The Date: An unputdownable psychological thriller with a breathtaking twist by Louise Jensen Read Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Louise Jensen
against the wall I edge towards the front door, pausing after each step.
Waiting.
Listening.
All I can hear is my pulse booming in my ears. I’m close to the window now. The phone reassuringly solid in my hands asI crouch down and awkwardly shuffle forward thinking I’m invisible in the shadows. Under the windowsill, I take a second to steel myself. I raise my head, almost an inch at a time, until my eyes are peeping out of the misted glass.
A shadow shifts.
There’s a split second where I can’t move. I can’t breathe. I can’t do anything except let terror crash over me, my eyes bewitched bythe movement, but it’s the branches of the tree outside. It’s nothing but the tree. Gingerly, I stand, cup my eyes and press my face against the glass.
There’s nobody there.
But that doesn’t mean he has gone.
THURSDAY
9
The clock chimes midnight, and the sound jars me into action. My need to see if the man has gone overrides everything else. Still clutching the phone I tear around the house, flooding every room with light, scooping back the curtains, lifting the bottoms of the blinds. The backgarden swarms with brooding shadows as the moon casts a soft glow onto the trees that guard our fence. Out the front, lamp posts dot the street. The council have recently turned off every other bulb and the shady space between them seems vast. Most of the other houses are shrouded in darkened sleep. Whoever was banging on my window has vanished, and it seems fruitless to call the police now, butI don’t want to be alone. From the kitchen I pull a carving knife from the block, it’s blade glinting reassuringly as I stalk to the front door, where I grip the key so tightly my fingertips tinge blue, but I can’t bring myself to turn it. To make the short bolt to Jules’s house. Too afraid to leave until daybreak, I settle on the sofa instead, determined to stay awake. Just in case.
----
My head jerks upright, as though I’m a marionette and someone has tugged a string. Squinting at the brightness of the room I wipe the drool from my mouth with the back of my hand. I’d thought I couldn’t possibly sleep, but I must have nodded off for a few hours, and now it feels there is nothing quite as lonely as 5 a.m.It’s quiet. Still. There is no one banging the glass and yet I’m leftagain with that jittery feeling. Standing, my knees feel exhaustion-soft and I have to gather my strength before I can move. My heart kicks against my ribs as I peer out of each window, waiting for a face to lunge towards me. It doesn’t. I pad back into the lounge. It’s freezing. I had purposely left the heating off, thinking the chill would keep me alert, but my hands and feet are ice. Kneeling,I lay kindling and criss-cross wood in the grate of the wood burner, before I strike a match and ignite the firelighter. Vibrant flames happily dance their hello as I heap on wood, and I don’t feel quite so alone.
My heart lifts a little as I calculate I can collect Branwell in a few hours. I’ve missed him so much. For such a small dog he has a huge personality. Every now and then I takehim into work to see the residents – some of them have found it more of a wrench giving up their pets than their homes. The utter joy on Mrs Thomas’s face as Branwell settled on her lap and she stroked him with her arthritic hands was such a pleasure to see.
The plug-in air freshener hisses out vanilla, startling me and, as I turn my head to glare at it, I catch sight of the pink, floralstorage box on top of the bookcase. Like a magnet it pulls me forward and, although I don’t want to, although I know what I am about to do might be torturous, I can’t stop myself from lifting down the box, easing off the lid.
My eyes mist as I stare at what I do not want to see. My history is spread out before me in glossy 6x4s. I’d clung onto the faint possibility that my life might besplit into two almost – a glass divide – and the faces of my memories relating to
Waiting.
Listening.
All I can hear is my pulse booming in my ears. I’m close to the window now. The phone reassuringly solid in my hands asI crouch down and awkwardly shuffle forward thinking I’m invisible in the shadows. Under the windowsill, I take a second to steel myself. I raise my head, almost an inch at a time, until my eyes are peeping out of the misted glass.
A shadow shifts.
There’s a split second where I can’t move. I can’t breathe. I can’t do anything except let terror crash over me, my eyes bewitched bythe movement, but it’s the branches of the tree outside. It’s nothing but the tree. Gingerly, I stand, cup my eyes and press my face against the glass.
There’s nobody there.
But that doesn’t mean he has gone.
THURSDAY
9
The clock chimes midnight, and the sound jars me into action. My need to see if the man has gone overrides everything else. Still clutching the phone I tear around the house, flooding every room with light, scooping back the curtains, lifting the bottoms of the blinds. The backgarden swarms with brooding shadows as the moon casts a soft glow onto the trees that guard our fence. Out the front, lamp posts dot the street. The council have recently turned off every other bulb and the shady space between them seems vast. Most of the other houses are shrouded in darkened sleep. Whoever was banging on my window has vanished, and it seems fruitless to call the police now, butI don’t want to be alone. From the kitchen I pull a carving knife from the block, it’s blade glinting reassuringly as I stalk to the front door, where I grip the key so tightly my fingertips tinge blue, but I can’t bring myself to turn it. To make the short bolt to Jules’s house. Too afraid to leave until daybreak, I settle on the sofa instead, determined to stay awake. Just in case.
----
My head jerks upright, as though I’m a marionette and someone has tugged a string. Squinting at the brightness of the room I wipe the drool from my mouth with the back of my hand. I’d thought I couldn’t possibly sleep, but I must have nodded off for a few hours, and now it feels there is nothing quite as lonely as 5 a.m.It’s quiet. Still. There is no one banging the glass and yet I’m leftagain with that jittery feeling. Standing, my knees feel exhaustion-soft and I have to gather my strength before I can move. My heart kicks against my ribs as I peer out of each window, waiting for a face to lunge towards me. It doesn’t. I pad back into the lounge. It’s freezing. I had purposely left the heating off, thinking the chill would keep me alert, but my hands and feet are ice. Kneeling,I lay kindling and criss-cross wood in the grate of the wood burner, before I strike a match and ignite the firelighter. Vibrant flames happily dance their hello as I heap on wood, and I don’t feel quite so alone.
My heart lifts a little as I calculate I can collect Branwell in a few hours. I’ve missed him so much. For such a small dog he has a huge personality. Every now and then I takehim into work to see the residents – some of them have found it more of a wrench giving up their pets than their homes. The utter joy on Mrs Thomas’s face as Branwell settled on her lap and she stroked him with her arthritic hands was such a pleasure to see.
The plug-in air freshener hisses out vanilla, startling me and, as I turn my head to glare at it, I catch sight of the pink, floralstorage box on top of the bookcase. Like a magnet it pulls me forward and, although I don’t want to, although I know what I am about to do might be torturous, I can’t stop myself from lifting down the box, easing off the lid.
My eyes mist as I stare at what I do not want to see. My history is spread out before me in glossy 6x4s. I’d clung onto the faint possibility that my life might besplit into two almost – a glass divide – and the faces of my memories relating to
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