‘Well… you can read them.’
I hand her the phone. She reads from the top.
‘I know – my last one’s too long.’
‘No it’s fine!’ she says. ‘Look, the one he wrote just before it is two-thirds of the length of it, so that’s absolutely fine!’
I put my head in my hands. ‘I know, I counted the fucking lines. Oh God…’
She gives me a look full of sympathy.
I groan. ‘I hate this stage. I want it to get to the point where I stop wondering what it all means, and when I’ll next hear from him…’
She thinks for a moment. ‘I’m not sure you ever do… stop.’
On the walk to the station, one of my flatmate’s sound bites comes to mind:
‘When it’s right, you’ll know. All this shit goes out the window.’
Yeah. And hits the fan.