I am sitting up in bed in the early hours of the morning scrolling through Tom’s social media, when a new email pings in. I click on it, because who emails at 1 a.m.? Answer: Tom. Today, Tom emails at 1 a.m.
How did you get on with Sam? Hope it went well x
Just that.
But is ‘just’ the right word? Do you ‘just’ email a girl you don’t know, in the early hours of the morning when – according to the internet – you are in Sweden?
I think Lexie is with him too, because I heard them heading out of the flat together a few days ago and it’s been silent through the wall since.
So he’s abroad, working hard, with his girlfriend, and at … I work out the time difference … 2 a.m., he emails an unknown woman with a message he has no obligation to send? He had done his bit, shared his contact, there was no need for the follow-up.
If Tom is testing the water, I need to make it clear that I am not closing him off. I rewrite my reply five times before I decide that it will only sound off the cuff if it is off the cuff.
So I down a rum and Coke in the kitchen then climb back into bed and type quickly.
Not had chance to connect with Sam yet – having a rough time with a break-up so been distracted. Will do soon though and thanks again for your help. Can’t believe you are so up for helping – reassuring to know there are good men out there … xx.
Probably a little much, but then so was following up my email in the early hours unnecessarily. He had upped the ante; I had just followed.
And then, seconds later, I get a reply.
You’re probably too good for him anyway xx
I go for off the cuff again.
*Blushes*
That was it. But it was enough.
If you wanted, we could meet up – I could give you an overview about the industry, pass on some more advice – and maybe flatter your ego a bit more too … x
I sit up, eyes blurred, heart hammering.
The next morning I am sanguine as I pick up my post, thinking of all the things Tom and I can do together, how quickly he can leave Lexie, how Luke will feel when he hears the news about my new English boyfriend.
There is a new future, and it’s Tom.
I walk down the stairs with a bouncy tread.
Lexie and Tom’s postbox is spilling over and there is a letter with a hospital stamp and Lexie’s name on it.
I am too curious and high – non-medicinally, I’ve taken a big hit of Tom – for legalities.
I whip it out of the top, slipping it between my own post and heading inside.
Then, suddenly, someone appears behind me. A flash of bright red hair. Big smile.
‘Hey!’ she shouts.
Chantal.
‘Oh, hi,’ I redden, clutching the post close to me, though she could never know.
‘You okay?’ she asks.
I nod. Don’t ask me about the boyfriend, I think, remembering what I said to her at the party. Don’t ask me about the boyfriend.
But then I remember how drunk Chantal was – how drunk Chantal always is – and know that she would never remember either that conversation or Tom’s face. I back away, anyway, make the usual excuses that end in ellipsis.
‘Sorry, I’ve just got to …’
Inside, I flick my sneakers off and stick the kettle on for an instant coffee.
Then I stand, holding the letter. I debate doing something TV-like with an iron and a penknife but then I decide screw it, everyone knows post can go missing, they’ll just get someone to resend it and that will be that.
We are pleased to confirm your consultation at the fertility unit.
So, here are the facts:
Tom and Lexie are trying for a baby.
They’re not having much luck.
Tom and Lexie have been arguing.
Tom is flirting with someone else, while on holiday with Lexie.
The kettle boils, though I don’t remember boiling it, and I absentmindedly return to the kitchen to make the coffee.
Then I sit down to my iPad and ponder.
What’s the best thing a man in the midst of all of that could hear?
I think about the blogs I’ve read.
Fun. Lightness. No pressure.
I leave the coffee on the side and pick up my phone, sitting down on the bed to write.
Sure – up for some mutual ego flattering over a drink or three. Mine’s an amaretto and Coke ;)