pulls out a key. Unaware I’m watching, he is now putting his face right up against the narrow glass panel in the door. He does this for a few seconds, just staring through. He’s absolutely still, and so am I, just a few feet away from him down the hall. What the hell is he doing? I feel slightly creeped out, and wonder if I’ve been stupid to come here. It’s been a weird enough day after the flower delivery, and now this. What on earth is he doing?
After a few seconds, he pulls away and I think he’s about to turn round, so I nip into the kitchen and out of view. Then I hear him lock the door once, and then a click as he locks it again.
Chapter Seven
Shit, he’s double-locking the door! Is he keeping someone out – or me in? Either way it’s unsettling.
I’m standing in the kitchen, but leaning out slightly so I can see him down the hall. And Alex is looking through the glass again! Is he waiting for someone? Checking the coast is clear, what? He eventually moves away from the door and heads down the hall to join me, by which time I make like I’m admiring the grey gloss units.
‘Gorgeous kitchen,’ I murmur, as I lean against the island, beneath a neat row of pots and pans hanging from the ceiling. It’s lovely and looks recently refurbished, but I’m finding it hard to move away from the vision of him in the hall. What the hell was he doing?
I gaze around the kitchen as he checks the oven, it’s all very tasteful and minimalist, no clutter, no fridge magnets, no mess – it would be quite calming if I wasn’t so disturbed by his strange behaviour in the hall. My kitchen is a bit of a bomb site, and my fridge has so many magnets, every time I open the door several clatter to the ground. I’m probably being sexist, but I’m surprised at how neat and clean it is – and how much kitchen stuff he has for a single man.
I mustn’t overthink him locking the door and looking through the glass – I’m sure he was just being cautious. To distract myself from my thoughts, I alight on a set of beautiful crockery, hand-cast; highly trendy, beautiful kitchen units; not to mention those matching bay trees either side of the beautiful grey-painted front door. I’ve never met a straight man with such wonderful taste. Perhaps it’s more a reflection of the men I’ve previously dated, rather than anything to do with Alex’s sexuality, but I have to ask, just in case I’ve got all this horribly wrong.
‘Are you gay?’
He laughs. ‘Not that I’m aware of.’
‘I didn’t think so.’ I smile. ‘But it’s so… stylish, so well put together, so clean.’ My back is to him as I gaze around, and I turn for his response, but he’s just staring at me, expressionless.
He takes a step towards me. He’s now so close I can feel his breath on my face, as he gently catches my wrist with his hand. We’re face to face now, his eyes are smiling into mine, and I’m melting. He has the most gorgeous face, and standing before me in a blue denim shirt I can see he works out. If it’s possible I’m even more attracted to him than I thought – my heart’s thumping. I’m here with a beautiful man, in his beautiful home, and I’m trying not to collapse in a heap on what I can only guess are very expensive Fired Earth floor tiles. I desperately try to think of something to say. But my mind’s a blank, and he’s still looking into my eyes, his mouth perilously close to mine. I want him to kiss me, but I might fall over.
‘Is this a safe area?’ I hear myself ask. I know it sounds like a weird thing to say at this point, but I can’t get that vision of him locking the front door from my head. Before we kiss, I need to know what he was doing, and if I should be worried.
He pulls his head back confused at my complete conversational turnaround.
‘I… just ask because it’s… There are quite a few empty houses nearby. Do you have much, erm, crime?’
‘No, not really.’ He seems slightly bemused at my question, and he’s looking at me, as if he’s waiting for an explanation.
‘Oh it’s… I just wondered why you double-locked your door. Don’t you feel safe around here?’
He hesitates, for a second. ‘Yeah – I did, I did double-lock the door, didn’t I? Force of habit, I suppose.’
I just nod vaguely, not sure he’s really answered my question.
‘I mean. You never know, and no harm in being extra careful,’ he adds, looking slightly embarrassed.
‘Yeah, you’re right.’
That makes sense – kind of. But I am an idiot – I’ve put myself in the kind of situation I would advise any client against. I’m in a man’s house, we’re alone, and I don’t know him. Then again, am I being paranoid? He’s made pistachio ice cream for me. Serial killers don’t make pistachio ice cream for their victims. Do they? And yes, it’s only a third date, but I feel as if I’ve known Alex for so much longer. I’m an intuitive person. Surely I would have picked up any potential weirdness by now. He’s perfectly normal. He’s perfectly gorgeous. And he’s pouring wine for us in his lovely glossy kitchen. I need to get a grip.
