The Fake Date Read online

  Will laughed. He saw the irony; he looked down at the tear in his shorts and shrugged. ‘Obviously, it’s not a very good party trick. If it were, I think I’d have worn better shorts.’ He turned his body away from hers, as one hand continued to grip the two halves of his shorts together. ‘Do you mind me asking … you look just a little familiar. Have we met before?’

  Ella knew he’d have recognised her from the papers. Everyone did. Everyone thought they knew her, without being quite sure from where. Now she knew she’d have to explain what had happened to her that night.

  ‘I’m Ella Hope. I doubt that we’ve met before, but you might have seen me in the papers, or on the television. I …’ She tried to continue, but the words wouldn’t come out.

  Will Taylor moved to the bench and sat down. ‘You don’t mind, do you? It’s kind of easier to hold the shorts together if I sit down. I can push the edges under my leg, save me from, you know … flashing my underwear at you.’ He tried to glance at Ella’s face, taking in her features and after her comments about the papers, he now realised who she was. It had been his job to report on the case, but being in Kent a long way south of here, they’d only covered it in a small way. Little had he known then that when he moved to Yorkshire he’d end up buying the house next door.

  Now, her cowering behind the bench made complete sense. After all she’d been through, no one would blame her for feeling nervous of strangers and especially nervous of men who seemed to pole-vault into her garden.

  After all, hadn’t he had issues of his own? Hadn’t he moved to Yorkshire to escape his past and in the process left every single person, every school friend, family friend and colleague behind, just because he couldn’t live with the guilt?

  ‘Will, are you okay?’ The sound of Ella’s voice brought him back to reality.

  ‘Ella, yes, I remember the story. I’m so sorry about what happened to you. I kind of know that doesn’t help, but …’ He couldn’t tell her how much he understood, couldn’t tell her about his own life, his own tragedies, and, what’s more, he knew that what happened to her would live with her for her whole life; the nightmare of it all would never disappear. Did she have friends? People who she could talk to? He hadn’t, he’d been alone through it all. He made a silent promise to look out for Ella, to be a good friend and neighbour, if she ever needed one, and to attempt to show her the empathy that he wished he’d allowed friends and neighbours to give to him.

  ‘You remember the story? Wow, what are you a reporter or something.?’ The look on her face told Will that this wouldn’t be a good thing and he laughed.

  ‘I take it you don’t like reporters?’ He didn’t want to lie and avoided answering the question.

  ‘Well, to be honest, I’m one of them. I work for the Filey Chronicle, but that doesn’t mean that I like them. I’ll never forgive them. They hounded me like a dog when I was in hospital.’ She flicked the hair back from her face. ‘They’re vultures, nothing more, nothing less. They wait to swoop when you’re most vulnerable and I’m not sure I want them as friends.’ She nervously pulled at the hole in her jeans. ‘So, in answer to your question, no, I don’t like them very much.’

  He nodded in agreement. What she said was true; reporters were like vultures, they did swoop in, but that was the nature of the job. He had no idea what he should say or do next. Should he just blurt it out, admit to her that he was a reporter, or did he leave it and allow her to get to know him as a person first? If he waited, then maybe, just maybe, he could convince her that not all reporters were the same and, eventually, she might just realise that he was one of the good guys. He chose the latter.

  ‘Look, I know they’re not all bad, it’s just that they were supposed to be my friends and I felt a little let down,’ Ella continued.

  ‘I don’t know your circumstances, but it doesn’t sound like you’ve had much support. I’m only next door. You know, if you have any issues, if anyone starts hounding you. All you need to do is shout, scream or bang on the walls. I’ll do whatever I can to help.’ He didn’t know why he was offering – she barely knew him – but knew that if she felt anything like he did, any offer of help would be gratefully taken.

  Ella smiled and perched on the miniature wall that stood before the bench. ‘Thanks. I do have support, but I appreciate you saying that.’ She smiled. ‘Do you live there alone?’ She pointed to the house next door.

