fantasise about perfect women who behave perfectly in relationships, I always call them Gretel. Gretel kisses his face and says, ‘Well you can’t go now, can you? Not when we are about to elope to Gretna Green,’ and— OH MY GOD, WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME? Why is this weird image of him and his ex in my head? I don’t know him, it’s only been five dates, and why am I doing this to myself? I have to open the message. He’s going to be cancelling. I know it, I know it. I should get over the disappointment now, rip off the plaster, give the wound oxygen to heal and …
The drawer is open. Phone retrieved, alongside a scattering of postcards that rain onto the grey carpet like shrapnel. I jab my finger on the scanner to unlock it, already wondering if my housemate Megan will be free tonight to commiserate-drink with me. I open the message.
Simon: Hey, are you having a nice Friday? Shall we meet at 7pm in Gordon’s Wine Bar? X
The usual knee-jerk of emotions scurry in. Euphoria! He messaged! He likes me! I like him! I’ve not imagined the attraction! Human beings can meet and like each other and make it into a thing and I can be one of those humans! I can do relationships! I can totally do them! There’s nothing wrong with me after all! Yes! Oh I like him so much! Gordon’s! What an idea! I love that place! I hate it normally but it’s so perfect now! Yes! Oh, he really is perfect! I think I’m going to fall in love with him and it will always be perfect! Silly me! Whoopsie! Silly, silly me for doubting this.
Hang on …
I just full-on hallucinated him having amazing make-up-sex with his ex-girlfriend. I even christened her ‘Gretel’.
That’s not normal, is it?
Bloody hell, that is so un-normal.
What is wrong with me?
HE CAN NEVER FIND OUT HOW UN-NORMAL I AM!
Matt glances over and sees my shaking hands clutching my phone. He takes his headphones off and gestures towards it. ‘All OK? You look like he’s sent you a death threat?’
I look up, flustered. ‘He wants to go to Gordon’s Wine Bar.’
‘Woah, even worse than a death threat.’ He ducks just before I jokingly thwack the top of his head. ‘It’s good that he wants to see you again though, isn’t it?’
‘I guess.’
‘Are you going to reply?’ He talks slowly, like a teacher would say to a child, ‘that’s a lovely painting, are you going to add a sun to the sky?’
‘I mean, that’s the obvious thing to do, isn’t it?’
‘Tends to be the pattern. They message. You message. So on and so forth.’ He goes to put his headphones back on, before pausing, holding them out either side of his ears.
‘Oh God, what is it?’ I ask. ‘You’re not about to give me some brilliant dating advice, are you? Like “if it’s right there’s nothing you can do to fuck it up, and if it’s wrong there’s nothing you can do to make it work” – because I did not have you down as the inspirational quote kind of guy.’
‘No, actually, I was going to talk to you about your shift.’
My heart stiffens. Vision smears. I know where this is going.
‘I had a look at the inbox and there’s a heavy one in there. I’m your buddy so I just thought I’d give you a heads-up and—’
I cut him off. ‘I know what you’re trying to say, but I’m OK.’
‘You sure?’
I smile through it, though I can recognise all the familiar triggers zing-zinging throughout my nervous system, setting everything off again. Turning all the switches on across my body. I’m in the dark dark dark of the worst that life can be. The white wallpaper dissolves behind my eyelids. The embossed pattern swirling. I’m here in the room and things have got out of hand and I’m not sure how because it all happened so very quickly you see, but the wallpaper and … No. I’m not there. I’m here, in an office. On a Friday. I’m totally safe.
‘I’m sure,’ I tell him.
He must believe me because he puts his headphones back on. Matt can’t handle the office’s choice in radio station. Essentially, if a song isn’t written by some sad bloke tormented by low self-worth and memories of all the exes who got away, Matt doesn’t want to listen to it.
I return my phone to the top drawer without even thinking about it,