The Nearly Girl

“Oi, I’d been watchin’ him for time, innit. What he’s into, what gets his engine goin’. So I took my sweet time gettin’ dolled up. I knew he’d clock me. Tonight’s the night, babes. He’s gonna be mine, swear down.

I went for summat soft on the lips, them cute little hoops, not too cheap, not too classy, y’know what I mean? Didn’t wanna look like a total slapper, but I ain’t tryna blend in like some sad little librarian neither. He’s not into the dead ones, trust me. He wants a proper case, bit odd, bit hot, not boring. Boom. That’s me.

Being lonely’s a right piss-take, but being lonely and fit? Nah, that hits different. All my life I’ve had people goin’, ‘You’re such a catch. Any bloke’d be lucky. Chin up, babe. You’ll find someone.’ And yet here I am. Always the nearly girl, never the main squeeze.

So I’m sittin’ here, clockin’ everyone in this flash little bar, you got your happy couples, your tearful messes, and all the weirdos in between. Like that bird in them tragic bedazzled jeans and some tight white top, flirtin’ with the baby bartender. Hair like a traffic cone, laugh like a seagull on crack. She’s squeezin’ her tits together like she’s sellin’ ‘em two-for-one. You can tell she stuck with some deadbeat bloke too long and now she’s out here relivin’ her Miss Butlins glory days. Poor sod behind the bar’s lookin’ like he’d rather down bleach. Still pourin’ her wine like it ain’t a cry for help.

Then there’s this short geezer in the back booth, clearly on a first date, bless him. She’s eyein’ up every tall bloke that walks in like she’s at a meat market. Tragic. He’s loaded, you can tell, flash watch, posh shirt, but she’s bangin’ on about Love Island and Botox like she’s on loose screws. Lips look like she lost a fight with a bee, ponytail so tight I’m surprised her eyes ain’t on the back of her head. Mate’s defo not gettin’ a leg over tonight. I could see it before he even offered to pay.

Oh, but then there’s this peng brunette lurkin’ in the shadows, tiny waist, cheeky smile, whole vibe’s on point. Shame she’s flirtin’ with some absolute melt. Prob got three baby mums and a tag, fake chain and all. But he’s got biceps and a bit of chat, so she’s hooked. Seen it a hundred times. Poor cow.

And then, dead cute this one, a ginger bird with lush nails and a fella who looks like he’s been hers since the Stone Age. They’re doin’ that kinky roleplay thing, pretendin’ not to know each other. Proper cute, not gonna lie. He’ll wait five minutes before leggin’ it up to her hotel room for a shag and a cuddle. That’s the dream, innit?

I'm thinkin’ about me and my new sweetheart, how we could have that. Bit of banter, bit of chase, all steamy and secret. He’d love it.

I’m so deep in my daydreams, I don’t even clock him. But then I hear it, that voice. Deep. Fit. Gives me goosebumps. And there he is, sittin’ two stools down. Smells like posh soap, sex, and some cologne you can’t get at Superdrug.

‘Jack and Coke,’ he says, all cool and casual, and the bartender’s buzzin’ to have an excuse to ditch cougar Barbie.

I’d picked my scent dead carefully. Somethin’ that says ‘you’ll never forget me’. Bit smoky, bit sweet, bit floral – proper mix of fairy princess and bad bitch. Got that trail, y’know? One sniff and they’re done for.

I sit at the bar, leanin’ back just enough to give the girls a nice lift, flickin’ me hair like I’m on Love Island.

Weren’t like me dad was some smooth talker, nothin' like that. but he said something proper wise one summer out on the boat. Said, “Listen, girl. Fish hide till they spot their prey, then they strike. Learn that, and it teaches you where to place the bait. Get it right, and you’ll never go home empty-handed.” Mad advice, and it stuck.

First time I reeled one in? Bare nerves. Feet were sweatin’, palms were sticky. Thank God for the woods, kicked off me sandals, got grounded, y’know? Thought I was dead posh wearin' my Pink Sugar perfume, proper strong. Will didn’t stand a chance. Pretty face, bad boy body, the type that could ruin your spine if you asked nice. We were all hands and lips, and I remember gigglin’ as he whispered, ‘You smell fit as fuck.’ Left his body smelling like candy floss and bubblegum.

Fast forward to tonight, and I ain’t that girl playin’ grown-up no more. Matched me knicks with this little lacy bralette, all black, obviously. Gotta look the part, innit? All in the details.

