Feelin’ Good

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CC Image courtesy of fedfil on FlickrI’d decided not to tell Beatrice after what happened with the last few Tinder prospects. I would wait until it was a Thing, and in the meantime pigs would start flying.

‘I dunno,’ I say to her, over supper on Tuesday, ‘I – I’ve just got a good feeling about him.’

The good feeling continues into Wednesday, and Thursday, by which time we’ve taken things to the next level (WhatsApp) and fixed on Saturday for drinks.

Thursday afternoon, without thinking, I open up his dating profile. To be met with entirely new pictures and – I stare – a new tagline.

That evening I go dancing, because you can’t dance and check your phone at the same time.

(TO BE CONTINUED)
CC Image courtesy of Bellevue Fine Art Repro (Scott) on Flickr

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Fade In

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CC Image courtesy of distopiandreamgirl on Flickr

After two weeks of not having heard from VP I’m finally starting to move on. No more waking up and glancing at my phone expectantly. I go whole days without looking at his profile or re-reading old messages. OK there might be the odd cry on the Northern line, and for ten consecutive evenings I do absolutely nothing with myself, and the irony of baking an elaborate cake on the day which happens to be his birthday isn’t entirely lost on me. But by day fourteen, I’m getting back on track. I even go on a date and resist the urge to compare it to the incomparable. That, I tell myself, was another life. A fantasy. And anyway, he’s gone. I have to get over it.

 

Monday morning. My flatmate is back from holiday and the creak of the bathroom floor wakes me. I put out my arm, a beam of sunlight catching the dial of my watch. Half an hour before I have to get up.

 

This was one of the things which, in the course of the past week, had gone back to normal. The Nytol I’d purchased circa Second Date was now gathering dust on the bedside table. In fact, things had gone to the other extreme: bed by ten and multiple snoozed alarms. An extra half hour of sleep would be enjoyed, luxuriated in.

 

I roll over and that’s when I see it, the small pulsating light. I run through a short mental list of people it might be, and an even shorter list of people it won’t, and swipe the screen.

(TO BE CONTINUED

CC Image courtesy of Anthony!! on Flickr

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Message

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When your smile appearsCC Image courtesy of Soumyadeep Paul on Flickr

On that clean, bright screen

You could little know

How wide I smile

How cheeks they glow

How step is sprung,

My heart is wrung

When I see your message

Isn’t long.

 

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Invitation Only

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CC Image courtesy of barockschloss on FlickrSeveral months back, I decided I would celebrate my birthday on a scale which meant I could justify inviting Matthew.  Then, around the time that FFS first appeared on the scene, I realised this was a silly idea.  So it’s kind of fitting that FFS going MIA should be in part responsible for what happens next.

‘Hello Matthew,’ I begin, as if it were the most natural thing in the world to drop him a line after not having seen him for, what, four months?  ‘How are you?’

I go on to issue the invitation.  It will seem random, that’s for sure, but I’m past caring.  FFS has brought me to a real low point, and what I need now is a hit of happiness.  A self-help book would probably advise me to go out dancing with my girlfriends (does anyone actually have girlfriends who ‘go out dancing’?), or take up a new hobby (note to self: start running again).  What it probably wouldn’t advise is contacting a long-standing crush, who has a girlfriend, and inviting him to your birthday dinner, to which the guy you are/were/might-be-but-who-the-fuck-knows? seeing, is also invited.  But it’s fine.  I’m not looking to be seduced, only distracted.  I hit send on my message and dash off to tango (I’m doing the hobby thing too, so it’s even more fine).

*

Holding my towel in place with one hand, I straighten the duvet with the other.  That’s when I see it, flashing white, my phone, just visible between the folds of fabric.  I swipe the screen.

‘Hello Anna…’

I feel a jolt in the pit of my stomach.

(TO BE CONTINUED)

CC Image courtesy of Simon Greig Photo on Flickr

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What’s Up?

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‘Can I hold it?’CC Image courtesy of Let Ideas Compete on Flickr

I laugh.  ‘Sure.’

Lucy takes the phone, weighs it in her hand.  ‘It feels… expensive.’

Tesco’s finest!

‘It’s not – but it’s good!’

Except for when it’s bad and rings people I’ve spent all weekend resisting the urge to text.

She reads from the screen.  ‘Good reply by the way.  His message, it’s strange.’

I laugh.  ‘How so? I mean, I think so too, but… why?’

‘Well, if I get a call from someone I’m not expecting to hear from, I’d just text something like, ‘Hey, sorry I missed your call, what’s up?’

I don’t think Nick’s ever said ‘what’s up?’ in his life.

‘But he’s said,’ she adopts a suave tone, ‘“I had fun dancing, dot dot dot”, in that voice.’

We laugh.

‘And I thought the days of stupid text analysis were over!’  I say, taking the phone.  ‘Anyway, he hasn’t replied.’

Some things never change.

CC Image courtesy of Shakey_Hans on Flickr

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