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11 a.m. Look at all these men-tarts. Married, but in an open relationship. You see?
12.15 p.m. Jude’s Internet dating was a nightmare – strings of communication with strangers suddenly left unanswered. I don’t want strange bits of men all over the place. Far better to get on with Leaves. Must figure out how the yacht/honeymoon could work in Sweden rather than Hawaii. I mean, Stockholm is warm in the summer, right? Doesn’t one of the girls from Abba live on an island off Stockholm?
12.30 p.m. Maybe will go on Net-a-Porter and look at the sale.
12.45 p.m. What is happening to me? Just put three dresses into my shopping basket. Then logged off. Then logged on again and realized I felt hurt because none of the dresses had winked back.
1 p.m. Maybe will just look at cute thirty-year-olds on Match.com for a minute.
Mmmm.
1.05 p.m. Just spooled down the line of cute thirty-year-olds and screamed out loud.
There, bold as you please, was a picture of . . . Roxster.
MID-MATCH COLLISION
Friday 5 July 2013 (continued)
‘Roxster30’ was grinning cheerfully, the same picture he has on Twitter. He is, apparently, looking for women aged twenty-five to fifty-five – so it wasn’t because I was too old, it was just because he didn’t . . . he didn’t . . . OH MY GOD. His profile says he has ‘particular fondness for walks on Hampstead Heath’ and ‘people who make me laugh’ and . . . ‘mini-breaks in pubs by rivers, with Full English Breakfasts’. And he really likes skydiving? SKYDIVING?
I mean, it’s OK, isn’t it? It’s just what people do? It’s quite funny, it’s . . .
Suddenly doubled over in pain, in my armchair, over the laptop.
1.10 p.m. Roxster is Online Now! But then I’m Online Now too! Oh God.
1.11 p.m. Quickly logged off and paced deranged around the room, stuffing bits of half-eaten cheese and crushed Nutribars from the bottom of my handbag into my mouth.
What am I to do? What is the etiquette? Cannot possibly log on again and have another look at Roxster, or he will think I am stalking him, or worse – better? – looking at pictures of cute thirty-year-olds to smoothly replace him with another toy boy.
1.15 p.m. Just checked my email which is now, of course, as well as being overrun by Ocado emails, and ‘Staff Present’ emails, and emails from various country pubs I have imagined staying in with Roxster, also inundated with endless emails from SingleParentMix.com and OkCupid and Match.com saying: Wow! You’re proving popular today! and Someone just checked out your profile! and Jonesey49 Someone just winked at you.
Stared closely at two recent emails from Match.com. Jonesey49 Wow! Someone just checked out your profile.
1.17 p.m. Could not find out who they were from because have not paid to properly sign on to Match.com. One of them was from someone aged fifty-nine. And the other aged thirty. It had to be Roxster. It was too much of a coincidence.
1.20 p.m. Wow! Jonesey49. Somebody just winked at you! Again aged thirty.
1.25 p.m. Clearly, Roxster has clocked that I have checked out his profile. What am I going to do? Pretend it hasn’t happened? No, that’s just . . . I mean, the whole thing is just . . . You can’t pretend something like that hasn’t happened, can you? We’re human beings and we did care about each other, I thought. And . . . text from Roxster:
Stared at phone, mind spooling through all the texts I’d made up in case he got in touch:
Instead, impulsively texted back:
There was a pause. Then another ping on the phone.
There was another pause. What was he going to say? Something kind? Something patronizingly meant to be kind? Something apologizing? Something that would hurt?
I stared at it. All those mean things I had planned to say . . . My finger hovered over the phone. And then I simply texted back the truth.
Then immediately thought, ‘Shit! Why didn’t I just put one of the less-mean-but-funny ones? Now he’ll just have got his ego-reassurance and bugger off.’ Text ping.
Anoth
er ping.
Me:
