‘Wild-haired Lizzie’ her friends used to call her, and she’d been pretty back in the day before she met and married Barry. But marriage and several failed years trying to conceive had transformed Lizzie into someone less wild, more staid. Barry, bored with their life, had eventually succumbed to the charms of his much younger secretary. Like everything else in their life, this scenario was a cliché. Lizzie hadn’t even cried when he told her, the same day he moved out to be with the girl. In fact, Barry’s departure was a relief. It signified that Lizzie no longer had to try. No longer had to be a wife. No longer had to please anyone other than herself. Barry had been difficult to satisfy at times. His expectations of her, their marriage, the potential children – that in the end weren’t possible – it had all been too much, and for the last few years she’d been miserable anyway.
She had signed the ‘quickie’ divorce papers – what was the point of dragging it out and making him wait two years to marry the girl? Lizzie wasn’t the vindictive sort anyway, it took too much energy, and gained you nothing but more stress. Besides, Barry had been generous because she hadn’t been difficult and because he felt guilty. She’d ended up with the house, and a nice lump sum in the bank to keep her comfortable. She didn’t have anything to complain about.
Two years off 40, Lizzie wanted each day to slow down. It had taken her a few months of going to work, coming home and being alone at night, to consider what she wanted to do with the rest of her life.
‘You need to look after yourself,’ her friend Vicky had said after Lizzie voiced concerns about getting older. ‘There’s no reason to just give in to nature. You have to do everything you can to make time stand still. I mean… don’t you want to meet someone new?’
I’m not ‘past it’ by any means, Lizzie had thought. So maybe it’s time to get back out there.
Her red hair, always a sign of her once passionate nature, had faded down: a more golden and less red colour, that someone once called strawberry. The truth was that her vibrant red had just been diluted by oncoming white but certain photographs still made her look somewhat Nicole Kidmanish.
Vicky had been encouraging and had taken Lizzie to see her beautician. Botox, fancy nails and a great new colour and cut, made Lizzie feel better than she had in years. The colour was balanced out and she took some selfies as Vicky suggested.
‘Looking good!’ Vicky had said. ‘Time to get online…’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Lizzie.
‘Dating site, silly!’
It was just a bit of fun at first. Lizzie chatted to a few people and was invited out on a couple of dates. She never took them up on it, but the online flirting was exciting. Then Lizzie started getting some flattering comments from one person. It made her feel attractive, even though they weren’t her type. She was curious though, and more than a little lonely. But she didn’t admit this, even to herself.
They chatted sometimes on Messenger, but Lizzie wouldn’t do FaceTime calls as it worried her. Even so, the friendship grew over a few months. Lizzie found it easy to express her feelings to this anonymous friend, though she’d never been good at that before. But typing your emotions just wasn’t as challenging as speaking them and her friend was never judgy and was always sympathetic.
The relationship went to a new level when the occasional chat turned into regular exchanges, from weekly to daily, without Lizzie realizing.
I’d love to meet up one day, her friend typed.
Lizzie replied with, Wouldn’t that be nice? But she never really considered that they could meet. Her friend lived in Europe, and it was a good excuse to keep things the way they were.
Then she got a message that her new friend was in town, along with an invitation to meet for a drink. Lizzie wasn’t sure and made a few excuses not to go. But at the last minute, and after some very persuasive texts, she decided it couldn’t do any harm to meet. Especially in public.
The pub her friend suggested wasn’t too far away from her home, just a twenty-minute walk and so Lizzie had finally agreed.
It was a nice warm evening and Lizzie enjoyed the exercise. Even as she made her way there, she thought of how Barry would hate this: he wouldn’t walk anywhere, and it reminded Lizzie how much she liked being able to do what she wanted. Like this spontaneous meeting with someone she didn’t really know, even though the calls and texts made her feel like she did.
She went through the scenario of what it would be like to meet this friend face to face. Could they be as comfortable in person as they were online? She hoped so. Then she blushed at the thought of this leading somewhere else. Where could it go? After all, Lizzie wasn’t like that.
Lizzie almost turned around and headed back home when she saw the pub ahead. She stopped at the traffic lights but didn’t cross the road.
What am I doing meeting a total stranger?
She received a text then: Looking forward to it, but I’m a little nervous.
Of course, Lizzie thought, we are in the same boat. It will be weird for us both. Yes, it was a little scary but that added to the excitement of the adventure, didn’t it?
She crossed the road and went into the pub. Inside she saw her new friend waiting with a bottle of wine and two glasses already poured. They’d talked about putting the world to rights with a good bottle of red. She walked in feeling more comfortable now. They could be friends, even if Lizzie wasn’t ready to take it further than that.
There’s a moment of confusion when Lizzie wakes. She doesn’t remember coming home, and certainly can’t recall coming to bed. Her mind flutters around the evening. Some remembered laughter, but the rest is a bit of a blur. She feels a bit dizzy now, and nausea burns the back of her throat. How much did I drink?
She groans and tries to get up as the prospect of vomiting becomes a reality. That’s when Lizzie discovers that she’s tied up.
Her arms are splayed apart, wrists secured to something she can’t see. It’s pitch black, and she can’t tell where she is. It’s not home. It can’t be. Her bedroom curtains never block the street lights out this well.
‘Hello?’ she croaks and then she turns her head and pukes to the side. The acrid smell of vomit lingers near her head.
‘It’s all right,’ says a quiet voice beside her. ‘It’s normal after Rohipnol.’
‘What’s going on?’ Lizzie says. She’s scared now and still feels so very sick. ‘Where am I?’
It feels like she is lying on a bed of leaves. She tugs at the bonds that hold her down, it feels as though she’s tied to four wooden stakes, hammered into the ground. She tries to move her legs but they too are spread and attached on each side. She is helpless.
‘Look, whatever you’ve done…’ she says.
‘I haven’t done anything to you,’ the voice says.
‘Please. Let me go… I won’t tell anyone…’
Sharp pain silences Lizzie as something moves across her thigh. It takes a moment for her to realize that it was a knife. The cut pulses and throbs. Her inner thigh grows damp as blood pumps from the wound.
‘Why are you doing this?’ Lizzie says. Already she is light-headed from loss of blood. She tries the bonds again, but nothing gives and then the real panic sets in. She is wounded and she’s going to die.
Tears spill from Lizzie’s eyes. What has she done to deserve this?
She hears her attacker move away, and then light pours in as a door is opened. She sees a beech tree beyond the opening and she realizes in a rush that this is her garden shed. All she has to do is scream and her neighbours will come running. But the blood is still pouring – no, gushing – from the wound and her strength ebbs away with every pulse. She doesn’t have the energy to speak, let alone scream.
She struggles again, moving her arms and legs, but they are held tight. She can feel the glutinous warm blood pooling under her thigh. The wound throbs in time with the beat of her heart as her life drains from her.
She drifts off as the blur of sound fades into unconsciousness but then the shed door closing hurls her out of the darkness.
She is left listening to her own breathing.
Her eyes close once more.
The tears of fear dry on her cheeks. Her muscles start to tense and her head aches as her brain struggles to keep her alive.
Her pounding heart slows.
Each beat grows further apart and then Lizzie slips back into unconsciousness, never to wake again.