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Her mother and godmother exchanged another look. Sophia ignored that one too.
Jay had been messaging her all week. Sometimes he asked for a song or sent her one he chose. Often, he sent her photos of apples. Sometimes selfies of him eating an apple and winking at the camera. Once he sent her a selfie of himself topless and wet and glistening, sitting on the edge of his swimming pool.Here’s a lesson, Clements, the caption said,in what a man looks like.
Oh, sorry, Sophia had replied,I didn’t spot you behind all that ego.
But she looked at the picture quite a lot. It was proof of the toned muscles all those thin, clinging jumpers had been hinting at.
Simon had been texting her occasionally too. First, he had sent her a photo of the view from his hotel room, with the message:Arrived.And she had been sending him tips of places to go in London. She didn’t know London at all, so all the bars and restaurant recommendations had come via Jay. Sophia vetted them online before sending them to Simon, just to make sure they weren’t strip clubs.
Her phone had never been so busy. She should have been happy. In Jay, she had finally found a friend, and in Simon, the possibility of something more. But she was unused to so much conversing, even just via text messages, and she found it hard to keep up. It was jarring, somehow, going from a message from Jay to one to Simon. Talking to Jay was almost effortless, but her messages to Simon required far more thought.
On the night after that fraught dress fitting, Sophia was reading in bed when her phone beeped with a text.
Jay: Thank you for the invite. Of course I’ll come.
Her heart leapt with relief. She wouldn’t have to face it alone.
Sophia: Thank you
Sophia: By the way, I suggested an eighties metal theme to my mother. She refused. Problem is, I was only half joking.
Jay: There’s always next year. I’ll help you plan it.
Jay: If I’m invited.
Sophia: Of course you will be. You’re invited to all my birthday parties now.
He sent her a smiley face.
Jay: Do you think we’ll still be listening to Mötorhead when we’re eighty, Clements?
Sophia: I hope so.
Jay: Do you think we’ll still know each other when we’re eighty?
Sophia: I hope so.
Jay: Me too.
Sophia: If you don’t crash into a tree before then.
Jay: I won’t, Soph. For your sake.
Sophia: Do it for your sake, Jay.
Dots appeared, then disappeared. Sophia waited a moment, then sent another message.
Sophia: Here’s a song for you.
Sophia: Mötorhead - I Ain’t No Nice Guy
She hoped it wasn’t too much, the surprisingly soulful ballad about ageing, introspection, and youthful regret. Jay’s response took a moment to arrive. Sophia stared at her phone, chewing her lower lip.
Jay: Wow. That’s quite some song. Thank you. I think?
Sophia: You’re the nicest guy, Jay.
Jay: …
