Read The Date: An unputdownable psychological thriller with a breathtaking twist for Free Online Page A

Jules, grateful again that Chrissy had rented the house next door to James and now we are all neighbours. It’s been the one good thing, the only good thing, to come out of my separation, being able to get togetherwith my friends and share a bottle of wine without worrying about driving or taxis.
    The doorbell peals. A chilling wind bites at my nose, my ears. Snow is forecast later, clouds covering the stars invisible. Wrapping my arms around my middle I bounce up and down on the balls of my feet, desperate to keep warm.
    The door swings open. It’s a man. I tell myself there’s nothing to befrightened of, it’s only James, but still I keep my eyes fixed firmly on the floor, unable to look him in the eye, wanting to picture his face the way I used to and not see the image my brain will tell me is in front of me. His boots are scuffed at the toe, and I hold the tiny scratches in my gaze as I blurt out: ‘Someone left a bunch of flowers on my step. Did you see who?’
    ‘Ali!’ he exclaims,as though I am the one who looks different. ‘Jules is out but come on in.’ James is an accountant, although he told me once over a glass of wine he hates his job, he’s saving to buy a boat. Get away from it all, I suppose.
    ‘No, thanks,’ I say, feeling a desperate sadness as I realise just how uncomfortable I am around people right now – before this James felt almost like another brother.We share the same taste in music and he’s offered me tickets to gigs a couple of times, chilled-out folk who would bore Matt senseless.
    ‘The flowers?’ I prompt.
    ‘Sorry. I haven’t seen anyone. Wasn’t there a card?’
    Tears flood my eyes.
    ‘Are you okay?’
    I shake my head.
    ‘Of course you’re not.’
    There’s little else to say except, ‘Can I have the doorkey Ben left with you?’ I’m going to put it in the key safe.
    He darts inside his house and seconds later presses the cold metal into my hand. ‘I’m sorry,’ James says. ‘About what happened to you. Do you remember anything yet?’
    ‘No.’ Cheeks stinging, I turn and walk away. He calls my name, his voice cracking with emotion, and I hesitate but all I hear is the wind battering the treesand I know he is not going to speak again and, even if he did, there’s nothing he could say to make me feel any better.
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    Ewan has my address. I check the front door is locked behind me three times. He has my address. My blood is hot, rushing through my veins at lightning speed. I’d been careful not to give out any personal information. We’d met in a public place. Has he tracked medown or did he come home with me that night? What does he want?
    Enjoy the date, bitch?
    My eyes scan the message again and again, as though I can morph those four words into something else. Something nice. ‘Get well soon, Ali’ or ‘I love you. Ali’. I can’t remember the last time I’d heard that one. I turn the card over in my hands. There’s no logoon the back and it could have come from anywhere. He was here . My logical mind tells me to call the police, but my cynical mind questions what they can actually do. This anonymous bunch of flowers could have come from a dozen supermarkets, and they’re hardly likely to rush over and offer me twenty-four-hour protection for a bouquet, are they? They didn’t protect us before and the threats thenwere real and relentless and utterly terrifying. Briefly, I consider calling Ben but I know he’d insist on coming straight over and he needs a good night’s sleep before his long drive tomorrow. If something else happens, I’ll tell someone. I will.
    The scent of the roses is cloying. I snatch them from the sink and step out of the back door, shivering, as I head for the bin. The darknessis absolute. Our garden leads onto wasteland, one of the reasons Chrissy rented the house – bikini summers, making breakfast in bra and pants. I’d loved our private, sheltered space, but now I’m seeing potential hiding places everywhere. A