First Date: An absolutely jaw-dropping psychological thriller Read online

  ‘Just give it a go, Hannah. You’re going on a date, not marrying him for God’s sake.’ She’d laughed. ‘Have some fun, and then, when we both get to sixty and we’re still single and childless, we’ll move in together.’

  I laughed, hoping against hope that wasn’t all I had to look forward to. I love Jas, but she isn’t everyone’s cup of tea. She has so much energy but sometimes doesn’t know when to stop. She can take over if you let her, which is often irritating, but sometimes in life you need someone to take over, to pick you up and brush you off and tell you in a loud voice to your face that it’s going to be all right. And after my break-up with Tom, she did all that, and she fixed me.

  I’d been so crazy about Tom at first, I asked him to move in with me after a few weeks. But I realised pretty early on that this had just been infatuation on my part, and once I’d got past the blue eyes and the killer smile, there was little else. He’d wander in from work, turn on the TV, spread himself across the sofa, open a beer and be on his phone all night. I’d hoped for more – sustained eye contact or a conversation would have been a start. But things didn’t change, and after the first few months what little flame there had been just sputtered and died. It was like living with a flatmate; there was soon nothing between us.

  I gave it almost a year. Thing is, he just didn’t know how to be a partner. He never listened to me, and often on a Friday he’d hand me a cheap bunch of flowers and think that made it okay for him to spend the weekend at the pub. As Jas pointed out at the time, ‘He’s just a rubbish boyfriend, and he won’t ever change.’

  So one Friday night, when everyone at work had been talking about their plans for the weekend, and I’d realised I didn’t want to spend mine with him, I asked him to leave. It was really difficult because, as he’d said, he hadn’t actually done anything wrong. But I told him I had too much work and didn’t have the time for a relationship – but in truth I just didn’t love him. ‘You’re just tired,’ he’d said, and turned the TV volume higher to drown out my words. Which said it all really. Eventually he’d agreed to pack his bags and left that weekend.

  I’d felt guilty, but I was also relieved. I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life with someone who didn’t give me anything. I felt I deserved more.

  After he’d left that Saturday, I immediately called Jas, who’d reassured me I’d done the right thing. But Tom started phoning in tears, begging me to take him back, and even turned up at work and asked if he could walk me home. By then, he was sleeping on a friend’s sofa and I felt so bad about making him homeless, I began to think it might be easier to just let him move back in. But Jas gave me the strength to say no – with kindness. And later when he turned nasty, and said it was my fault he’d been suspended from his job, she was there for me every step of the way, and without her support I don’t know what I’d have done.

  Jas was right, of course. The relationship would never have worked and I had to end it. But I saw Tom in a bar a few months back and he looked sad and rather dishevelled, and I worry that the break-up had a more lasting impact on him than I’d realised.

  But I push away troubling thoughts of Tom, when I see the phone on my desk flashing. I pick up and catch my breath. It’s a voicemail message from Alex.

  Chapter Three

  ‘I wondered if you’d like to meet up again? Er… if you did, please call me.’

  Short, sweet and possibly life-changing? I never expected Alex to call me at work. I didn’t give him the number. He must have googled it. Just hearing his voice makes me want to do a little dance in the middle of the office – but I resist.

  I check the next message, it’s from him again. A moment’s silence, no slick, scripted lines, just lovely flawed sentences, broken words.

  ‘I… just realised, I left you a voice message and didn’t leave my number. Don’t feel under pressure to call. I like you, but I understand if… look, I’ve read situations wrong before, so no worries… Oh I’m rambling now. Sorry. Anyway, call me back if you had a good time, we could go out again, tonight, tomorrow, next week? Call me…’ Reciting his number, he was clearly about to put down the phone, and I was about to melt into a puddle on my desk, when he said, ‘Oh… also, you’d told me where you worked, so I thought it better to call and leave a message rather than call your mobile.’ He paused, and I realised I was smiling from ear to ear like an idiot. ‘That way, you can ignore the message. If that’s what you want to do. And… if we bump into each other in the street, then you can pretend you didn’t see me or you didn’t get the message. Bye.’