  Will grinned. ‘I do, I doubt anyone else would want to live there at the moment; it’s barely habitable. I don’t even have a kitchen, a cooker or a fridge.’ He held up both hands and shrugged. ‘Do you live alone?’ he asked, treading carefully but still interested to know who the other woman had been.

  Ella nodded. ‘Yes. I do. I’ve been staying with my parents while I recovered, but felt that it was time to come home.’ She pointed to the area behind the bench. ‘My friend, Sarah, who was here earlier, she helped me bring my stuff back. But after that display, I think I should probably just get in my car, go right back and curl up on my mum’s sofa. You know, allow her to baby me for a year or two longer.’

  Will shook his head and smiled. ‘Oh no, don’t do that I kind of like having a neighbour.’ He placed a hand on his heart, a gesture to show he was being sincere.

  Ella laughed. ‘Why do you like the idea of a neighbour? Personally, I used to quite like it when next door was empty. No loud music, no men leaping over fences, no one asking if I’d loan them a bowl of sugar, a cup of flour … do you get the drift?’

  Will shook his head. ‘Ouch, I’m hurt.’ He flashed her another smile. ‘As though I’d ask if I could borrow sugar, come on, I wasn’t going to ask for any of that.’ He once again wriggled in his seat and pulled the seams of the shorts together. ‘I was, however, going to ask if maybe I could throw a pizza in your oven?’ he asked with a cheeky smile. ‘But not borrow sugar, oh no, definitely not sugar. I mean, who in their right mind would ask a neighbour for sugar? I mean, come on, seriously? Chocolate or wine maybe,’ he said, laughing, ‘but never sugar.’

  Ella stared at Will’s trainers. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to look at his face, but from where she was sitting on the small wall, she would have to look past his torn shorts to look at his face; even though he had his knees pressed tightly together, she didn’t trust herself not to stare. She came to the conclusion that even though Will Taylor had made quite an entrance, he seemed nice and genuine, and she quickly decided that she liked him. He was funny, quite good looking and what’s more he lived right next door, which had made coming home really interesting.

  Ella tried to control her breathing as she inhaled deeply and tried to think more clearly. After all, after what she’d been through, she still had to be careful. She needed to weigh men up more before putting herself in vulnerable situations. The trouble was, she couldn’t decide what it was it about Will that she really liked. He was a stranger; he had a strange accent and she had no idea where he’d come from, except that he sounded a bit southern. In fact, all she really knew about him was that he’d bought the house next door. She tried to think logically. He should be harmless and, as far as she knew, he didn’t look or act like a crazy psychopath, except for the fact that he pole-vaulted fences. He seemed really friendly, albeit he’d been really embarrassed about tearing his shorts, and he certainly didn’t come across as a guy that was dangerous. Then again, except for the fact that he had two dead wives, she’d have said that about Rick Greaves. He’d also been good looking, friendly and charming; they’d chatted on numerous occasions at the gym and she’d often wondered what had happened that night for him to change so very much.

  She thought for a moment longer before standing up from where she perched on the wall. ‘So, you don’t want wine, chocolate or sugar, but you do want me to cook your pizza.’ She raised her eyebrows. ‘Let me think about that.’ She paused and put both of her hands on her hips. ‘What am I, your mother?’ She laughed. ‘What’s wrong with your own bloody cooker?’

  He flas
hed a cheeky smile. ‘Ah, that’s the point. As I said, I don’t have a cooker. I should, but …’ He lifted his hands to his crew cut, strawberry blond hair and rubbed at the top of his head. ‘I ripped the cooker out … you see …’ He rolled his eyes. ‘The kitchen units and appliances should have been delivered yesterday and I had a guy booked for today to start fitting it, but the delivery date was changed last minute to next week. So, I have a pizza, you know, in anticipation of having a new cooker. But now I have nothing to cook it in, nor do I have a fridge to store it in. So, it’s just sitting there, on the paste table, looking at me. And, what’s more, I’m really, really hungry.’

  Ella pulled a face and stuck out her tongue. ‘Well, it looks like you’re going to be really hungry for a good while longer then, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Oh, come on, that’s mean. Especially after I tore my shorts trying to help you.’ He jumped up from the bench, realised he’d let go of the said shorts and grabbed at them quickly. ‘Come on, I’ll make you a deal. How about if I share? Do you like pepperoni, wild mushroom and mozzarella?’

