‘You probably want to get on that,’ I say.
It’s cold, late, and he has an early start the next day, so it’s a good test.
‘It’s fine,’ he says. ‘I’ll walk you to the tube.’
And a good result.
Crossing the road, I take his arm, as I did the other evening.
‘I could tube back with you,’ he says, ‘if the bike’s allowed on at this time of night.’
We do occasionally talk about things other than London transport.
‘That would be nice,’ I say. ‘I imagine it would be.’
It had better be.
As we approach my stop, he gets more and more distant. I’m confused.
He gets off with me (not like that). I’m even more confused.
And walks me to my door. Confused dot COM.
‘See you next week,’ he says. Not so much as a kiss on the cheek. This is weird.
He turns to leave. I glance over my shoulder, and see him look back.
‘Errr…’ I say.
‘What is it?’ he says, doubling back. ‘Do you not have your keys?’
It might be dark, but there is definitely an elephant in the room.
‘No, it’s err…’
What does one say in this situation? Why didn’t you kiss me? Do you want to kiss me?! I know you don’t want to kiss me but – so – why the Hell did you walk me home?!
I look down at the ground. ‘Oh – er – it doesn’t matter.’
He looks relieved. ‘Sure?’
‘Yeah,’ I say. ‘Goodnight.’
And he’s off.
I start swearing – it’s very cathartic – as I turn the key in the lock. Once inside, I fume and pace the sitting room. I find my phone and text him.
‘I’m a bit confused. Are we ‘just friends’?’
I already know the answer.