Read by Kim Scopes (4th story in podcast, at 1h 0m 55s)
She smiled to herself as she descended two flights of stairs to the basement bar. He had been mysterious about the location of their date, insisting on giving her only an address. In spite of herself, she had resisted the urge to Google. Now she saw why. They had bonded over their shared love of cryptic crosswords, and he had chosen a place called “Two Down”.
She was careful to hide a pang of disappointment when she saw him – his crooked smile was a little less endearing in person – but he stared intently at her, and she felt a flutter at the thought of his excitement. She looked good tonight.
She smiled brightly. “It’s great, good choice.”
“It’s a bit of a secret spot. I knew you’d like it.”
He looked away, smirking, then glanced back at her expectantly. Finally, the silence weighing heavy, she took the bait. “What is it?” she asked, warily.
“You read the Times?”
“Um, yes, at weekends.”
“Heard of the setter ‘Marcello’?”
This time her smile was genuine. “Yes … oh wow, is that you? That’s so cool!”
He was transparently thrilled, and she felt a brief flush of warmth towards him.
She sipped her drink as he talked about crossword setting, then moved onto his other hobbies, his work, his friends. She prompted and nodded, prompted and nodded. Eventually, she began volunteering odd details about herself, but each time he cut her off with a story of his own that was, at best, tangentially related. A familiar disappointment settled in her chest.
He moved on to what was clearly a pre-prepared “current affairs” segment, and she began to feel pity. Perhaps he was just nervous, trying too hard. She jumped in a couple of times, agreeing with him on Brexit, on the winter fuel allowance and, in a disorientating diversion, on the death penalty. But then he segued into immigration, and her body tensed at an acrid whiff of racism. She frowned, but could not bring herself to challenge him, to endure the barbed defensiveness to which that would surely lead. In any case, he hadn’t asked her what she thought. Instead, she suggested another drink and shuffled back her chair, but he leapt to his feet.
“I can buy them,” he said, looking affronted.
She asked for “anything but chardonnay”, a trick which usually enabled her to avoid the worst of the oaky whites she hated, without appearing too picky. When he returned, he sat down a fraction too close, and touched her hand as he set down her wine. She took a sip; it was bad, but tolerable. She tried to steer the conversation into safer territory and asked him about his family. The mood had soured, and his responses were curt. He sounded bored. Yet his arm was still uncomfortably close.
Then, suddenly, he seemed to focus on her at last, nodding, laughing at comments that were not meant to be funny. He put his hand on her shoulder and leaned in close, though the music was low. She felt his moist breath on her skin, and fought the urge to recoil.
She waited for what felt like an acceptable period, and then began to make her excuses; problems with the trains, an early meeting tomorrow. He seemed surprised. As she put on her coat, he asked whether she had enjoyed the wine.
“It was very nice,” she said flatly, puzzled.
“It was chardonnay,” he said, looking delighted with himself. “But unoaked, so I knew you’d like it.”
At the top of the steps, she began the usual end-of-date routine: lovely to meet you, I had a lovely time. He put up a finger to silence her, pulled her in close, and said, “We’ll do this again soon.” It was not a question.
As she walked away, he called after her. “Don’t forget to do the Times on Saturday!”
***
On Saturday morning, she took the papers back to her flat. I should really go for a run, she thought idly, as she microwaved leftover pizza.
Her phone buzzed: “Great meeting you last night.” She would reply later. But the buzzing continued insistently. “Up to much this weekend?” And again. “Make sure you get the Times today.”
With a weariness that was all too familiar, she began to compose a tactful ending. I had fun but didn’t feel much chemistry, you seem like a great guy, really sorry. Feeling reckless, she typed “you came across really creepy”, and felt a momentary thrill. But no. Hope you find someone. Wish you all the best.
She had spent nearly 45 minutes drafting and redrafting. Why so much energy spent agonising over his feelings, when he had paid so little attention to hers? Irritated, she hit send.
Then, mildly curious, she picked up the Times. She loved to relax with a paper copy at the weekend, thumbing through the recipes and home décor, and, most of all, slowly teasing the web of the crossword into shape. She flipped to the back page.
2 Down: Start to plead about tipple, point home.
The answer was always hidden in plain sight in the first or last part of the clue – here, probably a synonym for “start”. Next, she turned to the wordplay. “Tipple” could be whiskey, vodka … or more likely something short, like “gin”. “Point” likely meant one of the points of the compass, so N, S, E or W; and “home” was almost always “in”. That just left “to plead”, which could be implore, or maybe beg … So the letters B E G, arranged around the rest of the words … beg, be-gin-in …
Her phone lit up. “Yeah I felt the same. Let’s be friends though.”
She filled in the solution: BEGINNING.
Poor guy.
***
He continued to message. At first, she was polite; then gradually more clipped, leaving it longer and longer before replying. Surely, he would take the hint. After a while, she stopped responding altogether, and he eventually went quiet.
In his offering the following Saturday, two down was WASTE. A coincidence, she thought, uneasily.
***
She had a quick stab at the cryptic on the app on Tuesday, between bites of a limp Pret baguette. Her stomach lurched a little when she saw that it was one of his. Two down was easy this time.
UNFINISHED.