  I am seduced by his honesty, the way his words just tumble out, no façade, no bravado – it’s so refreshing. He seems so sincere, and how sensitive of him to do it this way, not putting me in a difficult position if I wanted to say no.

  I call him straight back from the work phone. He answers immediately, and I feel all squishy inside, as if I’m thirteen again and talking to my first crush.

  ‘Hey, Alex, it’s Hannah. I’d love to see you again,’ I say.

  ‘Great… that’s really great, Hannah. I wasn’t sure you’d call.’

  His vulnerability touches me. ‘Of course. I had a great time.’

  ‘Me too. So… when are you free?’

  ‘I’m free whenever.’ He’s not playing games, so neither am I.

  ‘Tonight?’ he suggests.

  ‘Yeah, why not?’

  ‘Great, great. Shall I come to yours and pick you up?’

  ‘Why don’t I meet you outside the wine bar, like last time?’

  ‘Perfect, see you at eight?’

  ‘Perfect.’

  I put down the phone feeling as if I’ve just been wrapped in pink, scented cashmere. As hard as I try to manage my expectations, to prepare myself for disappointment, I’m also willing it to work. Having told myself for a long time that I don’t need anyone but me, I now realise that I’m right – I don’t need anyone. But I would like someone. And Alex might just be that someone.

  ‘Oh God, it was the sweetest message,’ I tell Jas over lunch.

  We’re having sandwiches from Greggs at her desk. She has a fancy coffee machine in her office so the two of us usually sit in here on the rare occasions we have time to eat. Today, we have about seventeen minutes before my next home visit and her meeting with the local head of social services, so it’s a little rushed.

  ‘I’m telling you, Alex is genuine,’ I say, enjoying his name on my tongue. ‘He’s amazing, thoughtful, sensitive, and he listens… he actually listens, Jas.’ I smile, warmed by the thought of him.

  Jas gives me a warning look. ‘Sounds too good to be true. And when someone seems too good to be true – that’s because they are.’

  ‘You’ve got to stop being so cynical,’ I say, disappointed that she’s not joining in on my excitement. ‘Why are you suddenly against this – you’re the one who suggested I go on Meet Your Match in the first place! You said it was just what I needed.’

  ‘Yeah, but I meant to have fun, not to take it too seriously. You’ve only had one date with this guy and you’re all over the place, talking dogs and kids and… It was the same with Tom, within days you’d fallen hook, line and sinker and moved him in. That makes you vulnerable, which is why Tom played you, Hannah. You did everything for him, and he gave you nothing back.’

  ‘Tom was different. Alex is—’

  ‘Yeah, I think we know all about Alex by now.’ She rolls her eyes. ‘You were supposed to go on the dating app for fun, that’s all – so you could do something other than watch The Great British Bake Off every evening.’

  ‘It isn’t on every evening,’ I say, a little stung by her words.

  ‘You know what I mean. Sorry, didn’t mean to sound like a bitch, it’s just – you’re already talking like you’re madly in love and you don’t know the bloke. Don’t get yourself into another Tom situation.’

  ‘I just told you, Alex isn’t Tom,’ I say defensively.

  She sighs in exasperation. ‘No
, but this one…’ She pauses, raises her eyebrows. ‘I think the fact he didn’t ask for another date on the night, but kept you waiting, then called your work phone randomly the next day is a big red flag, babe.’

  ‘No it isn’t.’

  Jas takes a big bite of her sandwich, as I argue my point.

  ‘If you heard him, Jas, you’d know what I mean – his honesty, is… well, it’s quite disarming, and I believe him when he says he didn’t want to put me on the spot. Trust me, this is a considerate guy who doesn’t want to pressure me, that’s all.’

  She shrugs, as if to say that’s what you think.

  ‘So you’re going out with him again?’ She plonks her sandwich down and gets up to make coffee.

  ‘Yes I am going out with him again.’

  ‘When?’ she asks.

  ‘Well, he suggested tonight.’

  Her lips purse, she’s not pleased.

  ‘What?’ I press.

  ‘Nothing,’ she mutters, her back to me as she makes the coffee, then she turns round. ‘It’s – just that we were supposed to be going to the cinema tonight, to see that new Ryan Reynolds film.’

