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My initial disappointment turns to confusion. Josh doesn’t believe in social media, and Facebook in particular. ‘It’s corrosive,’ he used to say. ‘People think they’re more in touch with each other because of it, but actually they’re lonelier and more isolated than ever because it’s not a real connection. If you want to connect with someone, you should ring them up or go to see them.’ So why is he using it now, and why, after months of total silence, does he think it’s OK just to send me a friend request as if nothing had ever happened? I’m annoyed and curious in equal measure. In the end, curiosity wins out and I accept it. I can always un-friend him later, after all.
I scroll through his feed to see what I can learn. There’s hardly anything personal there; it seems like he’s just using it as a platform to promote Earthkind. Most of his posts feature Earthkind products, with links to the site. I look at his friends list. There are a few names I recognise and, of course, Scarlett’s is one of them. I switch over to his personal details. He’s entered the bare minimum, so there’s not much to be learned there and the relationship information is blank. I head back into my treatment room for the afternoon session none the wiser.
When I get home that evening, I notice that there’s a message on the app. I open it up and it’s Josh again.
‘Hi,’ is all it says.
I decide to call Mads before I reply. ‘Josh sent me a friend request on Facebook at lunchtime,’ I tell her, ‘and now he’s messaging me. Don’t you think that’s odd?’
‘What does he want?’
‘I have no idea. I don’t know whether to reply or not. What do you think I should do?’
She considers for a few moments. ‘Interesting. Now that I come to think about it, I haven’t seen Scarlett for a while. Maybe they’ve split up and he wants you back. How would you feel about that?’
‘Josh and I are ancient history now,’ I tell her. ‘I’ve moved on, and I have no interest in going back.’
‘Plus you’re still mooning over Ed,’ she replies.
‘I’m not!’ I retort. ‘I don’t think he’s the bastard you do, but I’m not “mooning” over him.’
‘Of course you aren’t. That’s why your whole flat is practically a shrine to him.’
‘Bloody hell, Mads, you’re impossible sometimes! Yes, I have a few pictures with him in them, but—’
‘Twelve,’ she interrupts. ‘I counted them. Twelve pictures in a flat made up of three rooms, one of which is the bathroom, so it doesn’t count. That’s a shrine, trust me. Anyway, we’re getting off topic here. How do you feel about Josh’s message?’
‘I don’t know. I am a bit curious to see what he wants, but I’m not sure I want him barging back into my life. I guess it won’t do any harm to reply, will it?’
‘I have no idea, but you’re not going to find out any more unless you do, are you?’
‘You’re right,’ I tell her. ‘I’ll reply and see what he wants. Oh, and it’s not a bloody shrine!’
‘It so is!’ She laughs and rings off.
I go back to the message. ‘Hi,’ I type, and hit ‘send’.
Immediately, I can see that he’s typing, and I realise I should have checked he wasn’t online before answering him. I’m not sure I want to do this in real time. I’d envisaged having time to consider my replies between each message. This is too immediate.
His reply comes in:
I wasn’t sure you’d accept my friend request.
I send back:
I wasn’t sure I would either.
He starts typing again. It’s obviously a long one so I put the phone down and go to pour myself a glass of wine. If I’m going to have to talk to Josh, I might as well have a drink. I look around the room. The owner’s abstract art is still on the walls, but the pictures I printed and framed are dotted about on some of the surfaces. It’s fair to say that they mostly have Ed in them, but I think Mads is a little unfair to describe it as a shrine.
My phone pings, and I wander back to the sofa to see what Josh has said.
I treated you really badly and I just want you to know how sorry I am for that. After all our time together, you deserved better and I quite understand if you hate me. If it’s any consolation Mum and Dad were furious too. We didn’t speak for a few months.
I’m surprised by how pleased I am about his parents’ reaction. I expect they would have really put him through the mill. However, that doesn’t alter the fact that this apology is seven months too late. I type:
Why have you decided to say this now?
If he thinks I’m some sort of Labrador that’s just going to roll over and ask for my tummy to be rubbed because he’s being nice to me, then he’s going to be disappointed. I press ‘send’ and wait for his reply. It’s another long one.