  Ella pretended to think for a moment. ‘Well, that is tempting. But I had my eye on a Caesar salad, with bacon, chicken and anchovies.’ She looked up into his face. His blue eyes stared back. ‘Apparently my mum left me supplies in the fridge.’

  Will looked disappointed and Ella noticed how he turned his face away from hers and looked towards the bushes for something to do.

  ‘Okay, I’ll make you a deal instead,’ she said as she walked back towards the house. ‘You go and put a shirt on, cover your body up, change your shorts, preferably for some that are not torn, and then, and only then, bring the pizza round and I’ll be a good neighbour and throw it in the oven for you.’ Ella stopped, turned around and smiled at him. ‘Oh, and while it’s cooking, you can sit on the bench.’

  ‘So, you’re not going to share the Caesar salad with me then?’

  She pursed her lips and caught sight of his quirky smile. ‘Let me think. Err, nope. Oh, and when you leave, do you think you might use the gate this time? I don’t think that fence could handle you jumping over it a second time.’

  My heart thunders in my chest as I slam my fist into a wall. Everything that happened, everything I planned has gone so very wrong. I made mistakes and I have no idea how that happened. The biggest mistake was that you survived. But I don’t know how. How could anyone have survived that onslaught? And now, now I’m enraged. I don’t normally get things wrong. I feel a need to repair the damage, I need to alter the course of events that will no doubt come and somehow, I need to put right what I got wrong.

  I wonder how you are managing to live after the injuries you sustained. How you’re managing to walk, dress yourself or brush your hair. The damage I did should have left you unable to do anything at all, yet from what I read in the papers, you’re doing okay. It seems that you’re getting well again and that you’re working with the police to bring your attacker to justice. But that won’t happen. If it’s the last thing I ever do, I’ll make sure that that won’t happen.

  Chapter Four

  ‘Okay, tell me all that you know about her,’ Will Taylor barked as he made his way through the newsroom of the Scarborough Star. He walked past reception, the countless rows of bench desking, the meeting pods and the people who sat at them. The whole room was alive with excitement. Editors and reporters were on telephones; photographers manipulated their pictures; and fingers flew over keyboards at over fifty words per minute as the whole office chatted relentlessly while working.

  Josh, on the other hand, almost ran behind Will. He juggled the two cardboard coffee containers in one hand, a clipboard and briefcase in the other.

  ‘Who? The new totty that lives next door?’ Josh awkwardly placed the coffee down on Will’s desk, dropped the briefcase on the floor, sat down in the chair and watched as Will pushed the office door to a close behind him.

  ‘Do you need to be so damned disrespectful, Josh? Her name is Ella Hope.’ He dropped his car keys into his desk drawer and began attacking the keyboard on his laptop at a speed that would have probably created a new world record. ‘She’s the woman who was savagely beaten last year, left for dead, half-naked in a field. Remember?’ He tapped his finger on the desk. ‘She didn’t ask for any of that to happen, so be nice about her.’

  Josh pulled a face, raised an eyebrow, picked up his coffee cup and sat back in his chair. ‘Okay, okay, I was just saying.’

  ‘Well, don’t. You need to think before you slate someone. Especially someone you’ve never met.’ His eyes followed the words on the screen, before he looked satisfied with his findings, sat back and stared at Josh. ‘You did run the story up here, didn’t you?’

  ‘Of course we did. Happened on our doorstep. Now, what do you need to know?’ Josh was sulking. He turned his attention to his coffee, removed the lid and blew at its content.

  ‘I need to know everything.’ Will opened his filing cabinet, pulled out a file and dropped it on his desk, where the coffee cup wobbled precariously and both he and Josh watched it for just a moment before sighing with relief.