  ‘Oh… God! I didn’t realise we’d said tonight?’ I’m sure we didn’t make any arrangements. It was a vague conversation last week about how we must see the film. But still.

  ‘Look, it doesn’t matter if you’ve already arranged to see him tonight, it’s okay. We could go another night, I suppose.’

  ‘Do you mind?’

  ‘Would it make any difference?’ She puts a just whisked frothy coffee in front of me.

  ‘Of course it would, don’t be like that, Jas.’

  ‘It’s fine, I was just messing with you,’ she says, but I don’t think she was. ‘If he’s as gorgeous as he looked on his Meet Your Match profile, I don’t blame you wanting to see him rather than me.’ She plonks herself back down on her chair with her coffee and takes a sip. ‘I might get a job as a barista if this doesn’t work out,’ she says.

  ‘I thought you were going to be a matchmaker if social work isn’t for you?’ I joke, trying to lighten things. I feel guilty now. She’s ambushed me slightly with our supposed cinema arrangements; what I thought of as a vague idea, was clearly seen by Jas as a booking. ‘Jas, I really am sorry, I wouldn’t have said yes to Alex if I’d thought you and I had made a firm plan.’

  ‘It’s fine, it’s fine.’ She drops the remains of her sandwich onto the desk. ‘But it’s not about me or the cinema – I just think you so should have suggested meeting tomorrow. Don’t be so willing. “Make them wait” is my motto.’

  ‘Yeah, but if he’s honest, and doesn’t play games, then why should I wait?’ She doesn’t respond. I think she’s more pissed off about the cinema than she’s making out.

  ‘Look, Jas, I’m sorry about the cinema.’

  ‘I don’t care about the cinema – I can go with someone else.’ She clearly does care.

  ‘You don’t have to go with someone else. We can go tomorrow night,’ I say firmly. ‘And I take on board what you’re saying. Yes, I get involved easily, I fall fast. But I’m not applying your “controlled emotional involvement” rule to my personal life.’ I smile to soften the irritation in my voice.

  ‘That’s not what I’m saying. All I ask is that you don’t leap into another relationship and regret it, hon. Jeez, I sometimes feel when I’m talking to you like I’m talking to one of our teenagers.’

  I ignore this, sometimes she pushes it too far. Likening me to some kid who’s making bad choices is hardly fair.

  ‘You know how you’re always saying to me that I shouldn’t get so involved with my clients’ cases?’ I say, biting into my tuna baguette.

  Jas looks up from her coffee. ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Well, perhaps I am too involved. But it’s because I have nothing else to fill my mind. And going out with a really nice guy like Alex will give me some perspective. So instead of worrying about clients, I’ll have someone else to think about, won’t I?’

  ‘I suppose,’ she says, throwing her sandwich wrapper in the bin, a full stop to our conversation. ‘Sorry, babe, I have to get on with work now. I’m going to have to throw you out.’

  ‘Of course.’ I stand up and move out of her office, clutching the remains of my baguette and cup of frothy coffee. I know Jas too well: she can’t hide her feelings and she’s angry with me for being what she would see as ‘weak’. She doesn’t want us to argue, though, so she’s going to work through her feelings – I know this because she told me that her therapist has said she must isolate herself when people make her angry or hurt her. I haven’t intentionally hurt her, but from her perspective I have, by not taking her advice. She’s complicated. Childhood abuse does that to a person. And Jas’s sudden anger is just one of the emotional responses in an adult who’s been sexually abused as a child.

  We deal with damaged children all the time in our work, and that’s what we are, Jas and I – we’re damaged children who’ve grown up. But that doesn’t define us. Most of all we’re friends, and we understand each other. We both want the other one to be safe and happy, and she’s just looking out for me, as I do her – I just wish she’d trust me to make the right decisions sometimes. And when it comes to Alex, I really believe this is the right decision.

