My friend and I are stood on the station platform, waiting.
She is waiting on The Banker, with whom she shared a passion-filled couple of hours last Friday. Snow White over here is awaiting the verdict on Saturday night’s first date. It’s been forty-eight hours of radio silence. Another twelve and I’ll be eyeing up the rails.
‘Maybe he’s busy?’ she says.
‘You know what I think of that: if you’re having to make excuses for a guy, it’s no go.’
‘But at least you’re the one making the excuses, not him.’
I haven’t been awake long. Less Snow White; more Grumpy, Sleepy and Dopey.
‘He isn’t making excuses.’
‘No,’ I say, ‘he isn’t doing anything!’
The train comes. As we board, I turn to my friend:
‘Maybe he is busy.’