‘I just hope you weren’t trying to lock me in,’ I hear myself say in a jokey voice in an attempt to garner a satisfying explanation.
‘God no, I’m not trying to lock you in. The keys are here,’ he says, patting his pocket. But he doesn’t take them out and leave them on the side, which would make me feel happier. ‘I hope I haven’t freaked you out, I just – like to be safe.’
‘Not at all,’ I lie. ‘I was joking. Lawyers aren’t usually serial killers, are they?’
‘Not until now.’ He smiles slowly, and for a split second my heart misses a beat, until he starts laughing.
‘Okay, now you’re freaking me out,’ I gasp, tapping him on the arm in a light-hearted reprimand.
‘I’m sorry for teasing – you’re right to be concerned, Hannah. You don’t know me and we’re in this house alone and, hey, I could be… anyone,’ he says this in an over-the-top creepy way that makes me smile and roll my eyes.
‘Yeah? Well, it won’t be good for your business if you do anything weird,’ I laugh. ‘And all my friends know where I am,’ I add, just in case.
‘And my friends know where I am and who with.’ He laughs. ‘And some of them are policemen, so if you’ve got any murderous plans, Hannah Weston, think again.’
He pushes a glass of wine towards me, and I laugh, a little too hysterically, as I realise that my friends at work know I’m with him, but they don’t know his address, or even his surname. If I didn’t turn up at the office tomorrow, no one would check on me immediately, they might think I’m doing a home visit. They might not even realise I’m missing until mid-morning. Jas is always so busy, Harry wouldn’t even notice and Sameera’s too obsessed with her wedding to wonder if her colleague’s about to star in a real-life crime story. So, if Alex does turn out to be the next Ted Bundy, I’m probably done for. I take a large gulp of wine, slightly calmed by the warming red as it hits my throat.
He’s checking the oven, so I take another gulp and quickly text Jas his surname and address, explaining it’s purely precautionary, so she doesn’t think it’s a cry for help, then turn my phone on silent. I don’t want to appear rude, as if I’m having a text conversation with someone else while he cooks a romantic meal. There’s nothing to worry about; I just got myself in a state. I’m a bit on edge be
cause of the roses and the note and the fact that Tom’s still at large. But maybe it’s more than that too. Maybe it’s the job. After being exposed to the very worst of human behaviour day after day, it’s bound to leave a mark. As Jas is always warning me, what we do can creep into your personal life and threaten to turn every situation into a crisis, when it really isn’t.
Alex opens the fridge to take out some salad vegetables, and I note there’s very little in there – which fits in more with my male stereotyping than his bay trees and blue crockery. He’s concentrating on what he’s doing, chopping a pepper, but he isn’t smiling any more. I hope I haven’t ruined the mood and made things awkward between us.
‘Sorry,’ I say.
‘Why?’ He looks up from the pepper.
‘For questioning your domestic security arrangements.’ I try to say this in a funny voice, but he doesn’t smile.
‘I told you, it’s okay. Now, more wine, or would you prefer a cup of tea?’ He’s standing by the kitchen island, a bottle of red in one hand, the other gesturing towards a rather stylish tea caddy.
‘Wine, if you don’t mind,’ I say, gesturing towards my half-empty glass as he lifts the bottle to top it up. I watch the blood-red liquid leave the bottle, and decide to take it easy on the alcohol. I’m sure everything’s fine, but I don’t want to make myself more vulnerable than I already am. Then again, he offered me tea as an alternative, which is vaguely comforting.
‘I can just as easily grind some Rohypnol into tea, so your choice?’ he says, as if he read my mind.
‘What?’
He looks at me with those smiling eyes and I know he’s teasing again.
‘Sorry, I’m not used to this… Someone cooking for me, being kind, and attentive – I’m looking for the downside. Do you have one?’
‘A downside? No. I’m actually quite perfect,’ he says, pouring himself a glass now.
‘Cheers… and thank you,’ I say.
‘What for?’
‘For being nice, for inviting me over – for not being pissed off because I got lost on the way here, then started quizzing you about locking your own front door.’
