Chapter Sixty-Seven
I fed the dogs, had a shower, pulled on my scruffy pyjamas, then decided to watch some telly. Briefly, I channel hopped. Oh, Chicken Run. What a coincidence.
Outside came the sound of Milo’s car starting up. I resisted the urge to rush to the window, press my nose up to the glass, and see if I could catch a glimpse of him. No doubt he looked scrumptious in his new shirt, tailored trousers and shiny shoes.
Impulsively, I switched off the TV. Instead, I found myself watching the reflection of his car’s taillights in the television’s blank screen. I inclined my head. Listened to the throaty hum of the engine. A few seconds later and the sound receded as his vehicle disappeared into the night.
Restless, I stood up and finally moved over to the window. Stared at the darkness beyond. My head felt like it was full of angry, buzzing bees. I rubbed my temples viciously then rested my forehead against the cold glass. Why was life sometimes so… frustrating?
Unable to face cooking, I made myself a sandwich. Picking up the remote control, I once again settled down in front of the telly. Okay, Chicken Run it was – even if it did remind me of Milo. Cindy and Rambo jumped up beside me.
‘Hi, guys,’ I said.
Hello, Mum.
Hey, Tilly.
‘So tonight I’m having imaginary conversations with not one, but two dogs. How amazing is that?’ I cranked up a smile.
Oooh, chickens, said Rambo as a brood of hens stampeded across the screen, hellbent on taking out the baddies.
I sat morosely for a bit. Munched on my sandwich. Debated whether I could be bothered to make myself a cup of tea or remain sitting in a heap with the dogs. Just when I was about to rouse myself, my mobile pinged. A text. For one insane moment, hope flood through me. Could it be a message from Milo?
Sarah is a nightmare. Please, Tilly. Rescue me. Now!
PS – I have a confession. My heart belongs to you xxxxxxxxx
I reached for the phone and, as I did so, hope ebbed away. Robin.
Well? I’m waiting for your response.
Gosh, how romantic, Robin. Your loving words blow me away! Why couldn’t he be bothered to pick up the phone and have a proper conversation? What a plank. Sighing, I tapped out my reply.
There was a man called Robin
He had a secretary that he was knobbing
His wife caught him out
And was left in no doubt
That Robin was a–
I paused. Robin was a what?
Hm. What was an appropriate word that rhymed with my ex-husband’s name. Dobbin? Like a farm horse? Rather unkind to horses. Goblin? Unkind to fairy folk.
I returned to the screen and resumed typing.
That Robin was a bellend.
It didn’t rhyme, but it was appropriate, so would do. I pressed the send button, then flopped back against the cushions. Seconds later my phone pinged with another text.
Does that mean no?
My goodness, this man caught on quick. I tapped my phone’s screen. Searched for the emoji I wanted. Seconds later, a pair of clapping hands whooshed off into Cyber Space.
Barely a second had passed when my phone burst into life. Its merry tinkle was at odds to my plummeting mood. On the television screen, animated chickens were running amok and squawking with anger. I knew exactly how they felt. Perhaps I should follow their example. Let loose with a few squawks of my own. Scowling, and without bothering to look at the screen, I snatched up the phone.
‘Now you listen here, Robin. Enough is enough. You can take your marriage proposal, and shove it right up your-’
‘Er, hello?’ The voice was familiar but, in the middle of a red mist moment, took me a moment to place.
‘I’m so sorry,’ I apologised. ‘I thought you were Robin.’
Who the heck was I talking to? I quickly moved the phone away from my ear so I could see the caller’s id. And then I gasped aloud. It was Jake.