She found herself glancing both ways as she left work that evening, but of course there was nothing. It was one date, she told herself sternly. He probably hasn’t even thought of you.
Then again, a few days later.
2 Down: Observing, swatch in green included.
She stared hard at the clue for a while, thinking. A synonym for “observing”, “included” within the phrase “swatch in green” …
She deleted the app. But the word stayed with her.
WATCHING.
***
The following weekend, walking home from her local Tesco, she felt relieved that she had kept her fears to herself. She had been right to ignore him, and now he seemed to have tired of her. Or perhaps she had simply been indulging in a fantasy after all.
With the handles of the shopping bags cutting uncomfortably into her hands, she fumbled for her keys. Music drifted from behind the next door, and the aroma of a barbecue hung in the autumn air. She would make herself a proper coffee and read her book by the open window. She remembered she had forgotten to buy milk.
A shudder ran through her as she saw the Times on the doormat. Slowly, she set down the bags and picked it up, turning straight to the crossword. She felt her heart pounding as she solved the clue for two down.
PLEASE.
She dropped the paper as if it had scorched her fingers. Shopping bags forgotten, she began Googling the number for subscriptions, dialling, explaining she wanted to cancel all future deliveries.
“I’ll need to verify some security details first,” said a cheery voice on the other end of the line.
“I can’t … I mean, I didn’t order it.”
“In that case I’ll need to speak to the account holder.”
“But the delivery came to my address”. She felt her voice rising with exasperation.
“Well, in order to discuss your account I’ll need to verify some security details. Now, can you tell me your memorable place?”
She started to snap that she didn’t know, but then fell silent, a chill spreading through her.
“Is it Two Down?”
“That’s right, and your memorable date?”
“13 September 2024.” Their date.
“Thank you, now you say you want to cancel? Are you sure? You’re fully paid up for the next six months.”
She wiped away a tear, her hand shaking. “Yes. Yes, I want it to stop.”
***
Walking home that evening, she was sure she heard footsteps a little too close behind her, and wheeled around to glimpse a shadowy figure turning down a side street. She instinctively grabbed her phone to call the police, but then doubted herself. It could have been anyone. And, even if it was him, how could she explain her reaction? He was a man with whom she had been on one date, and never seen again. A threat in a crossword clue? She would be dismissed as delusional.
She asked a friend to come over, but was too embarrassed to relate the whole story, and found herself alone again the following morning. She did laundry, cleaned the bathroom, kept herself busy. But she avoided taking out the rubbish, just in case.
In the afternoon, she looked at the crossword online, and there it was. Two down.
INESCAPABLE.
She called another friend who, hearing the rising panic in her voice, insisted that she call the police. Two unsmiling officers arrived and poked disdainfully around her flat. They told her to call again if she was concerned. The unspoken caveat – “if anything actually happens” – was unmistakable in their disapproving tones.
A third friend was sceptical, and in any event busy that evening. Exhausted, she attempted to distract herself with mindless Youtube videos until, eventually, she fell into an uneasy half-sleep.
***
She had agreed to another date the following evening. She considered cancelling, but then reasoned that having a man close by might ease her mounting fear.
The man was nice, the restaurant fine, the evening unremarkable. She felt blank as he walked her home. Glancing around nervously as she approached her front door, she could see nothing unusual in the murky London night.
The next morning, as though with a mind of their own, her thumbs tapped their way to the Times.
Two down was SLUT.
She spent the day huddled in bed, barely registering the darkness drawing in again. Eventually, she forced herself into the cool, still air of the flat. Every nerve tingling, she worked her way methodically through each room, but found nothing out of place. The tight fist clenched around her chest began to loosen a little.
A sudden gust of wind rattled the windowpane in the living room. She turned her head slowly towards the sound. The icy fingers tightened their grip. She inched towards the window, barely breathing, and forced herself to peek around the curtain.
The dark outline of a figure stood hunched on the opposite side of the road. She could not make out the face that was turned towards her, seemingly oblivious to the rain pelting against it. But she knew.
***
Two down the following day was REGRET. The word pounded rhythmically in her head all day. I do? Or you will?
He was there again that night. She watched him for a long time, afraid to move, as if he might suddenly appear behind her if she glanced away for a second. His face, silhouetted against the black of the pavement, never looked away from her window.
***
The Times hit the mat with a dull thud. She realised, as she picked it up gently between one thumb and forefinger and carried it to the kitchen table, that she had been waiting for it to arrive. Feeling numb, she turned mechanically to the crossword.
2 Down: setter outside home is explosive.
It hovered on the edge of her vision, the words of that clue somehow bolder than those around it, insisting on her attention. Slowly, ominously, she filled in the rest of the puzzle. FOREVER. BOUND. UNDENIABLE.
Finally, there was nothing left. She felt strangely calm as she placed the letters into the grid.
MINE.
A floorboard creaked in the hall.
(c) Hannah Noyce, 2024
Kim Scopes (left) is an actor, puppeteer & theatre maker based in London. Recent credits include an international tour of Olivier Award-winning Dinosaur World, Somewhere to Belong by Sycorax Collective, NEWZOIDS by ITV, & Strange Hill High for CBBC.
Hannah Noyce lives in London, where she juggles writing, a full-time job, & a toddler. The writing happens mainly during nap time.
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