  ‘Well, I guess you already know she works at the Filey Chronicle? Her stories are amazing and you should see some of the photos she takes.’ Josh pushed his chair just far enough away from the desk, put his feet up on the table, shuffled himself into a comfortable position and ran one of his hands though his floppy dark hair. ‘They’re first class.’ He held his coffee in his other hand and continued to sip at it, making Will raise his eyebrows at the young journalist’s actions.

  ‘And your point is …’

  ‘Well, if you haven’t noticed, this is the Star. We’re the Chronicle’s opposition. They’re just eight miles away.’ He looked up, raised the cup and lifted his arms in the air as though Will should fully understand what he meant.

  Will shrugged. ‘So, why is that a problem? And what makes you think distance is relevant?’

  ‘Come on, Will, round here there are three sheep and a cow to every human being. We have to fight for every reader we can get,’ Josh answered as he continued to sip at the coffee and cheekily tipped his head to one side. ‘Besides, this all happened over six months ago. If there were any new angles, they’d have it all sewn up by now; she’s bound to have given them an exclusive, or sold it to one of the big guns. Right?’

  Will shrugged his shoulders, lifted his hands and massaged his head with both hands, while staring intently into the computer screen. ‘I think there’s more to her story – some little things that she said – it makes me wonder what really happened, and, if I’m honest, I’d like to know a bit more about her.’

  ‘Did she give you any info, anything we can use?’ Josh sat forward and now looked more interested in what Will was about to say.

  ‘No. She gave me nothing, and I’m serious when I say that.’ He paused and held a finger in the air. ‘You print nothing unless I approve it and sign it off. Have you got that?’ Will raised his voice; he suddenly felt protective of Ella. He sat forward in his chair to keep scanning the news bulletins that flashed up on his screen.

  ‘Hey, all right, all right, calm down.’ Josh laughed. ‘Bit protective, aren’t we?’

  Will stopped typing and turned away from the computer. ‘Josh, seriously, I don’t want her being hurt by the press. You should have seen her. She fell over, I thought she’d really hurt herself, so I jumped over the fence to help her and she looked terrified, threatened me with a lump of wood and then practically cowered behind the bench. She really thought I was going to attack her.’

  ‘You jumped the fence? Seriously?’ Josh paused. ‘Actually, don’t tell me. Nothing you do surprises me.’

  Will ignored Josh’s taunts. He looked determined and once again turned to the keyboard, dropped his hands and tapped the name ‘Rick Greaves’ into the search engine and began poring over the pages, looking for clues. ‘There has to be something in here. This man’s been on remand now for a good few months. The court cas
e is coming up in two weeks and I need to know why he did it. I need a new angle, a new twist on the story. Didn’t his first two wives die suspiciously?’ Will stood up and stretched before picking up the coffee, taking a sip and sitting back down. ‘How did he get banged up for this, anyhow? Was there any proof?’

  ‘Something to do with some sort of trace evidence in his bedroom and the fact that your neighbour identified him.’ Josh reached for a newspaper, sat back in his chair and began flicking through the nationals. ‘So, are you wanting the dirt on her or on him?’ he questioned. ‘She is your neighbour, it’s all a bit too close to home and all that shit. Why don’t you look into something else?’ He pointed to an article. ‘This looks interesting. How about we follow this up?’ He passed the clipboard he’d been carrying to Will. ‘It’s a company in Whitby, and they’re trying to get planning permission to dig a new ash mine. There’s going to be a few protesters. Could be a bit of a bun fight, we could get a few good photos for the front page.’

  Will shook his head, slammed his hand on the desk and stood up. ‘Seriously, Josh. The nationals have already done it; we did an article on it last week. If it’s gone this far, they’ll already have permission.’ He threw the paper down on the desk. ‘The meeting will be to appease the locals, you know, make them think they’ve had a say in it all.’

  Will leaned across the desk and once again picked up his coffee, sipped and pulled a face. ‘Have you put sugar in this?’

  Josh shrugged and leaned back in his chair. ‘So, what do you want me to do?’

  ‘Well, for a start, you could try getting me coffee that I can drink, especially when I’ve paid for it.’

  Josh stood up, took the lid off Will’s drink and began sipping at the contents. ‘It tastes all right to me.’