But then I delete my words in a panic, because that doesn’t seem a sensible thing to say. Or maybe it would be. I don’t know.
I want to writesomething, though, because otherwise the conversation might end.
In the end, I write:
Would you be happy to meet me so I can tell you?
Now Emma’s typing and deleting and typing and deleting and then… nothing.
Fuck. Maybe asking her to meet was too pushy. And – of course; metaphorical head slap – I now realise that the reason she lied is probably that she really doesn’t want to go on a date with me because she’s moved on and that was the first excuse that came into her head.
Okay. I’m going to brush my teeth.
The second I stand up, leaving my phone on the table, I hear it buzz.
In response to my question about whether she’d be happy to meet, Emma has written:
I think so.
Fuck me. I literally punch the air and then, with incredible restraint, write:
Great. When are you free?
There’s a pause and then she says:
Maybe Saturday afternoon?
I reply:
Perfect.
I was supposed to be going away for the weekend with friends. I’ll have to join them on Saturday evening.
I really want to send Emma another message telling her that I love her, but sanity prevails, and I just type:
Let me know where you’d like to meet and when.
I feel like a kid of Thea’s age waiting for Christmas Day. I already know that this week is going to drag. Oh myGodI’m excited. I feel as though this is my one remaining chance – forever – with Emma.
I do not want to mess it up.
22
EMMA
On Saturday, when I arrive at the café near Alexandra Palace where I’m meeting Callum, the first thing I do is look at my watch. I’m fifteen minutes early.
I have no idea what length of journey he’ll have to get here because I have no idea where he lives, which is utterly ridiculous given that we were literally joined at the hip for a good week only three months ago.
I turn to walk back out and maybe wander round some shops for the next twenty minutes and then I remember that I’m an adult and that if I were meeting a girlfriend now I’d just sit down and read or do something on my phone. I’m not a love-sick, trying-to-play-hard-to-get teenager. Well, I’m kind of love-sick. But the rest of it: no. I’m going to behave like the adult I supposedly am.
I go in and find a table in the corner of the room and sit down. And this is good. Very good. Fine.
On Sunday I was tempted to ask Callum if he was free to meet on Monday. In fact, I’d have happily met him at in the middle of the night then and there. But also, I wouldn’t have done; having been bitten before I do feel cautious. If there’s any possibility ofus rekindling something it needs to happen slowly and it needs to happen right.
I decided that it would be better to wait a week, just in case seeing me in person last weekend swayed him but, on reflection, he decided he regretted suggesting a date. Because if there’s one thing about Callum telling me he loves me and then walking away, it’s that it’s a shit experience that I do not want to repeat any more.
That’s why I told him that I’d got back with Dev; I was panicking and I wanted to say something that would mean he wouldn’t ask me ever again.
