The Role Model: A shocking psychological thriller with several twists by Daniel Hurst (big ebook reader txt) 📗

I are lucky. Our parents treat us like adults and understand that we are going to drink at the weekend. In return, we do our best not to overdo it at parties like these, which is more than can be said for almost everybody else here. But I am aware that I have already consumed more than I have ever done before, and I should probably slow down if I don’t want this night to end badly.

‘Hey, where’s my drink?’ Zara asks me, and I remember I forgot to make her one.

‘Oh, sorry,’ I say. ‘Here, you can have mine.’

I hand her my cup, and she is happy to take it, which is fine by me because I needed that break. But I’m not the only one who should slow down a little. This party is getting rowdier by the second, and I have a feeling it won’t be long until the neighbours call the police, if they haven’t already. Almost as that thought passes through my mind, I hear a loud knock at the door and then somebody turns the music down in the other room.

‘Ben, the police are here!’ comes the call from the hallway.

The warning was intended for Ben, the host of this raucous event, but somehow, I don’t think he has heard it. That’s because he is currently face down on the carpet in the dining room with a cup of something bright orange spilt on the carpet beside him.

Several people rush through the kitchen on their way to the back door, clearly not wanting to hang around and risk coming face to face with a police officer. I think about doing the same, but I can’t leave without talking to Rupert.

‘Afterparty in the park! Let’s go, guys!’ someone calls out as they leave, and that is enough to get everybody heading for the doors now.

‘Come on,’ Zara says to me before taking the bottle of gin and the plastic cups from the table. ‘Let’s get out of here.’

‘I need my jacket. I’ll catch you up,’ I say to her, and she nods before heading for the door while I go deeper into the house, where I see two police officers making their way inside.

‘Party’s over, guys!’ one of the officers shouts, but I ignore him and head into the front room and that’s where I find Rupert unplugging his phone charger from the wall.

‘Shame about the party,’ I say to him before he can hurry past me out of the room.

‘Oh, yeah. But I think we’re all going to the park instead,’ he replies.

‘We could,’ I say with a mischievous grin. ‘Or we could go somewhere else.’

Rupert takes a second to get on my wavelength, but he finally figures out what I’m suggesting.

‘Errr, okay. Have you got any drinks?’

‘There’s some vodka in the kitchen,’ I say just as one of the police officers enters the room.

‘Everybody out, or I’ll get your parents here!’ he calls, so Rupert and I heed his warning and rush past him but not before stopping by the kitchen to claim that bottle of vodka.

As we leave by the front door, I notice that everybody is already well ahead of us on the street, but that’s exactly how I want it.

‘I’ll just text my mates and tell them I’m not coming,’ Rupert says, but I stop walking as he speaks.

‘Don’t tell anyone,’ I say. ‘People will just gossip about us. They’re so childish.’

Rupert doesn’t seem so sure, but I give him a smile that tells him to trust me.

‘Okay,’ he says with a shrug, and he returns his mobile to his pocket, which means we can start walking again.

Leaving in the opposite direction to everybody else, we head away from the main park in town and on towards the smaller one where I am sure that none of our classmates will be hanging around.

‘Are you drunk?’ he asks me as we walk quickly down the street.

‘A little,’ I admit. ‘You?’

‘A bit. But I could use some more.’

‘Me too.’

I unscrew the bottle and take a swig of vodka before screwing my face up at the foul taste and handing it to Rupert.

We keep walking as he drinks, and as we reach the end of the street, I struggle to contain my excitement. I can’t believe I’m alone with him. I’ve dreamt about this moment for so long.

This is going to be the best night of my life.

5

HEATHER

This has been one of the most boring nights of my life. I didn’t go to the corner shop for that second bottle of wine in the end, but maybe I should have. It would most likely have been the highlight of the evening. Instead, all I have done since Chloe left is lie on the sofa in front of the TV and debate whether or not to download that new dating app that my friends have told me to try out.

I’d have hoped that nearing forty would have made me exempt from looking for love in the virtual world. After all, isn’t that the domain of the youngsters these days with all their swiping and whatever else they do? Why can’t I meet a nice, charming man when I’m out on a walk? Does the future of romance really hinge on a bloody mobile phone app these days?

Maybe it does, and maybe I should listen to my friends, but for now, the app has not been installed on my phone, which means I am still no nearer to resuscitating my dying love life. Never mind. It’s Saturday. I can’t be productive all the time.

What I should do now is get up off this sofa and go up to bed. It’s approaching midnight and the quality of the programmes on the television is only going to go downhill at this point. But I’m so comfortable here and the knowledge that Chloe won’t be coming back tonight makes me feel okay about just closing my eyes and drifting off to sleep.

My sleepy state, combined with the bottle