Free The Date: An unputdownable psychological thriller with a breathtaking twist by Louise Jensen

week but then I see it and there’s a sharp ping in my gut.
    Add friend
    We’re already friends, aren’t we? Except, according to Facebook, we’re not. I scroll. Most of her posts are set to private, but the latest one, the only one I can see, was posted around the same time as my Instagram photo. It’s an image of a dark and choppy sea with the quote:
    There comes a time when you have to stop crossing oceans for someone who wouldn’teven jump in puddles for you
    Feeling winded I sit back as though I have been pushed. Why has she unfriended me? Or had I unfriended her? What happened that night? My questions cause a memory to materialise. Shouting, crying. But I can’t tell whether I’m the one shouting or whether I’m being shouted at. As quickly as it appears, it’s gone and I’m left staring once more atthe ‘Add Friend’ icon. I press it with my thumb, watching as it turns to ‘request pending’, and I hurriedly shut the app. ‘A watched pot never boils’, Mum used to say.
    Instead, I double tap Inside, Out , the dating app I’d used. I open my private messages.
    Ewan.
    At the sight of his name, a memory. Sipping drinks. Loud music. Overpowering aftershave stinging my throat. He’sleaning in. Green tweed jacket. Thighs touching. Lights flash-flash-flashing. Rising to my feet . I’m not ready for this. An uncomfortable knot in my stomach. The room spinning red, yellow, green. Blurring until it’s gone and I’m back in my lounge, clutching the sofa as though I’d float away if I loosened my grip.
    My eyes find one of the photos of Mum dotted around the room. She’s unawareof the camera, hunched over my birthday cake piping lilac icing. Twelve pink and white spiral candles rest on the work surface beside her. I think that was probably the last time she was truly happy, and it seems so precious now, those ordinary moments we take for granted at the time. That was the last birthday cake I ever had. I never could bear them after that day. Even the smell of a Victoriasponge rising in an oven brings it all back. The table upended. The silver ‘Happy Birthday’ topper snapped under trampling feet, the screaming, the shock. My life in shreds, like the violet voile that was covering the table until the men burst in and everything came crashing down.
    Scanning through my exchanges with Ewan, I can’t see anything that triggers alarm, even with hindsight.
    He seems normal. Ordinary.
    I don’t usually tell anyone I love fishing. They’d think I was really boring but it’s calming. Peaceful. Gives me space to breathe. To clear my head.
    The sensitive type! I’d replied.
    I could pretend to like rugby if that would help you agree to a date…
    And I had tuckedmy phone into my pocket like a secret, again avoiding his question. I didn’t want to date anyone, of that I was absolutely sure, but a small, stupid part of me was flattered by the attention. The next notification was as though Ewan was sensing my reluctance.
    If you want me to leave you alone I will but I like you Ali and I’d love to take you for a drink, as friends. Nopressure. I promise I’m not an axe murderer or anything.
    Would you tell me if you were?
    But it hadn’t been fear of who he might be that had stopped me, it had been fear of who I am.
    I had spun the gold band on my wedding finger. Had Matt and I given up too easily? All at once I had felt lost. Hopelessly, irretrievably lostand longing for clarity. If there was a smidgen of a chance my marriage could have been salvaged, wasn’t it worth a shot?
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    Confused, I jumped into my car and drove slowly across town, wheels skidding on black ice. The house was in darkness. Frost patterning the path, snow dusting the fir trees. I rapped sharply on the front door, berating myself for not bringing my key, before crunchingover the lawn to the back door. The kitchen was dim except for the red glow of the clock on the hob. I stamped my freezing feet as I called Matt’s mobile.
    ‘Hello.’