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

The Cock Inn was the less desirable of the two pubs in the small market town of Greyacres. Honey shook her head.

‘No way, Tash. I’m not doing it. You’ll have to go yourself.’

‘No can do. I’m seeing Yusef on Friday, a property developer I met on a flight to Dubai last week. He’s hot and loaded and he wants me bad ways. Besides, Deano’s into blondes.’

‘For Christ’s sake, Tash, who does he think he is? Rod bloody Stewart? Does he think I’m some sort of groupie? Is he expecting to buy me a pint and a bag of scratchings and then shag me in the alleyway behind The Cock?’ She shook her head. ‘This was hardly the idea, was it? You promised me Michael Bublé.’

‘I’m trying, okay?’ Tash said, all big green eyes and pouty lips. ‘Just meet him for one drink, yes? Gina said he’s a laugh and he’s lonely.’

‘Lonely?’ More alarm bells rang in Honey’s head.

Tash cleared her throat and ran her fingers through the strings of beads hanging on a stand on the counter.

‘Mmm. He broke up with his girlfriend or something. Details, Honey, details. All you need to know is he’s hot and available.’ Tash picked up her car keys. ‘Don’t let me down, Honeysuckle. Live a little. Be in The Cock Friday night at half past eight, okay?’

Honey pushed open the door of the house at just after six that evening, weighed down once more with shopping for both herself and her grouchy neighbour. She’d decided against more whisky. A bottle a day seemed a dangerous amount to encourage Hal to drink, or to enable him with at least. She was pretty sure he wasn’t leaving the building himself any time soon and he didn’t have a second supplier, so she was pretty much his whisky tap. That knowledge came as something of a relief because he couldn’t drink more than she gave him, but on the flip side it was a responsibility she didn’t especially want. How much was too much? A bottle a week? Every three days? She was pretty certain Hal’s answer would be every day if she asked him, which she wasn’t about to do. So she’d brought him different things today. Orange juice. Milk. Cereal. Bread. Cheese slices. Ham. Cans of cola. Crisps. Chocolate bars. Her shopping for him resembled a cross between stuff for a kids’ tea party and a welcome pack at a holiday cottage. She’d wandered the aisles looking for things that came in easy portions, hampered by the fact that she didn’t have a clue either what Hal liked or how someone visually impaired dealt with food preparation. On impulse she’d picked up a couple of bags of chips from the local chippy too, and after nipping into her own flat to deposit her junk and her jacket, she schlepped across the hallway to Hal’s door.

‘Hey, rock star,’ she called out, tapping her knuckles lightly on the wood. Silence, and after a little while, more of the same. No great shock there then. ‘Come on Hal, I know you’re in there. I bought you stuff.’ She turned her head so that her ear was close to the door. Still nothing. She counted to sixty and then tried again. ‘Please? I’ve got takeaway, and it’s burning my fingers, so if you could just …’ She stopped speaking at the sound of movement in the hallway behind the door.

‘What is it today? Meals on fucking wheels?’

Honey raised her eyebrows at his closed door. ‘Hello to you too, neighbour. Open the door?’ She felt him deliberating in the lengthening silence. ‘Please? It’s only a bag of chips, but they’re good.’

The door inched open just enough for Hal to put his hand out.

‘That’s not exactly polite, is it?’ she said, holding on to his food. He gestured with his middle finger in a way that left her in no way confused about his irritation, and then opened his palm for a second time. Honey flicked her eyes at the ceiling and then gave up, placing the wrapped packet in his hand.

‘I have some too,’ she said through the gap. ‘Want to invite me in and we can eat together?’

‘Not unless you bought more whisky.’

Honey sighed and slid down the wall beside his door. ‘I guess I’ll just sit out here and eat them then.’ She ripped a hole in the top of her paper parcel to eat them the old-fashioned way, as if she were sitting down on the seafront watching the waves instead of on the Minton-tiled floor of her own hallway. As hallways went, it was quite pretty, square and airy with a big sash window and original flooring, but as views went it wasn’t spectacular. On the other side of the door Honey heard Hal settling on the floor too, and through the inch or so gap heard the tear of paper.

‘Mind out. They’re hot,’ she said, blowing on her singed fingertips.

‘I’m blind, not stupid,’ he muttered. She almost apologised and then thought better of it.

‘No need to be snarky, I was only trying to help.’

The chips were at that perfect stage, piping hot in their paper and Honey had asked the girl behind the counter to be heavy handed with salt and vinegar. Hal lapsed into silence beside her, and the regular sound of crinkling paper told her that despite his grouching he was eating his food.

‘Saved the world yet today then?’ he said eventually. Honey chalked it up as progress in their relationship that he’d initiated conversation and chose to let his sarcasm slide.

‘Not today. Sold two pairs of shoes and a cardigan with a hole in the pocket though, so all’s not lost.’

‘Wow, your life is one long thrill ride. How the fuck do you cope?’

Honey rooted around in the crinkled corners of her chip packet. ‘I get by. How’s your dinner?’

‘Gourmet. I’m just glad you didn’t attempt to cook again.’

‘You don’t know how right you are,’ Honey confessed. ‘I’m crap in the kitchen.’

‘Tell me something I don’t know.’

‘You first.’

‘Me first what?’

‘You tell me something I don’t know, and I’ll tell you something you don’t know.’

Hal grunted. ‘You want to play drinking games, lady, you have to supply more whisky.’

Honey shrugged. ‘I’ll go first then.’ She cast around for something interesting. ‘Er … I’m wearing red cowboy boots?’

‘Dull. Something more interesting please.’

‘Well, that was rude.’ She frowned and considered alternative facts. If he’d found her boots dull, it was a sure fire bet he’d find the rest of her outfit even duller, with the possible exception of the colour of her knickers. Well, she did want to shock him out of his superior sarcasm mode …

‘My knickers are bright red and say Sunday even though it’s Tuesday, and I’ve got a hot date on Friday night.’

She was rewarded with something that sounded like a half laugh on the other side of the door.

‘May I suggest you go for more alluring underwear for the occasion? Or accuracy, at least?’

‘Oh, he won’t be seeing my knickers. I haven’t even met him yet. It’s a blind date.’ Honey sucked in her breath. ‘Fuck! Hal, I’m sorry. I didn’t think.’

Surprisingly, he opened the door a fraction more. ‘Don’t say sorry. The fact that you keep putting your foot in it is the best thing about you.’

Honey smiled at the strange, small compliment and cracked open a can of cola from the shopping bags. ‘Drink?’

‘It’s not whisky, is it?’ he said mournfully, knowing full well that it wasn’t.

Honey pushed the can into his hand when it appeared around the door. ‘Nope.’

She heard him take a drink, and when she closed her eyes she could see him sitting behind the door, feet spread, knees bent and his elbows propped on them, his Adam’s apple moving as he tipped his head back and swallowed. Hmm.

‘So who’s your date?’

His question brought her out of her Diet Coke moment with a bang. ‘Some guy called Deano. He’s in a band and likes blondes.’

‘Wow.’ Hal whistled. ‘I underestimated you. You’re a groupie with bad taste in knickers.’

‘I’m not a groupie,’ Honey bristled. ‘I didn’t arrange the date, my friends did. They’re on this weird crusade to set me up with a pianist, because …’ The words dried up in Honey’s mouth. This talking through the door thing was a dangerous game. The physical barrier had the bizarre effect of removing the usual conversational barriers.

‘Finally she tells me something interesting. Carry on.’

Honey stared at the ceiling. ‘I don’t want to.’