Lou sits back in her seat, face red. I dig my phone out of my bag and look at it, taking in the guy’s grown-up features. He really is handsome, and, more than that, he has a sort ofkindenergy to him. If that’s possible to tell through a photo. He hasn’t tried to be serious in his bio, but also hasn’t tried too hard to be funny. I’d dismissed him so easily on so many different apps; it seemed obvious to keep doing it without considering why.
Lou’s right. It’s time to be an adult. It’s time to try men outside my box. I need a boyfriend and Paul definitely doesn’t want the job. FuckingCeleste. I can’t believe he started dating someone just when I wanted to go out with him. It’s so rude.
OK, Idris, you get a right swipe.
It’s an instant match and something in my belly fizzes. The promise of something new and exciting.
I put my phone away and listen to the vicar as he espouses the many virtues of my great-uncle – now apparently named Martin.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
OK, so this isn’t… terrible? I mean, it’s not wonderful either but it’s not bad exactly.
On the screen in front of me, Will doesn’t look much different from the man I remember. His features are all still in the same place they were, he still has legs and arms. His eyes are still mediocre levels of sparkly.
And our chat is still… fine?
After a bit of small talk about how the world has changed since we once fucked, we have at least tried to recapture some of our online magic.
‘What do you think of the wordmulch?’ he’s pondering now. ‘It’s weird, isn’t it? It feels weird in your mouth.’
‘I quite enjoy it,’ I nod. ‘It’s satisfying. The words I hate are the complicated extra syllabley words. Like – I don’t know –necessarily. Why the absolute fuck does that word need so many changes in direction? Ness-sir-sare-ra-ley.’ I taste the nonsense syllables, disdain in my voice.
‘I just googled the word that has the mostsyllables,’ he says, looking away from the camera as he types. He attempts to pronounce the monstrous result: ‘Pneumonoultramicroscopicsilicovolcanoconiosis.’
‘Intense,’ I agree and we fall into silence, trying to think of other words we hate.
It’s not abadchat. It’s quite interesting, I guess. But I can’t help thinking it would be more fun with someone like Alistair or even Collector Paul. At least he really made me laugh. If I could untangle the misleading flirting, I’d enjoy this kind of silly chat with Collector Paul.
No more backsliding, I scold myself. Just because this isn’t going that well, I have to stop looking back to the last man who made me laugh or gave me a compliment.
‘So I have to buy a present for a difficult aunt this week,’ Will says, changing the subject after too much silence. ‘What do you think I should get her?’
It takes all my mental strength not to yawn directly into the camera. I hate buying presents for difficult people, never mind coming up with ideas for someone else.
‘Um, I don’t know, a pony?’ I suggest and he laughs nicely.
See, heisnice. There’s no denying that. He’s a nice, decent, OK guy.
And ugh, this is the problem with so many dates I’ve been on. What do you do when they’re just… fine? Like, the man is nice and handsomeenoughand you can see he’s a decent fellow, even though he does induce you to say things likedecent fellow. I’ve been on sooo many dates like this. Dates where the bloke is OK and you can see you’d probably havean OK time together if you carried on going out. Sure, there wouldn’t necessarily be fireworks, but maybe they’d come later. Or maybe life doesn’t need fireworks? They’re expensive and dangerous and they scare dogs. Fireworks arebadactually.
Depending on my mood, I can sometimes see a future with people like this. If I’ve recently been through a shitty old time with relationships, nice – decent – seems good enough. For example, when I’d just broken up with Rich last year, all I dreamed about was a decent, OK-looking man who would actually turn up to our dates and be nice to me.
Will makes a face. ‘Got a hair in my mouth,’ he says, smacking his lips. ‘Ugh, hate it when that happens, isn’t it annoying?’
‘Yeah,’ I nod slowly. ‘Thatisannoying.’ We fall back into silence as he tries to locate the offending intruder. I watch him for a few seconds as he goes cross-eyed trying to get it, then politely look away.
To be fair to Will, I’ve been pretty distracted during our FaceTime. I have a lot on my mind: Idris not replying to my email; Alistair’s girlfriend; the fact that I only have two exes left to contact, and they’re the worst; Bibi being distant; Louise up to something that I can’t bring myself to say out loud; the fact that Katie’s about to kick off at work and I’m totally going to be sacked; Instagram being full of gorgeous wedding pictures and cute, fat little babies. It’s all too much.
‘What do you think?’ Will looks at me expectantly.
‘Um…’ Shit shit. He was talking and I wasn’t listening. He looks quite serious. ‘Well… um, what doyouthink?’
This works and he continues talking – something to do with his boss and HR. I’m so relieved I got away with not listening, that I – again – forget to listen.
I feel so weary all of a sudden. This call is reminding me how meh the whole thing with Will was for our few months together. I feel bad, but there’s no point denying it now – he was just an excuse to leave Idris. I was too much of a coward to end it like a grown-up, so I cheated with the first guy who showed me a bit of interest. And then I let the relationship with Will drag on for a tiresome five months, just to prove to myself and everyone else around me that it was real and worth it. Thankfully, lockdown and Covid came along and gave me an excuse to end it.
I can’t do it again. I don’t have any real feelings for Will and we don’t have anything in common. Plus, I’m pretty sure he’s been reading conversation cue cards during this FaceTime call. He keeps glancing down and wildly veering into new subject topics.
