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I text Caven after quite a few cocktails. I can't bring myself to look at my phone in the morning to jog my memory on what exactly it said in the text I sent.

I remember that I signed it with Lily and put about three too many 'y's' in my name.

I pop two paracetamol and have a long bath. Caven replies as I'm drying off. I read his text and then get dressed.

He's booked an Indian restaurant for us tonight. He's texted the address and says the reservation is for seven.

I'm happy with that. I spend the day unpacking my things and browsing online for bits of décor and furniture for my new little house.

I also order some basic clothes to wear at the café. I can't wait for my first day tomorrow, I'd definitely go stir crazy if I didn't have a reason to leave the house each day.

I get ready for my date far too early, I think from a mixture of excitement and boredom. I'm sat on my sofa watching TV. My make-up and hair done, and I'm dressed in a pretty dress and low heels.

When I'll only be ten minutes early, I start walking to the Indian. The directions are easy to follow and I arrive after a six minute walk. This house I'm renting is seriously convenient for the high street.

As I'm early, I order a glass of wine at the little bar inside. It's a Sunday night and relatively busy. It smells incredible and my stomach rumbles in eager anticipation.

I watch everyone eat their food, trying not to be a food pervert and make them uncomfortable. Seven o'clock comes, but no sign of Caven. I texted him at ten to seven, telling him that I'd arrived and was getting a drink.

I resist texting him again, even though I want to. I finish my glass of wine just as he rolls in at 19:07.

He looks around, sees me at the bar and smiles. He looks as handsome as he did last night, but this time, he's wearing a button down shirt. He's obviously put some product in his hair, too.

'Hey,' he says when he stands in front of me. 'Should we get to our table?'

Before I can reply, he catches the attention of a waitress passing by and asks to be taken to our table. I get to my feet and pick up my handbag.

We're lead over to a booth in the corner. I take a seat opposite Caven and get myself settled.

'Do you want the same again?' He asks, referring to my wine.

'Yes, please.'

He orders a pint and another glass of wine for me. I wait for him to say anything more, but he begins browsing the menu.

'You look really nice,' I tell him.

He briefly looks up from his menu, smiles and then looks back down.

'Thanks. So do you.'

He doesn't look up from his menu again. I bristle a bit and look down at mine.

It's not a big thing, being late.

But it's our first date. Impressions count. He obviously walked here, so he could easily have texted to say that he was running late.

Also, isn't it simple manners to compliment your date in some way? He didn't even look up as he replied to me.

I'm a little deterred, but I try to get the evening back on track. We order our food and the menus are taken away. Now that I have his full attention, I start asking questions, trying to get to know him.

The date turns around. Caven warms up, chatting away to me. He definitely has the gift of the gab. He is charming and amiable.

We share poppadoms and sample each other's mains. When it comes to dessert, we both decline, stuffed from our meal.

He earns points by offering to walk me home. I accept the offer, wanting to continue talking to him. He tells me funny stories of what he and his brothers got up to when they were younger.

We pass a street that I saw when I walked to the shops the other day.

'Is there anything interesting down there?' I stop and ask Caven. 'The houses look so pretty.'

He shrugs and puts his hands in his pockets.

'It's only a residential street, but there are some pretty big houses. You can actually get back onto your street from the end, wanna go down it?'

I nod and we change direction, cutting down the street. The homes are different from the semi-detached and terraced ones that dominate most of the other streets in the town. They're detached, larger and set back from the road.

They have neat little gardens at the front and hint at large gardens at the back. Most of them have expensive cars sat on the drive and beautiful blossom trees line the pavements.

'They're so nice,' I comment to Caven.

He scrunches up his face, making it contort in an ugly way. 'I guess, if you have the money.'

'Yeah, I bet they're expensive.'

'Definitely,' he replies, sounding a little bitter.

It's quiet between us as we walk the stretch of the road. He only speaks when we start to get towards the end.

'You asked if there was anything interesting down here,' he states. 'Only that house.'

He points at the one on the very end of the street. I'm surprised I hadn't noticed it already. It's summer, so although it is almost nine, it is still relatively light out. The street lamps are on, too.

The house at the very end is different from the others in that it is made of black boards. The entire house, including the window frames, wooden porch and roof, is black. It's striking.

'It looks like Gru's house from Despicable Me,' I comment with a laugh.

Caven gives me a weird look. 'Despicable Me?'

'Yeah! Have you seen it?'

He scrunches up his nose in that ugly manner again.

'No. Isn't that a children's film?'

I shrug awkwardly. 'Well, yeah. Doesn't mean adults can't enjoy it, either.'

Caven gives me a bit of a judgemental look and turns back to the house.

'Anyways, that's what we call the House at the End of the Street,' he tells me. 'It belonged to a woman and her two kids. She and the daughter died a couple years apart, both from cancer. The son is some wannabe author who lives there alone now.'

'That's so sad.'

'Yeah. He's a bit of a loner. You can probably tell from what the family did to the house that they were hardly normal folks.'

I'm decidedly liking less and less of Caven on this date.

When we get to my house, I've fully shut down on him. I give out stand-offish vibes and I'm a little blunt with him. I'm worried he's going to try and kiss me, so I keep my distance and make a point of not inviting him inside.

He suggests doing it again sometime and I try to pretend I'm being coy by telling him that 'we'll see'.

In all honesty, he was a bit of a disappointment tonight.

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My alarm goes off nice and early at 6:30AM.

I drag myself from my bed to the bathroom. I shower and dress in a simple navy dress for the café. I do my make-up and leave a hair tie around my wrist for when my hair dries.

I make myself toast and coffee for breakfast and I'm out of the door by 7:30. I arrive fifteen minutes too early for my shift at the café, but it's the first day, I want to look keen.

Pippa is pleased to see me. After donning my apron, she starts giving me a more in-depth tutorial of the machines before customers come in.

I'm starting to get the hang of it when the first patrons come through the door. The little bell tinkles, alerting us of their arrival.

Two women enter the café. Both look to be in their forties and they are wearing business clothes; smart trousers and blazers.

'These two are regulars. I'll take this order if you want to shadow?' Pippa suggests.

I agree to watch and step back out of her way. By the time she's finished serving the two women their drinks, I'm confident that I can do this.

'This is Mrs Hinks coming in next, she's very sweet. Do you want to try doing her order?'

I make a cappuccino for Mrs Hinks and handle the cash register with ease. Pippa is pleased when the elderly woman leaves the café.

'I think you're ready.'

There's a flurry of customers as nine o'clock comes. The commuters are first, stopping by in the café to get their morning coffee before walk.

Once their working hours start, the demographic changes to stay-at-home parents, retired folk and teens.

I make a lot of frappés.

I notice a man come in and sit at a table in the corner, right up against the window. No one else chose that spot and I get the feeling it was because they knew he was going to come and take up residence there.

He's hunched over a laptop with glasses perched on the end of his nose, a beanie covering his hair and a bulky hoodie.

Pippa notices me studying him from behind the counter.

'That's Zane Torres,' she tells me quietly. 'He's a bit of an author.'

'Oh, right?' I reply casually whilst watching the man type away on his laptop.

His long fingers rapidly move over the keys. They almost blur.

'He lost his family to cancer about four years ago. He comes in here every day, bless him.'

My mind clicks instantly and I realise where Zane Torres lives.

In the House at the End of the Street.

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