THE NEXT DAY SEEMED to last for at least a week. It began with Holly waking up to the sound of Fiona singing off-key in the shower downstairs. She sat up in bed, turning on her own tunes to drown out the noise. Picking up her phone to load the first song, she felt a strange sense of disappointment that he hadn’t sent another message overnight. Twice she’d woken up and checked her phone, despite the conclusion of their conversation.
She scrolled back through the previous messages, reading them all again. She hardly recognised the person who’d written those things. She’d flirted, she’d actually flirted, properly. It had worked too. The date was arranged for the next evening. That meant she had an entire day to concentrate on nothing but her dissertation.
The layout of the house was dictated from when it was built. The landlord had added the bathroom onto the back of the kitchen, the Victorian builders neglecting to include any upstairs plumbing in what, at the time, was a slum area of the city. It meant Holly’s bedroom was above the bathroom which was why she often woke to the sound of Fiona singing away directly below her, the sound floating up along with a hint of the steam from the shower.
Holly climbed out of bed when she heard Fiona heading back upstairs. Making her own way down a minute later, she ignored her laptop, passing straight through to the bathroom. She had to wipe the steam off the mirror in order to see her own face. Fi was continuing to sing upstairs, the sound permeating down until she turned on the shower, finding her housemate far too cheery for that time in the morning. Holly needed coffee before she was able to function with a modicum of energy before noon. There was something wrong with her housemate, always chirpy in the mornings from the moment she woke up. Holly had never understood it. She always needed two cups before she was even capable of holding a conversation without wanting to murder the entire population of the country, maybe even the planet.
She showered and cleaned her teeth before returning to her bedroom to dress. Choosing a grey Give Quiche a Chance tee-shirt with the ubiquitous Spongebob pyjama trousers, she headed downstairs once more, switching on the kettle and preparing to really blast her assignment.
“So?” Fiona asked from behind her, appearing in the doorway as she dug the coffee tin out of the cupboard next to the toaster.
“So what?” Holly replied, holding up a second mug.
Fiona nodded at the sight. “God, yes, make it a strong one.” She sank into the chair by the tiny little table in the corner. “So did you send him a message or what?”
“I did a little better than that,” she said with a smile. “I have a date.”
“You’re kidding?”
“Nope. Tomorrow night. He is taking me to Melchett’s.”
“Ooh, very posh.”
Melchett’s was a wine bar in the middle of York. It had been open just under a year and in that time had built up a reputation amongst the students of the city. If you wanted to get drunk, you went to one of the chain pubs, if you wanted to burn through your student loan in one night, you went to Melchett’s. You might be penniless come the morning but you’d have a hell of a good time doing it.
The kettle clicked off. Holly filled both mugs before fetching the milk from the fridge. Once they both had their drinks, they went through to the lounge, Fiona settling in her chair and Holly on the sofa. “So what are you going to wear?”
“I don’t know. I’m not thinking about it until I’ve got this done.”
Holly picked up the laptop, determined to get as much work done as possible. She spent all day staring at it, trying to will the words to appear on the screen, her pile of books growing larger as the hours passed. Fiona seemed to realise it was best to leave her to it, announcing she was heading out a little after twelve. Holly had been certain she’d been working for at least ten hours by then, feeling crushed when she checked the time. So long to go until the date. Stop it, think about the work. Concentrate on this.
For a spell, she hated Fiona for signing her up, making it even harder for her to focus on her essay, her mind drawn again and again to that image of him, the one she’d already memorised. She only had to close her eyes to see what he looked like. Would he look like that in person? Should she try to find him online somewhere, see if he had a social media profile? Some other photos she could spy on? No, leave it alone. That’s what stalkers do. Just wait and see what happens. Don’t even think about it.
She had deliberately left her phone in her bedroom, knowing if it was beside her, she’d constantly be checking it to see if he’d messaged again. She was proud of the fact that she didn’t go to collect it until the evening, though finding he hadn’t written to her again left her once again strangely disappointed.
She did her best to ignore the feeling. She could always send him a message, after all. But she didn’t. Somehow she felt that would be breaking the unwritten rule. She couldn’t seem too eager. Why did it even matter anyway? It wasn’t as if she needed him to get in touch. She had plenty to be concentrating on without the distraction. There was a message on the phone from her mother along with three missed calls. She rang her back, another hour away from the essay.
When Fiona came home, she found Holly wrapped up in a blanket on the sofa, staring at a cat video on her laptop. “Working hard?” she asked, dumping her handbag on the coffee table.
“I had to go over the last section again and I think it’s shit, Fi. What if it’s all shit?”
“It’s not shit. You just need to get it finished.”
“I’m going to fail.”
“No you’re not. Now come with me. I’ve a bottle in the fridge and you’re going to help me drink it while we decide what you’re going to wear tomorrow night.”
“He hasn’t sent me a single message today.”
“Was he supposed to?”
“I don’t know. You’re the expert in such things, you tell me.”
“What was the last thing you said to each other?”
“He said he’d see me at Melchett’s at seven on Friday.”
“And did you reply?”
“I said I was looking forward to it.”
“Well, there you go then.”
“There I go then what? What am I missing?”
Fiona headed to the kitchen, returning with a bottle and two glasses. “You need to relax, Hols. Drink this, choose an outfit and get ready to knock his socks off tomorrow night. Trust me, you’re worrying about nothing, it’ll be absolutely fine.”