A Girl to Die For: A Thriller

by Lucy Wild

  When Fiona came home, she found Holly wrapped up in a blanket on the sofa, staring at a cat video on her laptop. “Working hard?” she asked, dumping her handbag on the coffee table.

  “I had to go over the last section again and I think it’s shit, Fi. What if it’s all shit?”

  “It’s not shit. You just need to get it finished.”

  “I’m going to fail.”

  “No you’re not. Now come with me. I’ve a bottle in the fridge and you’re going to help me drink it while we decide what you’re going to wear tomorrow night.”

  “He hasn’t sent me a single message today.”

  “Was he supposed to?”

  “I don’t know. You’re the expert in such things, you tell me.”

  “What was the last thing you said to each other?”

  “He said he’d see me at Melchett’s at seven on Friday.”

  “And did you reply?”

  “I said I was looking forward to it.”

  “Well, there you go then.”

  “There I go then what? What am I missing?”

  Fiona headed to the kitchen, returning with a bottle and two glasses. “You need to relax, Hols. Drink this, choose an outfit and get ready to knock his socks off tomorrow night. Trust me, you’re worrying about nothing, it’ll be absolutely fine.”

  SIX

  HOLLY HAD ONLY BEEN in Melchett’s once and that was back in her first year, when she cared a lot less about making her money last. She’d had one drink in there, realising as she paid that the cost meant her budget for the night was gone. She hadn’t been back since but when she walked in ready for her date she saw that it hadn’t changed from how she remembered it.

  Situated a stone’s throw from the enormous Gothic Minster, she had an excuse to walk past the cathedral she loved so much on the way, marvelling at the sheer scale of the place as she did every time she was in the city centre. This time though, her attention was distracted. She had chosen to walk to the bar, something she was regretting already as her the straps of her shoes rubbed painfully on her feet. Still, they made her look hot, according to Fiona and who was she to argue?

  It was warm enough not to need tights, her bare legs enjoying the evening sunshine. Already the evening revellers were out in force, hen parties passing her by, screeching as they went. She ignored them, too busy hoping that her night would go well to care about anyone else’s. Fiona had talked her through what to do. Be herself but not too much herself. Be open but not too much, be flirty but not too much. “So in essence do everything but not too much of it?” she said when the panoply of advice was finally over.

  “Exactly,” Fiona replied.

  That was what she intended to do. Her dress wasn’t too much, cut halfway between thigh and knee, clingy in the right places, loose in the important ones, giving just a hint of cleavage, one more not too much to add to the collection.

  She’d tied her hair back, not wanting the chaotic nature of it to ruin her first impression. It also meant she wouldn’t be tempted to fiddle with it like she normally did when she was nervous.

  The bar was busy but not heaving but she couldn’t spot him. Fashionably late? She glanced at the time on her phone, ignoring the message from Fiona asking how it was going. It wasn’t going yet and it was already five past seven. He could be there by then of course, there were plenty of people and she only had one photo to go on. Would she even recognise him?

  What if it was a joke? A set up with her as the punchline? That would make sense. No one would really want to date her, after all. Suddenly she needed the bathroom. She crossed the bar, weaving her way through the laughing crowds to push open the door to the ladies. Once inside the cubicle, she sat with her head in her hands, muttering to herself. “Just relax, relax, relax.”

  Easier said than done. Her hands were still shaking when she emerged three minutes later. Still no sign of him. She approached the bar, thinking what the hell, she might as well get a drink seeing as she was there.

  “Good evening,” a voice said behind her as she tried to get the bartender’s attention. “You must be Holly.”

  The voice was warm, deep but non-threatening. Holly turned around slowly, not sure what to expect, her heart thudding in her chest, a bead of sweat running unhelpfully down the middle of her back. She found herself looking into the face of the man from the internet. The face was different, a little, not too much. In real life his skin was more tanned, the picture perhaps taken in the winter. His hair was as tidy though and he was wearing the same black suit. “Can I get you a drink?” he asked, waving to the bartender who appeared immediately.

  Holly couldn’t say anything. Something inside her had snapped, shutting down all external faculties. How had someone who looked as good as him chosen to spend the evening with her? It defied all reason. She couldn’t stop staring at him as he looked back at her, that hint of a smile on his lips. Maybe he was used to this reaction from women.

  Her brain was screaming at her to say something, to say anything but still she just stood there, staring at him, those eyes, that firm chin, those cheekbones, the way his brow wrinkled slightly.

  “How about wine?” he asked. “Do you think they do that here?”

  She barked out a laugh that was far too loud, wincing at the sound of it. “I think maybe they do,” she said, her voice a squeak.

  “Red for us both,” he said to the bartender. “Dealer’s choice.”

  The bartender nodded and turned away. Holly was glad when the drink came, it gave her something else to concentrate on rather than just how good her date looked. She drank it too quickly, before they’d even left the bar. With a second glass in hand, she was a little less shaky, managing to follow him to a table over by the back, nestled in between a bookcase she would have loved to have explored if she was there alone and a pile of kitsch boardgames that looked battered and unloved.

