My Perfect Stranger: A hilarious love story by the bestselling author of One Day in December. Kat French

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СКАЧАТЬ plastic shopping carriers down on her front step and groaned with relief as she flexed her bag-sore fingers. Baked beans and tinned tomatoes were heavy but essential items on the non-cooking cook’s shopping list.

      Her heart lurched at the crunch of broken glass as she shouldered the door open. Shit. Had she been broken into? Honey flicked her eyes over the undamaged panes in the stained glass door, confused, until she noticed the pink tulips strewn across the parquet hallway floor. The very same pink tulips she’d placed in her favourite glass jug in the hallway a couple of days ago to welcome herself home. Or at least it had been her favourite, until now. There was no mending it – whoever had broken it had made a very thorough job.

      By the looks of the still dewy flowers and the huge wet patch on the floor, whatever had happened had happened fairly recently, and as everything else in the shared hallway looked ship-shape, that left only one possible culprit. Only one person who would come through here and smash her jug without bothering to clear up the mess or leave an apology note.

      Thanks a million, Johnny Depp.

      Honey slammed the hallway door shut and leaned against it. It had turned into one hell of a day. Christopher’s words at the earlier staff meeting scrolled around inside her head like ticker-tape on the twenty-four-hour rolling news channels. ‘Funding being pulled. Threat of closure. Six months. Period of consultation.’

      The shop was under the cosh, and unless they secured new funding soon they’d be closed down within a few months. And it wasn’t just the charity shop, either; the whole home was under the hammer, leaving thirty residents facing eviction. What do you do when you find yourself unexpectedly homeless at ninety-seven? Honey had no clue, and Christopher had offered precious little in the way of answers. The day had gone from bad to worse as she’d struggled home with heavy shopping on the packed bus, standing next to a drunk teenager who had touched her bum at least twice. He’d been lucky not to have a can of beans wrapped around his head, but Honey was all out of fight. Until now.

      The sight of her pretty jug and dying flowers strewn across the floor turned out to be the straw that broke the proverbial camel’s back.

      ‘Hey, rock star!’ Honey yelled at her new neighbour’s door as she picked her way over the shattered glass. ‘Thanks for nothing!’ She dropped her shopping bags by her front door and leaned against it. ‘That was my favourite jug. Just so you know.’

      She paused. Stubborn silence reigned, even though she was sure she’d heard movement beyond his door.

      ‘Fine. I’ll just send you the bill then, shall I?’

      It had actually only cost 50p from work, but it had been pretty and his silence riled her. He was in there, she was sure of it. Although, thinking back, Honey couldn’t recall seeing his lights on when she’d passed his windows. Another day, another hangover. Too bad.

      ‘You’re not the only one who had a bad day, you know. I almost lost my job today.’ She screwed up her face as soon as the words left her mouth. Why was she telling a complete stranger her woes? Or worse yet, yelling them at someone who was clearly too much of an arrogant cock to care less?

      Hal lay on the sofa, dark glasses over his closed eyes even though he was wide awake, pained by the effort of holding himself still rather than storming out there to tear a strip off Strawberry Girl. Flowers. Stupid, fucking, stupid flowers.

      Storm out there. Who was he kidding? It had taken him almost ten minutes to make his way out into the hallway earlier that afternoon. All he’d wanted to do was answer his own goddamn front door. To stop the door-to-door salesman from banging on it, from banging on the inside of his head.

      Who the hell put fresh flowers in a communal hallway anyway? How was he supposed to know they were there? The first rule of living with a blind person – don’t place unexpected hazards in their way. But then, Strawberry Girl hadn’t realised he was blind yet, had she? Thank fucking God, because when she did, she’d no doubt switch straight into that same mode most other people did around him these days, a vomit-inducing mix of sympathy and desperation to make things easier for him. He didn’t want to hear that falter in her voice when she first realised he couldn’t see, so he lay on the sofa and listened to her berate him instead. Not that he could have gone out there even if he’d wanted to. Not with a soaked crotch and hands still sticky with warm blood where he’d cut his hands to ribbons trying to gather the glass up.

      He knew exactly what she’d think. He reeked of whisky, and no doubt looked like he’d tried to slash his own wrists. And on top of that he must look like he’d pissed himself.

      A new low, even in Hal’s new world.

      And she thought she’d had a bad day. She didn’t know the meaning of the words.

      Honey dumped her bags on the kitchen work surface and headed back into the hallway with the brush and pan. She’d briefly entertained the idea that her mini rant might have piqued his guilt enough to make him clear up, but no such luck. His door remained resolutely closed, and her flowers were still scattered across the floor. She rescued them one by one, and then set to work sweeping the glass shards together. The water still on the floor made the job extra awkward, and tell-tale streaks of red caught her eye as it mingled with the glass and water. She frowned and stilled for a second. If that was blood, then maybe he had attempted to clear up after all. Or, oh God, maybe he’d injured himself and knocked over her flowers by accident, or maybe he’d had some sort of fit, or nicked an artery with the glass and was at this moment lying dead in his flat and it would be all her tulips’ fault. The way Honey’s day was shaping up, accidentally murdering her neighbour wasn’t beyond the realms of possibility. The floor cleared, she took a few steps towards his door and turned her ear towards it to listen. Nothing. She raised her hand to knock, but then stopped just before her knuckles made contact. What was she going to say if he answered? If you’re dead or injured then I’m sorry, but if you’re not then I’m not really sorry at all?

      ‘Hello,’ she called out tentatively. A stony silence filled her ears, and Honey felt the very edges of panic start to unfurl. ‘Hello.’ She tried again, a little louder, a little firmer.

      Still nothing. She bunched her hand and banged on his door. ‘Are you alright in there?’

      This time she put her ear right against the door and listened hard. Was that a shuffle?

      Hal swore under his breath and hauled himself upright on the sofa. Strawberry Girl was fast becoming his nemesis. Why was she thumping on his door? Did she seriously want the money for her stupid bloody jug?

      ‘Look, I know you’re in there. I just heard you move.’

      Hal shook his head. It was like living next door to Miss Marple’s over-zealous granddaughter. She must have her ear right against his door.

      ‘Just answer me, will you? Are you alright in there?’

      Fuck. She was already checking up on him, and she didn’t even know he was blind yet. He made a mental note to keep it that way for as long as possible. He winced with pain as he rolled his shoulders and flexed his lacerated palms.

      She must have heard him, because she thumped on his door even harder.

      ‘Do you need help?’ she called out as he made his way along the hallway, for all the world as if she were checking on an elderly neighbour who might have tumbled over their zimmer frame. Sour resentment settled over him.

      ‘What would it take to make you go away?’ he grouched through the closed door, and heard her puff out loudly СКАЧАТЬ