‘So have we made a plan?’ Tom asks.
‘Yes. We’re going to do everything we just said.’ I close the notebook with a satisfying snap.
‘Howare we going to do it, though?’
‘It’ll come to us,’ I say airily.
‘Good, then,’ Tom says.
‘I don’t like your tone.’ I frown at him. ‘You sound doubtful.’ Hmm. I reopen the notebook and look at what I’ve written.
And no. These are not the kind of resolutions that should be written down. This is not a ‘go for a 3k run every Sunday and Wednesday, eat max one extra-large bag of Tyrrell’s crinkly ready-salted once a fortnight and only one chocolate bar a week’ reminder that I wouldn’t really mind anyone seeing. This reads like an article in a teenage magazine from pre TikTok days and I’d be mortified for pretty much anyone to see it.
I’m mortified thatTom’s seen it, and he’s part of it.
‘Yeah, no. We don’t need to have this written down. We just need toagreeit and hold each other accountable.’ I pull the page from its ring-spine and scrunch it into a small ball before taking it over to my recycling bin.
‘Agreed,’ Tom says as I close the bin. ‘For sanity we both need a plan and we need next steps but, yeah, not in writing.’
‘Thinking about next steps, do you know Lola’s surname?’ I ask delicately as I sit back down.
‘Well, would you believe it, it’s Smith. It would be so much easier if it were a more unusual name. And yes, sadly I’ve googled and there are quite a few Lola Smiths including a very talented young footballer, it seems, but I couldn’t find her at all. I’m guessing she doesn’t do social media and isn’t on LinkedIn.’
I wonder how often it truly isn’t possible to find someone online. Surely not that often. Although if you only have a name to go by and there’s no description of them on their work website and they don’t do social media, maybe it isn’t surprising. Also, maybe Tom doesn’t have full details.
‘It could be that Lola’s short for something,’ I suggest. ‘If it’s an abbreviation it might make it even harder to find her.’ I finish the last of my coffee and look at Tom’s already-empty mug. ‘Another one?’ I stand up as he nods ayes please.
We end up googling and social media searching all sorts of names including variations on and longer versions of Lola all the way through our second cups of coffee.
We get nowhere.
‘I’m so sorry,’ I tell Tom as he places his empty cup down. ‘Another one?’
‘You sure I’m not outstaying my welcome?’ He looks over at where my kitchen clock’s showing that it’s heading towards 1a.m.
‘Absolutely.’ I’d feel terrible if he went home looking as miserable as he does right now. We need to talk about something more positive than fruitless online searches for Lola.
Once I’ve placed refilled, steaming mugs on the table, I sit back down and say, ‘You know, from my perspective anyway, there aresomany good reasons to be single. As in, there areactiveupsides to not having a partner.’
‘Yes, there definitely are. I mean, I’m single now, and until Lola got in touch I was completely happy about it.’
‘Exactly.’ I’m going to get the conversation away from Lola and onto less mournful topics if it kills me. ‘You can spread out across the whole bed.’ I ignore an annoying little thought that Ilikehaving a cuddle in bed with the right person. That whole limbs-tangled-in-the-morning thing is lovely. ‘On a work night in particular, you just want a really good night’s sleep.’
‘True. And you can get up and go to bed when you want to. And eat what you want when you want. Exercise as much or as little as you like.’
Hooray, we’re finally off the Lola topic.
‘Watch what you want on TV,’ I add.
‘The list could go on,’ Tom says.
‘Exactly.’
‘She’s never going to reply, is she?’ he asks as I’m trying to think of another positive.
Oh. Okay. Yep, obviously it’s going to take more than a silly list of fake positives about being single to distract him. Understandably.
I focus on his question. ‘I’m not sure.’ My gut saysno, but does he want to hear that?