  She sat facing him, running her fingers up and down the stem of the glass, waiting for the words to come. They had to be in there somewhere, she couldn’t have forgotten all the words. That was madness.

  This is why, she thought, glancing up at him as he leaned back in his seat, as calm as she was panicked. This was why she hadn’t dated. Whenever the slightest hint of it came up, she panicked, the difficulty only growing more pronounced as she got older. She should just give up and go home, what was the point in even trying?

  She looked up, realising he’d said something she hadn’t heard. Should she bluff her way through or admit she hadn’t been listening? He answered for her.

  “Take a breath,” he said, that hint of a smile growing broader, lighting up his eyes. “You look like you’re about to hyperventilate.”

  “I’m sorry, it’s just, it’s been a long time since I was on a date. I’m sorry, you didn’t need to know that. God, this is going great, right? I should go? Should I go?”

  “No,” he said, a rumble coming from deep in his throat. Was that his laugh? “I’m very much enjoying your discomfort.”

  “Thanks,” she said, picking up the glass and taking a sip. “Thanks a lot.”

  “Tell me something about yourself, Holly.”

  She loved how her name sounded when he said it, a tiny shudder running through her. Keep it cool, don’t appear desperate.

  “I’m a student.” Well done, that was a sophisticated thing to say. She cringed internally but could think of nothing else to say, not a single thing.

  “Studying what?”

  “English Literature.”

  “Interesting. Who’s your favourite writer?”

  “Charlotte Bronte.”

  “Not Emily?”

  “No, definitely Charlotte.”

  “Interesting. Explain.”

  Holly finally found herself relaxing. Another glass of wine helped but primarily it was being able to talk about her favourite subject to someone who seemed genuinely interested in what she had to say. Whenever she tried to talk about such things with Fiona, a glazed expression w
ould gradually spread across her face. But Joseph (not Joe as he’d pointed out when she’d tried that name) knew all the right questions to ask. By the time they got around to talking about him, half the night had gone by and she hadn’t even noticed. The place got louder but the corner he’d picked was a good one, enough space between them and the bar to prevent drunken revellers from bumping into them as they talked.

  “Look at the time,” Holly said, glancing up at the clock. “I’ve been talking about Jane Eyre for forty-five minutes. You must be bored out of your skull.”

  He shook his head. “I like listening to you.”

  “Well enough about me and my books. What about you? How’d you end up on Match Up?”

  A flare of sadness appeared momentarily on his face but it vanished almost the same instant that it appeared. “My last girlfriend passed away.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have asked, you don’t-”

  “It’s fine,” he interrupted. “It was a long time ago. I decided it was about time I stopped mourning and started living.”

  “A good philosophy.”

  “Thank you. I joined up to see what was out there and there you were. What about you? Anyone in your life I should know about?”

  “Like who?”

  “Like a husband waiting at home?”

  “God no, nothing like that. Do people really do things like that?”

  “You’d be surprised.”

  “Well, there’s no skeletons in my closet, I can assure you of that.”

  “That’s good to know.”

  The conversation moved on. Holly wasn’t quite sure how but somehow they ended the evening talking about their mutual love of Urbex or urban exploration. She’d always had an interest in abandoned places but had never met anyone who felt the same. “How’d you get into that?” he asked, looking as intrigued as he had by everything she’d said so far.

  “When I was about ten, we moved next to an old farmhouse. I went up there one day with my sister. She thought the place was creepy but I loved it. There were still newspapers on the windowsills from the sixties, the carpet was still there, just covered in dust. It was like the owners might come back any minute. I don’t know, it just felt romantic. I know that sounds silly-”

  “It sounds eminently sensible to me,” he replied. “The oldest places can be the most romantic. They’re full of history, full of the stories of people’s lives.”

  “Exactly! I tried telling Fiona that but she just looked at me like I needed committing.”

  “Fiona is your sister?”

  “No, Lizzie is my sister. Fiona’s my housemate.”

  “I see.” He glanced at his watch. “I’m sorry to do this but I need to get going.”

  “Oh,” she tried not to let the disappointment show on her face. “Of course, I’m sorry.”

  “Stop apologising.”

  “Sorry, I mean…I know what you mean. I should be getting back anyway.”

  “That dissertation,” he said as he stood up, brushing down the front of his tie.

  “Exactly.”

  They walked across to the exit, him in front. Holly looked at his back, wanting him to change his mind. She didn’t want to go home. She knew the exhilaration would crumble as soon as she was in her bedroom.

  He pushed open the plate glass door, seeing the torrential rain that had appeared from nowhere before dipping back inside. “It’s pouring,” he said, looking at Holly. “Have you got far to go?”

  “Not too far,” she lied, looking past him at the deluge outside. “I’ll be fine.”

  “My car’s around the corner. Can I offer you a lift?”

  “No, it’s fine, I’ll get the night bus. It’s only the other side of the Minster.”

  “I’m not having you walking that far and getting soaked on my account. Wait here, I’ll get the car.”

  He was gone before she could protest leaving her standing in the doorway and looking back in at the bar. Was it safe to get in his car? She hardly knew him. He could be anyone.

