Nice Guy texts me from the airport.
‘[Something funny and flirty]. See you in July…’
I’m fine with this. Sure, you hear stories about people who from the point of meeting can’t go a day without talking to each other. But I’m realistic. The guy’s managed just fine without me for twenty-five years. I can handle ten days of radio silence.
What I wasn’t fine with was what came next: no text, no phone call, no scheduling of the proffered dinner. And I know, courtesy of Facebook, that there was no plane crash.
A week goes by. I ask my brother for an analysis of the situation.
‘Some people in London work really hard!’
I wag my finger. ‘If you really like a girl, you’ll make time.’
He shrugs. ‘Then… he must have met someone else – or changed his mind.’
‘With men,’ she says, ‘it’s very much a case of ‘out of sight, out of mind’.’
‘Surely it doesn’t bode well if he’s forgotten me after ten days?’
That’s more like it.
‘It’s really strange,’ my friend says, scrolling down.
‘”See you in July” – the texts, I mean, they’re exactly what you’d want to see!’
‘There’s not even anything here which you have to twist to read the way you want to read it!’
‘I know! Our skills are completely redundant!’
‘Maybe….’ She frowns. ‘How many days are there in July?’
I laugh and rest my head on her shoulder. ‘Thirty-one.’
‘There’s still time. Maybe he’s had to sort stuff out at work…’
‘Maybe he meant next July!’