‘Jack and Coke,’ I say, loud enough for him to hear. Honestly? Jack Daniels is mingin’, but sacrifices have to be made.

He clocks me, and yes mate, he shuffles over. Glass raised, he goes, ‘Once you go Jack…’ and I’m clinkin’ glasses like I’m lovin’ it.

See that ghost of a ring straight away. Married. Used to be, anyway. Even better.

I play it smooth. ‘So what’s a good-lookin’ geezer like you doin’ all alone on a Friday?’

He smiles, all sad and sexy. ‘Same old story. Heartbreak. Tryin’ to forget.’

I smile back. ‘Been there, babe. It’s rough.’

Boom. Connection made. I can feel it. Like with Ryan.

His missus wore all that fancy perfume, bottles lined up like liquid diamonds. Guerlain, proper posh stuff I couldn’t even pronounce back then. First time I nicked into their gaff, I sprayed the lot of ‘em. Smelled like a walking air freshener. Ryan weren’t impressed. Told me to wash it all off before he’d come near me. Rude prick. Last time I saw him, he didn’t even know it was goodbye. Swear down, his face was a picture when I done it, already burned into my brain, like a right little trophy. Did it anyway, didn’t I? Polaroids are cheeky, yeah, but that’s why I use ’em. Somethin’ you can pin up, stare at proper close.

Door shuts, window opens, and through that window? Him. The one. My dream bloke. He don’t know it yet, but I’m his, and tonight, that all changes.

By the third town, that’s when I started to get good at this. Had a few odd jobs along the way, y’know? Butcher’s, motel, even a daycare. Then I rocked up to Little Walden and landed a gig at The Crown. Proper pub, full of weirdos and legends.

Charlie, the manager, was a machine. Gave me a shot, and I grafted like mad to impress him. Knew my way round a blade too, since I helped my dad gut fish for years. Mum hated it. Said it was gross. But she still scoffed the catch, didn’t she?

Matthew was one of the regulars. Quiet. Cute. Kept lookin’ at me all shy. One day he asks to meet by the river. I almost said no. But it’d been ages since I did somethin’ just for me. The look they give you the second time, after they notice you, that’s the one. That’s how you know you’ve got ‘em.

Then there was Nick. Nearly had me, that one. Tall, hot, rough hands. But he weren’t the one either. His brother Adam? Bit of a car thief. Not important. The real gem was the copper giving evidence, Detective Inspector Jonathan Myers. Fit, clever, proper posh. Watching him talk in court was like a movie. I just knew.”

The recording crackles; she sucks her teeth, goes quiet a moment, then speaks softer, sugar sweet.

“So I started digging. Learning his habits, his haunts. Blokes like him don’t hang in Wetherspoons. I had to level up. But I was ready. ‘Cause when I really want somethin’? I get it. No questions asked.

I’ve got my little routine down proper now. Man’s not gonna be able to ignore what I leave behind, not a chance. I was a bit of a mess at the start, clumsy as anything, but the last three? Bang on. Same way, each time. . .”

The voice message cuts off with the ringing of an incoming call.

“This is Myers,” he answers, putting it on speaker.

“Got another body in the woods.” The high strung voice of DCI Daniels is especially grating over the phone. “Same blade, same blurry lingerie shots, same bloody perfume. Grab your gear and get back to the station.”

Throwing on a fresh pair of trousers, the old ones still damp with soda and bourbon, DI Myers again presses play on the recording he received two hours after leaving the pub.

“Before I slip off with this bit of eye candy, and done it all right from under your nose, wanted to give you a well-good whiff, leave my mark so you’d catch it, catch me. That’s why I picked your favourite pub, innit? To make it personal.

Had to nip for a wee before tying this bloke to a tree, yeah, and well, you’ll catch the rest soon enough. Passin’ you on the way back, I proper managed to fall right in your lap. Spilled me drink all over you too. Dead polite about it, bless you. You looked me in the eye long enough to see that twinkle, that spark, ya know what I mean?

’Course I use a new name for each town. Got me a stash of IDs. Used to make ’em myself, proper Blue Peter job, but they done the trick. Now I’ve leveled up, got ones that’d fool your mum. Won’t make much difference to question ol’ Charlie, but I know you will.

If you’re the one I think you are, and I know you are, you’ll have no problem piecin’ me puzzle together. That’s half the fun, yeah? Me leavin’ the crumbs, you followin’ after, all serious in your suit, pretendin’ you don’t love the chase.”