yet-another-victim of modern life. I fire it off, and open up the next one.
Message received: 01:23
am i pregnant? my period is late
This question is standard despite the fact it’s impossible to tell if someone is pregnant, a) without a test, and b) through a computer screen. I open the relevant template telling them to go to the doctor, while emotionally supporting them, and hit send.
I fly through the next couple. Someone has chlamydia and is too scared to message his past partners. One is not sure if they are gay or not because they watch gay porn but don’t want to have gay sex in real life.
It’s question number six that gets me.
Message received: 11:32
I’ve never used a service like this before, and I’m worried I’m being silly. It’s just my boyfriend did something weird the other night and it’s really upset me but I’m probably just being stupid. We went out clubbing at the student union and he came back to mine. We were both completely wasted and all I wanted to do was pass out but he wanted to have sex. I said ‘no’ and pushed him off a few times because I just wanted to sleep but he kind of held me down with his body and we had sex. I was so drunk I couldn’t really push him off and just kind of froze. Then we went to sleep. I’m really confused. Is this normal? I don’t mean to make a fuss. I love him. He’s my boyfriend …
I shake my head and throw my head back to the ceiling. ‘For fuck’s sake,’ I mutter as my stomach liquefies.
‘Are you OK, April?’ Matt’s head appears.
‘Yup.’
‘That one literally just came in, otherwise I would’ve given you a heads-up. I’m really sorry.’
My teeth are gritted and I smile through them, forcing myself to look at him. ‘No need to be sorry, I told you I’m OK.’
Matt won’t relent. ‘Two shifts in a row though, that’s not fair.’
‘It’s not like it’s unusual.’
‘Let’s have a proper debrief in the park when you’re done … I insist, come on. Any excuse for ice cream.’ He’s humouring me, which is both endearing and frustrating at the same time.
I nod, stand, and spend way too long doing a wee before returning to my desk to send my reply. I close off my anger, as it is not appropriate to let that seep into my response, and I push the pain down deep into the slosh of my tummy until it is absorbed into me. I pull out the template from the ‘favourites’ folder, I personalise it, I check it through, I hit send, I wish this would stop happening.
Why won’t it stop happening?
‘Ready?’ I say, a bit later, once I’ve dealt with the last message on the list.
Matt takes off his headphones. ‘Can I meet you there? I need to print some stuff off first.’
I nod, desperate to get out of the office. ‘I’ll see you on the bench.’
I don’t say goodbye to Katy as I pick up my bag and leave. I’m still mad at her after what Megan said to me this morning. She looks a bit hurt as I swish on past, but she’s stuck in a volunteering spreadsheet, trying to sort out all the shift changes due to people taking summer holidays. I rush down the stairs, my breath not quite filling my lungs each time, and run out into the chaotic London street, the heat smacking me like a sucker punch, making me sweat within seconds.
I want to scream.
Why is there nowhere in London to scream? Surely there must be some pop-up fucking primal screaming booth? I’m five minutes from Regent’s Park and stumble towards it with too many emotions and nowhere for them to go. Heat drifts up from the pavement, cooking my skin, making my blood boil hotter. I can hear my phone going in my bag but I ignore it. I reach the park entrance and dart through the wrought-iron gates. It’s quieter in here. My phone goes again. Again I ignore it. I do not know what to do with my rage. It’s consuming me. Eating up my stomach like a hungry parasite.
I sink onto a bench dedicated to a lady called Gladys who always loved this place. I try and let the ducks quacking on the pond distract me from myself. They scuttle about, picking at nothing on the ground or dousing themselves in the sludgy black water.