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 would 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?”