Chapters (156)
- A DATE WITH DEATH
- Also by Mark Roberts
- A Date With Death
- Copyright Page
- Contents
- The Past
- 1977
- Day OneWednesday, 1st December 2021CatoptrophobiaFear of mirrors
- 1
- 2
- 3
- 4
- 5
- 6
- 7
- 8
- 9
- 10
- 11
- 12
- 13
- 14
- 15
- 16
- 17
- 18
- 19
- 20
- 21
- 22
- 23
- 24
- 25
- 26
- The Past
- 1979
- Day TwoThursday, 2nd December 2021OneirophobiaFear of dreams
- 27
- 28
- 29
- 30
- 31
- 32
- 33
- 34
- 35
- 36
- 37
- 38
- 39
- 40
- 41
- 42
- 43
- 44
- 45
- 46
- 47
- 48
- 49
- 50
- 51
- 52
- The Past
- 1980
- Day ThreeFriday, 3rd December 2021MonophobiaFear of being alone
- 53
- 54
- 55
- 56
- 57
- 58
- 59
- 60
- 61
- 62
- 63
- 64
- 65
- 66
- 67
- 68
- 69
- 70
- 71
- 72
- 73
- 74
- 75
- 76
- 77
- 78
- 79
- 80
- 81
- 82
- 83
- 84
- 85
- 86
- 87
- 88
- 89
- 90
- 91
- 92
- 93
- 94
- 95
- 96
- 97
- 98
- The Past
- 1982
- Day FourSaturday, 4th December 2021ThanatophobiaFear of Death
- 99
- 100
- 101
- 102
- 103
- 104
- 105
- 106
- 107
- 108
- 109
- 110
- 111
- 112
- 113
- 114
- 115
- 116
- 117
- 118
- 119
- 120
- 121
- 122
- 123
- 124
- 125
- 126
- 127
- 128
- 129
- 130
- 131
- 132
- 133
- 134
- 135
- 136
- 137
- About the Author
- An Invitation from the Publisher
She ran down the landing with him in her arms, urging him hush, hush, hush…
‘Ask yourself a different question.’
She ran to her room, clutched him to herself as if their lives depended on it.
‘What did you do right, arsehole?’
Day Three
Friday, 3rd December 2021
Monophobia
Fear of being alone
53
0.05 am
Francesca Christie’s mother pulled back the curtains in her living room and looked out on to the street, her anxiety peaking as she tried her daughter’s mobile for the twelfth time since eleven o’clock, to hear the same frustrating automated message.
Sorry, the person you’re calling is currently unavailable. Try again later.
‘We have an agreement, set in stone. You said you’d be back by eleven, half past at the latest…’ Margaret Christie talked to the framed picture of her daughter on the wall. ‘Why have you turned your phone off? Whenever you go out or I go out, we keep the phone on at all times in case of an emergency or a problem. This just isn’t you.’
With a balloon of sickness inflating in her stomach, she marched into the hall and took the address book from the drawer beneath the landline phone.
She flicked to the B page and looked for Bryony’s phone number but it wasn’t there. She remembered the book was ordered alphabetically according to surname but, in that moment, she couldn’t remember Bryony’s family name even though she’d known Francesca’s best friend since she was eleven years of age.
Going to the front door, she opened it and walked quickly on to the pavement, looked down the road and hoped she’d see Francesca’s car turning the corner and heading home. There was no sign of any traffic.
Marsh! Through the blinding fog of panic, it came to her. Bryony Marsh…
Closing the front door after herself and turning to the M page of the address book, she dialled her number. The phone rang out and she imagined the alarm in the house at a phone call coming in after midnight.
‘Come on. Pick up! Pick up!’
‘Hello!’
‘Bryony, it’s me, Margaret, Francesca’s mum.’
‘Hi…’
‘She’s been with you this evening?’
‘Er, yeah, yeah…’
‘Is she there with you now?’
‘No, she left.’
‘When?’
‘An hour ago.’
‘She’s not home.’
‘Isn’t she?’
Another voice drifted into play, and she recognised Bryony’s mother’s voice joining the tense exchange.
‘What’s going on, Bryony?’
‘It’s – it’s Margaret… I’ll deal with it, OK?’
‘Put me on speakerphone please, Bryony. Hello, Cheryl, can you hear me?’
‘What’s up? Why are you calling this late at night?’
‘I’m sorry but Francesca’s been at yours this evening and isn’t home yet.’
Silence.
‘Hello, Bryony, Cheryl, are you still there?’