And he doesn’t either.
So… eventually I realise that my gorgeous, wonderful, kind, sexy, actual-man-of-my-dreams-despite-our-on-paper-differences fake-plus-one Tom is no longer really in my life.
We do both participate in the ongoing Waterloo Five chat but that’s it. Nothing that’s only between the two of us.
When I go through Waterloo, I often wonder if I’ll bump into him. I never do.
When I’m wondering whether I’ll bump into him, I occasionally wonder whether he’ll give us a Lola update on the chat. He never does.
I stop mentioning him to my colleagues and eventually I tell Marisa and a couple of others that I felt that his extended stay in Vegas demonstrated that we weren’t right for each other but it was good while it lasted (kind of almost true).
* * *
And eventually it’s a good six weeks since I last saw him, which is longer than the time Iknewhim for, and I’ve stopped looking out for him at Waterloo and I’m busy enjoying my life and continuing with my date detox.
The date detox is a lot easier than it was before, actually, because currently – and truly pathetically – no-one else really appeals to me romantically. Because they aren’t Tom.
Who I am probably never going to see again.
Which I think is a good thing.
* * *
Except one day Carole puts a message in our chat saying that she’s having a divorce celebration party (she got a quickie divorce, which she said was only fair given the number ofquickie-quickies it’s emerged that Roger’s had over the course of their marriage). And she wants the four of us there as guests of honour.
I don’t know whether Tom’s going but I very much like and admire Carole and if she wants a divorce party I’m going.
Bea and Ruth are straight in there too with their acceptance.
Tom doesn’t reply until the next day:
Sorry, sorry, sorry for the late reply – away for the weekend in the Brecon Beacons – not much signal. Love to come – congratulations again, Carole!
And there we go. I’m going to – very normally and relaxedly – see Tom again, at Carole’s party. Which is going to be very fancy and fun, and that’s what I will focus on.
She’s hired out a whole country pub near her house for a Saturday evening in a month’s time. It’s black tie, and the rooms have different themes, including a casino, and she’s putting all her non-local guests up either at her house or in rooms at the pub.
So I have one month to decide on the perfect dress for in no way (obviously) trying or looking like I want to seduce Tom but at the same time making sure that were he to be seduceable my dress might help. And hair, make-up and shoes (I haven’t had to use my boot for a couple of weeks now).
* * *
One month later, I’m in wide-leg jeans, Adidas shoes and a jumper on the train to Carole’s. This time, unlike before Bea and Ruth’s wedding, Tom and I did not discuss in advance which train we’d be on (because we haven’t had any one-on-one contact since the my-grandmother-loved-the-video message). I have therefore been jumpy since I got to Waterloo, and have reapplied lip gloss at least ten times, so my lips are now extremely sticky and my hair keeps getting stuck to them. I’d like to say that I didn’t think about him at all when I was choosing which jeans to wear today but that would be a lie. So I’m wearing my most flattering ones and my favourite jumper (pale pink, loose turtleneck, orange cuffs and hem).
* * *
‘Hey,’ says Tom’s voice the second I get off the train. Unbelievably, given how exceptionally on possible-Tom-sighting edge I’ve been for the past two full hours, I get a huge shock and drop my cross-body bag, which I unfortunately didn’t put across my body when I stood up to get off. The bag was open, so stuff falls out all over the platform. Fortunately no-one else got out of my door so it isn’t getting walked on.
‘Let me help.’ Tom’s already joined me on the ground gathering up items. It’s amazing, really, how much you can fit in a small bag, and how little of it you actually need on any given day.
He hands me some tampons (which I clearly do not want back now they’ve been on the ground but do have to accept), a scrunchie (maybe I can put it in the washing machine), some plasters (I also do not want those back) and my purse.
‘Thank you.’ I stuff everything back in for the time being, close the bag and stand up. Tom stands up too. ‘I should really remember to zip my bag up. In my defence I got a big shock when the train drew in.’
‘Because you… didn’t know that we were getting off here?’
‘Because I might have been having a teensy snooze,’ I say with dignity. I had a wedding singer job yesterday evening and it was abignight.
‘Well, all good now,’ Tom says very jollily.
