Dying for Christmas Read Free

building any fantasy about him, but hearing that he lived in the once-industrial, now gentrified East End rather than somewhere like Hampstead or Notting Hill left me unreasonably deflated. For the first time I started to entertain doubts.
    ‘Don’t worry,’ he said, glancing at my face. ‘I’ll give you a lift home later. Wherever that is.’
    ‘Aberdeen,’ I said.
    ‘Ha! You’re funny, Jessica Gold. I like that. Where do you live really?’
    ‘Wood Green,’ I said.
    Dominic arched his eyebrows over those ridiculously blue eyes.
    ‘It’s rented,’ I told him. ‘It’s a stopgap.’
    I wouldn’t tell him that the ‘stopgap’ had so far lasted for two years with no possibility of change.
    ‘I won’t be able to stay long,’ I told him. ‘I’m supposed to be having a drink with some people later.’
    Some people. A different person might be able to call them ‘friends’, although more accurately they were friends of Travis.
    There was an exclamation then. An explosion of sound in my head, rather than just a voice. I cursed myself for letting my guard down because that’s when they get in, crawling under the wire, messing with my head, until I manage to tune them out.
    Everyone has secrets, don’t they?
    ‘Any plans for tomorrow?’ I asked him, shaking the sound off. ‘What do you normally do for Christmas?’
    ‘Oh, I used to do the whole family thing.’
    By this time we were driving through the City and though it couldn’t have been much more than four o’clock, the streets were filling up with smartly dressed office workers rushing to get home. Above street level many of the windows were already in darkness.
    ‘And now?’
    ‘Now I do what I want. It’s very liberating.’
    ‘I can imagine. No, actually, scratch that. I can’t imagine it at all.’
    ‘I thoroughly recommend it. You should try it some time.’
    All through this exchange, I was wondering if the vibrations of my heart thudding against my ribcage were travelling from my seat through to his.
    As we got out of the hub of the City, the crowds thinned out and the streets took on a semi-deserted air. The shabby Christmas illuminations strung across the roads wobbled in the cold wind, throwing half-hearted light on the pavements. Many of the shops had already closed, their metal shutters resolutely unfestive. We stopped at a red light, and I noticed that an artificial Christmas tree outside a convenience store had been chained to the metal framework of the shop awning – someone had wedged a polystyrene burger box and a lager can in between the plastic branches.
    ‘Some people are scum,’ observed Dominic.
    Something cold prickled on the back of my neck.
    ‘Do you know,’ I said, making a show of pulling my phone out of my handbag, ‘I think I will send a text.
    Just in case my body ends up in a shallow grave somewhere.’
    I laughed then, a silly artificial giggle.
    Who’s laughing now?
    I typed a message into the phone. Gone to Wapping with man I met out shopping. His name is Dominic Lacey .
    Then I pressed Delete, instead of Send.
    Who would I have sent it to? My parents? My brothers? Travis? No, I wrote it so he’d know there was someone who would worry if I didn’t come home. I wanted him to see I was someone who mattered.
    ‘Sensible girl, Jessica Gold.’ Dominic smiled and I was sure he knew exactly what I’d just done.
    By this point we were negotiating the backstreets of Wapping lined with newbuild flats with mean windows set into garish yellow brick, where the only hint of festivity was the odd flicker of a Christmas-tree light. The Thames wasn’t visible yet but I could feel its presence, black and brooding between the buildings on the right, the voices of its dead screaming out through the gaps. Unease rose up in goosebumps on my skin.
    ‘Not far now,’ said Dominic. When he turned to me, the street light cut right across him so it looked like he had only half a face.
    And then we were driving down a road