I tell my brother and he laughs.
‘Well – well – it’s just – such a waste of your time.’
‘He’s so funny though.’
Smiling, he shakes his head.
My brother’s right, of course. A couple of times, I’d caught myself telling a friend about Viable Prospect, only to come to a halt, blushing at the realisation that I have never met this man. Hell, he might not even exist.
It’s the night before I go off on holiday and Rachel‘s round for dinner. She’d been on a date a couple of weeks back with a guy who, on Tinder, had come across as witty and confident. To meet, he was like a rabbit in the headlights. This comes back to me as I bring her up-to-date on VP.
Around eleven she leaves, and I start packing. A short while later, I get a message.
This is unusual. Our remit has always been banter; personal questions don’t feature.
‘Well-remembered,’ I send back. ‘Off on holiday tomorrow so things are good.’
‘Where are you going?’
I tell him. Banter ensues.
‘When are you back?’ he says.
Is this it? Are we finally going to meet? Why else would he want to know?
I let the message rest a moment, get my rucksack from the garage.
‘Back Monday, unless I catch the kayaking bug…’
Let’s pretend I spend the next eight minutes – the time it takes for him to reply – being terribly productive on the packing front.
‘Have a fantastic time,’ he says. ‘Don’t hit your head. Make sure you can get out of the thing if it inverts. X’
I resist the urge to throw my phone against the wall. I can’t help thinking, a knock on the head, it might be just what I need.