The Alibi: A gripping crime thriller full of secrets, lies and revenge. Jaime Raven

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СКАЧАТЬ told you, didn’t I? The only blokes you’ll meet on those internet dating sites are losers and cheats. It’s a waste of time and money.’

      And with that she turned and stepped back out of the room.

      ‘Can you get my phone for me?’ I called after her.

      ‘No, I can’t,’ came the reply. ‘If you want it you’ll have to get up.’

      I took a deep breath and let it out in a long, tuneful sigh. It was becoming increasingly difficult not to accept that she was probably right about the dating thing. Last night had been awful. Another date, another disaster. The guy’s name was Trevor and in the flesh he looked nothing like his profile picture. Most of his hair had vanished since it was taken and he’d also grown a second chin. He said he was an IT consultant, and I believed him because he spent the whole time talking about what he did with computers.

      It became obvious early on why he was still single at the age of 35. And if it hadn’t been for the fact that he’d gone to the trouble of travelling all the way across London to meet me I would have left sooner than I did. But that would have been impolite, perhaps even a little cruel. So I’d stuck it out while knocking back the Pinot in an effort to numb my senses.

      Over the last five months I’d dated seven men through online dating sites and Trevor was the dullest. He’d been even less entertaining than Kevin the chiropodist who had offered on our first date to examine my feet. When I wouldn’t let him he went into a sulk and accused me of being a snob.

      No way was I a snob. When it came to men I’d always been happy to cast a wide net. I’d never discriminate against race, colour, or class, and I accepted that most guys around my age had baggage from a previous relationship. I just wanted someone who was honest, open, reasonably intelligent and with a sense of humour. It would help, of course, if there was also an instant physical attraction. But so far those I’d met online had lacked most or all of those qualities.

      ‘I suppose it’s time I called it a day,’ I said aloud to myself, knowing I didn’t really mean it.

      The trouble was I missed being in a relationship. The divorce was two years ago and I hadn’t slept with anyone since. It wasn’t just the sex though. I missed being part of a couple. I missed the companionship, the intimacy, the stream of pleasant surprises that were part and parcel of a burgeoning relationship.

      Of course being a single mum with a full-time job kept me busy. In fact I had hardly any time to myself. And that was essentially the problem. I wanted more fun and a touch of romance in my life. I wanted to fall in love again and maybe have another child. I wanted a home of my own and to share it with someone who’d get to know me as well as I knew myself.

      My mother didn’t really understand me, or so she said. She reckoned I was being selfish, that I should forget about men and focus on bringing up Rosie.

      ‘You already work far too many hours,’ she told me when I first joined the dating scene. ‘You haven’t got time for a boyfriend or a husband.’

      Then again she had her own reason for wanting things to stay as they were. As long as I remained unattached she got to have us living with her. Not that I’d ever complain. If it wasn’t for my mother I’d probably find it impossible to look after a 3-year-old and continue to work as a journalist.

      Thanks to her I didn’t have to pay for childminders or meet the high cost of living in London. While married my husband and I had shared the exorbitant rent on a property in Dulwich. But Mum owned outright this three-bed terraced house in Peckham, and my contribution to the outgoings was relatively small.

      She was also on hand to take care of Rosie. That was important, given the fact that my job entailed horrendously unsocial hours.

      Take this morning, for example. I had a horrible feeling that the newsdesk wanted me in on my day off. Why else would the office call me at this hour on a Saturday morning? Had something happened? Was there a breaking news story they wanted me to get across?

      There was only one way to find out, of course, and that was to get up and phone them back. But it was the last thing I wanted to do. My head was hurting and I felt more than a little nauseous. Plus I didn’t want to have to tell my daughter that I might not be taking her to the park after all.

      As if on cue the bedroom door was flung open and there she was, the apple of my eye, looking absolutely gorgeous in a yellow dress, her long fair hair scraped back in a ponytail.

      ‘Mummy, Mummy,’ she yelled. ‘Nanny said you have to get up. You’re not allowed to go back to sleep because if you do you’ll be in trouble.’

      People have told me that Rosie is the image of her mother. And it was true up to a point. We both have blue eyes and hair the colour of wheat. Our noses are small and pointed, and we each have a slight lisp.

      But Rosie has her father’s facial bone structure and also his smile, which was one of the things I’d loved about him in the beginning. That was before I realised he used it as a distraction, a way to make me believe that he was a caring, faithful husband instead of a cheating scumbag.

      ‘Hurry up, Mummy,’ Rosie said excitedly. ‘It’s sunny and I want to go to the park.’

      She stood next to the bed, pulling at the duvet, her big round eyes pleading with me to get up.

      ‘Slow down, sweetheart,’ I said. ‘It’s still really early and Mummy’s got a headache.’

      ‘I can kiss it better for you.’

      The words out of my daughter’s mouth never failed to lift my spirits. I put the mug back on the bedside table and reached over so that she could peck me on the forehead.

      ‘I feel much better already,’ I said.

      Then I pulled her close to me and gave her a cuddle. She felt soft and warm and smelled of shower gel.

      ‘Go and tell Nanny to make me some more coffee,’ I said. ‘I’ll be out as soon as I’ve been to the loo.’

      She skipped out of the room, repeating my words to herself so that she wouldn’t forget them.

      I then dragged myself out of bed, only to be confronted by my own reflection in the wardrobe mirror.

      I usually wear silk pyjamas at night but I’d either forgotten to put them on or I just hadn’t bothered. I couldn’t remember which. Anyway, I was naked expect for my watch and a going-out necklace.

      As always I cast a critical eye over my body. And as always I felt a pang of disappointment. Despite all the diets, gym sessions and yoga classes, I was still very much a work in progress. My breasts were not as firm as they used to be, my thighs were riddled with cellulite, and my tummy looked as though it was in the early stages of pregnancy.

      But I did have my good points, thank God. My hair was full-bodied and shoulder-length and I never had to do much with it. I was just over five seven in bare feet and had a face that most people considered attractive. In fact my ex went so far as to tell me that I reminded him of the actress Jennifer Lawrence. It gave my ego a huge boost up until the day I discovered that he was incapable of being truthful.

      I shook my head, annoyed that I’d allowed that deceitful sod to invade my thoughts this early in the morning. But then it wasn’t as though I could distance myself from him. For all his faults – СКАЧАТЬ