I came home the other day to a Facebook message from Thursday Guy. It was perfect, except that it had taken four days, and four (for me) sleepless nights, to materialise. In that time, I had been through the gamut of possible reasons for lack of response, and come to the following conclusions:
- Sudden death – even at 38, this was unlikely.
- Amnesia – just unlikely.
- No internet access – he works in London, at a computer …
- Lovely weather so he is not on his computer in the evenings because he wants to make the most of the sun – see my earlier post, Cruel to be Kind.
- Something involving secret agents/localised power failures…
Thus I powered up the laptop with next-to-no expectations (wevs) to find a message beginning ‘Sorry, been home, out of internet range…’. No. 3, I’m sorry I doubted you. It transpires that there are pockets of rural England which the internet has not yet reached. Like I said, the message was perfect.
With Wandering Hands maintaining radio silence, I am telling myself that Thursday Guy – with his lack of internet access – was an exceptional case. W.H. texted on Sunday evening. I replied a couple of hours later (the root rot was terminal). It’s now Friday morning and I haven’t heard back. Common sense tells me it’s a dead duck. My promise to you is that if he hasn’t replied by midnight tonight, I will delete his number from my phone and its owner from my thoughts.
00:21 The number has gone.