(Continued from Breaking All The Rules)
It must have come through as I dashed down the steps of the tube station. I read it waiting for the train to arrive.
‘Don’t rush, if you see what I mean.’
For the first time since October, I really don’t see what VP means. Paranoia having by now set in, I have a mental picture of something akin to a parents’ evening: VP – good-looking, charming, funny – sitting at the bar, meeting a succession of nervous-looking women. Slots start to run over until he’s forced to dash off a text, hinting to his next appointment that it would be OK, desirable even, if she wasn’t perfectly punctual.
The platforms at Euston are unfamiliar, so I miss my connection and have to wait a while for the next train. I get to the venue ten minutes late.
‘Can I see your wristband?’
Or, by this stage, grrrr.
‘… I don’t have one. I’m er meeting a friend and they didn’t say I needed one…’
‘Is your friend already here? Does she have one?’
I have no idea if he has a wristband.
‘Call your friend and ask her to come out.’
He sounds wary.
‘Hey, it’s Anna. I’m outside, but I don’t have a wristband.’
‘O-K.’ A pause. ‘Walk – walk west and I’ll meet you on the corner, outside Nando’s.’
Weird, but fine.
(TO BE CONTINUED)