  While she was still thinking, a sleek black vehicle pulled up directly outside. “What the hell,” she muttered, pulling open the door and running through the rain to dive into the passenger seat.

  “Glad you could make it,” he said, turning to look at her. “Now, where can I take you?”

  SEVEN

  THE CAR ROLLED AWAY from Melchett’s, the wipers working at full speed as the rain continued to pour down. Holly looked out through the water as it trickled down the passenger window. When it rained when she was little, she used to conduct races, the commentary running through her head as she chose two specimens from the drops on the car window. It was quite the decision at the time, making sure they were two fairly evenly matched raindrops at the top of the window.

  Her commentary would begin as the drops rolled slowly downwards. The drops would be named. The race would begin. Two raindrops slowly moving down the outside of the glass as she tried to predict which would hit the bottom of the window first, vanishing from sight and leaving her to choose the next two contestants.

  She remembered that as she looked out of her window while Joseph drove slowly through the crowds of people racing from one bar to the next. She remembered too the way the shadows fell across the car as they passed each streetlight. A yellowy orange glow would hit the dashboard, rolling towards her, over her, then darkness, then the light again as they passed the next lamppost. It was a soothing sight, putting her at ease, making her feel safe.

  She felt perfectly safe next to Joseph. She knew she shouldn’t. He was a complete stranger and she was in his car. He could take her anywhere, do anything. But the feeling didn’t scare her, not with the rain drops rolling slowly down and the lights rolling over her, the music gently drifting out of the speakers, Beethoven she thought, recognising a couple of the notes.

  She still hadn’t answered him. Where did she want to go? Did she want him to take her home? Not really, not if she was honest with herself. She wanted to spend more time with him, make sure he was real, that she wasn’t dreaming this whole thing. He loosely gripped the steering wheel with one hand, the other hovering over the gearstick as they stopped at a red light at the edge of the city centre. “Nearly onto the proper roads,” he said. “Which way should I go?”

  “Would you mind just driving for a while?” she asked. “At least until it stops raining.”

  “Pretty heavy for June,” he said, glancing at her before turning back to the front in time for the light to turn green.

  Holly dug out her phone from her handbag, seeing another message from Fiona was waiting for her.

  So, is he everything you dreamed of?

  Holly kept a grip on her smile as she looked across at him, his face lit up by the lights of the Pizza Hut outside the window. Maybe, she thought, we’ll see.

  I’m in his car, what do I do now?

  She sent the message and waited, hoping Fiona had her phone nearby. She closed her eyes briefly, thinking how lucky she was. A perfect date, if it wasn’t for her rambling or her nerves or her desperate need for the bathroom halfway through. Her phone shook in her hand and she opened her eyes, looking down to read Fiona’s reply.

  Unzip his trousers and get to work.

  Holly stifled a giggle. Fiona probably would do something like that. It would be just like her. A second message appeared a second later.

  Only kidding. I’m guessing it’s going well?

  V well.

  Then go back to his.

  You’re not serious?!?

  Why not?

  Because.

  Suit yourself but you’ll regret it.

  Holly put her phone away, zipping up her handbag before setting it down in the footwell. It was all well and good for Fiona to suggest going back to his house but she couldn’t do that. It was too forward. If she slept with him on the first date, he’d get the wrong impression of her. She wasn’t the type of person to do that.

  Besides there was no guaran
tee he wanted to do that anyway. He’d not tried to kiss her. He’d not even touched her. That was what the articles said. If they were into you, they’d make sure to brush your shoulder or stroke your arm or something like that and he’d-His hand tapped her knee, lingering for just a second. “Earth to Holly,” he said, tapping her again.

  “Huh? Sorry, did I miss something?”

  “The rain’s slowing down. I asked where you wanted to go?”

  Where did she want to go? Home? His house? The two raindrops were trickling down and she had to pick a winner. Which horse was she going to back? Home or his house?

  “Where do you want to go?” she asked, abdicating the decision. Let him choose. His answer would tell her everything she needed to know. Although it would also lead to a whole new round of questions.

  “I think I should drop you off at home. I don’t like the thought of you getting a bus this late at night. It might not be safe.”

  My hero, she thought. Thoughtful and not so lust filled as to drag her caveman style into his bedroom. “All right,” she said, surprised by the disappointment in her voice. She hadn’t expected to sound disappointed. “You don’t have to though.”

  “I want to. What’s your address?”

  “Do you know where the university is?”

  “Yep.”

  “Head that way and I’ll guide you in.”

  “Past the barracks right?”

  “Right.”

  He swung a left, heading over the river and past the old swimming pool, the scaffolding skeleton surrounding it the only sign of it’s conversion into flats. “I went in there,” he said as they drove by. “About a year after it closed.”

  “Oh, wow, really. I wasn’t even here then. What was it like?”

  “They’re drained the pool but the rest of it was just like it was. The seats were all still there, even the bottles behind the bar.”

  “That sounds so cool. I’d have loved to have seen that.”

  “Well I took some photos. They’re demolishing it soon and I wanted a memento of the place. I can show you next time if you like.”