How to Kill Men and Get Away With It(12)

‘Kitty!’ he says. ‘It’s a pleasure to see you again.’

Ha.

‘Hey, Joel,’ I say, dodging him as he tries to move in for a ‘friendly’ hug. ‘Can I come in? I’m bursting for a wee.’

He grins like a simp and stands aside to let me in.

‘If you take the first left, that’s the lounge. Or you can go straight down to the kitchen so I can pour us a drink? There’s a loo on the right before the kitchen.’

‘Okay great,’ I say. ‘Just something soft for me though as I’m driving.’

He grins again and leads me through the hallway. I’m looking around the house and notice there are lots of pics of Joel and people who must be siblings or cousins on the walls. I pop into the tiny toilet, which has been built into the understairs cupboard, and run the taps while I have a quick reccy. Nothing special in here apart from hand soap. At least he takes hygiene seriously.

I join him in the kitchen, which is not what I expected a single thirtysomething man’s to look like. It’s like Cath Kidston simultaneously exploded and threw up.

‘This is nice,’ I say.

Joel smiles inanely at me again. ‘Well, it’s not really my style to be honest with you, Kitty. It’s actually my parents’ house.’

Lives with his parents. Of course he does.

‘They’re away at the moment,’ he adds. ‘Spain. We’ve got a villa in the south of Spain.’

‘Ah okay, so you’re house-sitting?’

Another sheepish smile, a quick glance to the left – I wish I could remember what that’s supposed to mean – eyes back to me.

‘Alexa, play new music. Not exactly. I still live here. Well, not still, I mean I moved out for uni and lived with my ex, but …’

What did Maisie see in this loser? I mean, I get that not everyone can buy their own house easily but, Jesus, surely he could rent somewhere? That couldn’t be that expensive. I mean, what does he even do?

‘Right. So … what do you do?’

‘Oh, I’m a computer programmer, but I went freelance after my company let me go last year and things haven’t really picked up since then.’

At least, I think that’s what he’s saying – in all honesty, whenever someone starts talking about their job I just switch off. Joel, I notice, is quickly refilling his wineglass after gulping the last one down. Is he an alcoholic?

‘So, your main thing is Instagram then?’ he asks me, several swallows into glass number two. ‘What does that involve?’

‘Not much actually,’ I admit. ‘Just posting a few photos and keeping my followers up to date on what I’m doing. It’s really not very interesting. Are you on there?’

He shrugs. ‘Yeah, but only for work really. I don’t have that many followers!’ I make a mental note to check his page out later.

‘Are you sure you don’t want a glass?’ He waves the bottle of wine in my face. ‘I mean, one is fine, isn’t it?’

A high-tempo dance track suddenly blares out of Alexa, making us both jump.

‘Urgh. Alexa, skip.’

‘I really shouldn’t,’ I say, because I shouldn’t. ‘But go on then. Just one.’

He pours me a glass of something no doubt purchased from the corner shop. I imagine him going in and browsing the chilled wine section, examining the choices, hovering briefly between the cheap Pinot he usually picks up for dates and the ones costing over ten pounds, before settling on the more expensive one. Because, surely for that price, it’s more likely to get him laid. I take a sip and repress a shudder as the liquid burns its way down my throat.

‘So, how have you found Tinder? Have you had many dates?’ I ask.

He shrugs. ‘A few. But not anyone I’ve really clicked with. It’s weird, isn’t it? You can never tell if you’re gonna have proper banter with someone in real life or not. I’m really surprised that you matched with me though.’

Proper banter. Vomit.

‘Oh? Why’s that?’

‘Just thought it might be a bit awkward with the whole Maisie thing.’

‘Well, I’ve not exactly told her. So, can we keep it to ourselves for a bit please? I don’t think she’d be very happy to be honest.’

He nods. ‘Yeah. Bit of a psycho, that one.’

Which reminds me. ‘Gosh, I saw about your friend on the news. Matthew, wasn’t it? The one who fell on a broken bottle. You must be gutted?’

Joel shrugs a little. ‘I didn’t really know him that well, he’s more a pal of a pal. Nathan, who we were with that night too. But yeah. Awful thing. He had a little girl. The funeral was heartbreaking. She went up and put a little teddy on his coffin and asked Daddy to take it to heaven with him. Pure broke my heart to watch that.’

Hmm. I don’t remember that bit.

‘So sad,’ I agree. ‘Shall we talk about something else? How’s Tinder working out for you? Apart from Maisie, obvs.’

‘Oh, you know, met a few girls, liked a few of them. Realised they were mental. Same old story. What about you?’ he asks.

‘I’ve met a couple of men,’ I lie. ‘But like you say, it’s hard to work out if there’s any chemistry without meeting in person. I don’t think I actually know anyone who’s met their soulmate on a dating app.’