  Waiting outside the bar for Alex is hell. I rushed home from work after a difficult day, including a call-out from Chloe Thomson, a sixteen-year-old with slight learning difficulties. Chloe also has a challenging home life: her parents split up when she was younger and her mother, a drug addict, has just moved another of her boyfriends into the tiny flat they share. When I visited them today, her mum had a black eye, apparently caused by ‘walking into something’, which, of course, I don’t believe. I tried not to think about poor Chloe as I showered, dressed and applied lipstick. I undid my hair, letting it fall loose around my shoulders, and pulled on a black polo-neck jumper, which I thought looked good with my blonde hair. I then ran all the way from my flat to the wine bar in the rain, and when I arrived, my umbrella had turned inside out and given up the ghost, so I threw it in the bin and stood outside under an awning. And now my hair is damp, frizzy and nothing looks good with it!

  I’ve been waiting here for Alex for twenty-three minutes. After ten minutes, I checked inside to see if he’d already arrived, but I couldn’t see him. I contemplated sitting at the bar, and ordering a drink, but there was a man standing by the bar staring at me, and when he pulled out a stool and patted it, I walked out. It’s so cold and rainy, I consider going back inside, but what if Mr Weirdo is still waiting with my bar stool? Oh, I wish Alex would hurry up. Now I’m wondering if he’s even going to turn up, and just as I’m about to call him to check I have the right place, he appears in front of me. He’s twenty-seven minutes late, but full of apologies: ‘I have this really big case on at the moment, and one of the lawyers I’m working with wanted me to meet her at 6 p.m. to discuss the case. Can you imagine?’

  I bristle slightly at the thought of him not wanting to let down a female colleague, but seemingly happy to leave me in the rain.

  ‘I wanted to say, “I’m meeting this really hot woman for a second date, so do you mind if we meet another day?” But, of course, I couldn’t.’ He rolls his eyes.

  I force a smile. Work? Is that his only excuse? ‘I was just about to leave,’ I say. ‘It’s not how I expected to spend this evening, waiting in the freezing rain!’

  His face drops. ‘Oh, Hannah, I’m so sorry. I didn’t have your number, so I couldn’t let you know, but I should have called the bar, shouldn’t I? Have I screwed this up already?’

  I smile, softening at him clearly realising his error. ‘Not yet, you’re on probation though.’

  ‘Promise I won’t break the terms of my probation. Just give me a chance?’ He’s half-joking, but I can see this matters to him, that he cares that he was late. He isn’t playing me, but I think Jas’s warning has rattled me more than I realised, and it’s made me active
ly look for negatives where there aren’t any.

  We decide to go into the wine bar for a drink, and while there, we chat about our respective work days, then he suggests a pizza. I’m starving, so we drink up and head for the door, but just glancing outside tells me the rain is now pretty torrential.

  ‘We’ll get wet through,’ I say as we huddle together in the doorway.

  ‘Where’s your umbrella?’

  ‘I don’t have one.’

  ‘Yeah you do. I mean… I thought…’ he stutters, ‘I just… I just know you’d be the sort of person to have one.’

  ‘Actually, I did have one, it’s in the bin.’ I nod over to the bin on the pavement, the umbrella jammed in, looking like a dead crow, the spikes sticking up like feet. ‘It died.’

  ‘Oh dear.’ He laughs and, taking off his jacket, gallantly holds it over my head. ‘The pizza place is only about five minutes from here, isn’t it?’ he says into my ear. The brush of his lips on my earlobe is electric. ‘Shall we make a run for it?’ he asks, with a smile.

  After a mad, splashy dash to the pizza restaurant, we are taken to a table, where we order Merlot. He refers to it as ‘our usual’, and I like how that sounds, like the two of us already have a history, we belong. Despite a little glitch at the start, when he arrived late and I was irritated, he’s allayed all my doubts and this feels right.

  I don’t taste the pizza, I can barely remember what I ordered, something with mushrooms? I just can’t stop looking at him, and his eyes are constantly on mine. Whatever Jas might say, if she was here right now, she’d know this is the real deal.

  ‘So, you do criminal work?’ I ask between mouthfuls, wanting to know everything about him.

  ‘Yeah.’ He smiles. ‘Not the prettiest or most glamorous of practices, and I do end up spending a lot of time at the police station out of hours, drinking nasty tea and being sworn at.’