Shades of Beige

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Toby sets our coffees down on the table.

‘I got the impression,’ I say, ‘from your text, that there was a reason you wanted to meet?’

‘Yes – basically – what the Hell’s going on with the blog?!’

‘Errr… doesn’t that question kind of answer itself?’

‘Well, I don’t know how much of it’s true, and how much is creative licence…’ He sounds slightly impatient.  ‘But I was getting a bit concerned – I just wanted to be clear….’  Here we go.  ‘I like you a lot – And pause.  Enjoy the moment.  And play, ‘but just as friends.’ And rewind.

Were this a film, my character would at this point rise from her seat, majestic, composed, eyes glistening, and walk calmly towards the door.  But this is real life.

I give what I hope is a careless laugh.

‘No, I know!  I knew that!’  Still, the shock of hearing him say the words has knocked me for six.  I stare blankly into the middle distance.  Toby looks worried.

‘And what’s the deal with the beige t-shirt?!’  I’d known, as I wrote the scene, it would rankle.  ‘That was the most disturbing part!’

I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.

‘I notice you’re not wearing it.’

‘I don’t own a beige t-shirt!’

‘Well, not a t-shirt then.  Polo shirt.  Like what you’re wearing.’

‘I have a sort of pale pink one.’

‘Maybe it was pale pink at one point, but it got in the wrong wash?’

Definitely real life.


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