‘For the fiftieth time today,yes!I’m convinced of it.’ She rummaged in her bag. ‘And not only that, I reckon you’ll have several responses by the time we get back to the cottage. Now will you be quiet? I’m concentrating.’
We set off up Castle Street. ‘What are you looking for?’ I asked.
‘My phone.’
I stopped. ‘The phone you said you’d left at the cottage charging?’
Clare pulled it out of her bag. ‘I lied.’
‘Why would you do that to me?’
‘It was for your own good. You’d have been checking your messages constantly, on a high if you heard from anyone and on alow if you didn’t and either way, would have got nothing done. Instead, you’ve put together more flat-packs than an IKEA store, which, I have to say, was quite impressive to watch.’
‘Can I check my messages now?’
‘No.’
We walked for a while in silence as Clare fiddled with her phone. She was right to have hidden it because Iwouldhave been checking it every five minutes. Broadband was getting connected the following week so my lovely new work Mac had been sitting there all day, teasing me with its inability to do anything online.
‘Do you think it was a bit sad marking all those Stevens as my favourites?’
Clare sighed again. ‘Will you shut your trap, now? I’m trying to read something. We’ll be home in ten minutes.’
Sulking slightly, I dug my ancient phone out of my pocket and was surprised to see a text from Nick. I hadn’t heard it beep.
?? From Nick
Not going to be able to stop by this week and won’t be running either. Last minute job in Edinburgh. Working for a Steve! But he’s twice your age & 5 times divorced! Keep that Monday free still. Will catch up soon to explain my proposition. Also had some ideas for your website xx
Damn! I’d been looking forward to seeing him.Whoa there, Sarah! Stop it. You may have messages at home from a stack of Stevens begging for a date with you. Think lustful thoughts about them, not about Nick.
But he did sign off his text with two kisses this time. What did that mean?
‘Oh my God!’ I squealed fifteen minutes later. ‘Five messages. I can’t believe it.’ Hands shaking, I clicked on the first one.
‘What does it say? Will you angle your laptop so I can see?’
I did as I was told. ‘This one’s pants – just a welcome message from the-one.com.’
‘So read it later then.’ After acting so relaxed about it all day, Clare now had her excited head on. ‘Who’s the next one from?’
I clicked on the next message. ‘Crap. Not a Steven. It’s from someone called Dave Peacock. Let’s see.’ I scanned the message then screwed up my nose. ‘Ew! That’s disgusting. And he can’t spell.’
‘What does he say?’ Clare grabbed the laptop from me.
Hi, I’m Dave. I see your new. Your gorgeous. I bet your a dirty bitch. I want to lick cream off you. If you fancy a shag, get in touch. I’m hard for you. I want…
‘Ew!’ she agreed, clicking off the message. ‘Dirty, dirty man. I’m sure they’re not all like this.’
‘Did you change my profile back to one of your mucky ones?’ It was a battle last night to get something I approved of on my profile. Clare insisted on being in control of the laptop and kept selecting hobbies like ‘pole dancing’ and ‘erotica’ as well as compiling indecent summaries about what I’d like to do to any Stevens out there.
‘Of course not. I was only messing with you last night. You know I wouldn’t do that to you for real.’
I tentatively looked at the next message when she clicked on it:
Hello Sarah, my name’s Chris Taylor. I’m 25 and I live in a small hamlet called Greavedon between Whitsborough Bay and York. I work in the planning department at York City Council. I love old buildings. You say you live in a 200-year-old cottage so you probably agree!
‘He sounds normal.’ I could hear the relief in Clare’s voice. ‘A bit young perhaps, but quite nice. Although there’s no point reading the rest.’
