Turns out I didn’t need to dump him cause he dumped me about a week later. After our Facebook ‘fight’ I didn’t see him again until the following Tuesday. I tried to orchestrate it that we would go back to his so I suggested meeting in the city for dinner but he said that he was working late and didn’t know what time he was going to get off work at and there was no point in me hanging around after work. He suggested I should head back to Finsbury Park and he would get the tube up to me when he was done, promising to bring a bottle of wine and some pizza, so I reluctantly relented.
True to his word he arrived just after 8.30pm and we had a fairly mundane evening in watching Dexter on Netflix. He stayed the night but at 7am the next morning he picked up his phone and said
“Fuck, I’ve got to go” in rather panicked tones
“Oh my god whats wrong” I said still half asleep
“Sorry it’s just work stuff” he said distractedly as he typed something into his phone
“What happened?” I asked worriedly
“There’s been a foreign incident, my boss needs me to come in straight away as the Minister needs to have some things changed before he goes on trip this afternoon, nothing to worry about but I’ve got to go” he said clambering out of bed and throwing on his clothes. He fleetingly kissed me good bye as he ran out the door not 5 minutes later.
I lay there dumbstruck wondering what the hell had just happened.
Were we at war? Was my first thought cause that’s what I do, I go from nought to World War 3 in the space of 10 seconds. I picked up my phone and went on to Facebook but the latest updates were from my friends either boasting about their early morning gym workouts, pictures of their Starbucks referencing the poor foreign barista’s idiocy about writing their name wrong or just people grumbling about the trains or tubes or buses. Standard early morning fodder and no hint of a terrorist attack so my fears were allayed.
Was he married? Was my second thought. I mean come on all signs were pointing that way. Well one sign was pointing that way. The not being friends on FB thing, and now this, the early morning escape, oh and the not having been to his house thing. But up to then he had been fantastic and we had seen each other so much over the last few weeks if he did have someone else on the scene it musn’t be going very well cause he was spending most of his time with me, and the nights he wasn’t he told me what he was up to. Rugby training, cricket practice, drinks with his mate who was recently dumped by his girlfriend, birthday dinner for his Dad. I mean, if he was having an affair it just didn’t make much sense. He told his mother about me for gods sake.
Or did he? Like he told me he did but that didn’t mean anything, he could have just totally made that up.
Maybe he was just not that into me? Was my third and most likely thought. Miranda in ‘Sex and the City’ made this possibility all the more plausible. Sure we had fun over the last few weeks and I was falling and falling for him more and more which made absolute perfect sense that he would then start pulling back. It’s what all men do, in my experience anyway. We were at the 6 week sink or swim mark, where you either dive in and commit and give things a proper go and stop saying ‘dating’ and start saying ‘going out with. It’s at this point that men either run or snuggle in and I could sense him putting on his running shoes.
I started going through all of the things I might have done wrong. Like maybe I was too full on, maybe I wasn’t full on enough, maybe I shouldn’t have made such a big deal about the Facebook thing, maybe I shouldn’t have eaten that last slice of pizza last night.
But then I just thought, no fuck him, if he wants to go he can fuck off with himself. He’s not that great anyway, and he talked an awful lot of shite sometimes. And he even did that stupid neknomination thing where he knocked back a pint of loads of different spirits all mixed altogether which is just bloody stupid and childish.
And then I thought, maybe he did just have to go to work. FUCK! Work! It was 8.05am I should have been up and in the shower half an hour ago, stupid fucker, making me late!
We had had loose plans to meet up that Thursday. I was heading home to Ireland for the weekend for my friends baby shower we both had work things on in the evening but we said we might try and catch up afterwards. I was meeting my old work crew for a leaving party. It was in Covent Garden in a place that quite literally had prosecco on tap. He on the other hand was doing something far more exciting. He mentioned to me in hushed tones while we were sitting on the couch waiting for the next episode of Dexter to load that he and five other people from his office had been invited to the famed MI6 building for champagne on the balcony overlooking the Thames.
“Ooohh very fancy” I exclaimed
“Sssshh, you can’t tell anyone, it’s top secret” he said winking at me while pulling me in for a snog.
When I merrily texted him at 9pm that Thursday night seeing if he still wanted to meet I noticed he hadn’t been active on whatsapp for 7 hours. An hour later when I hadn’t heard from him I checked again, the ticks were blue meaning he’d seen my message but he hadn’t replied. The dick.
An hour later my phone buzzed.
“Hey sorry not gonna make it, enjoy your drinks” he said
Fine whatever, I thought. His loss.
The next day I headed home to Ireland. I thought maybe I would have gotten a ‘Safe trip home’ text from him but nada. I checked his whatsapp and it said he hadn’t been active in 12 hours. Hmmm I thought, that’s unusual. But my impending flight home distracted me.
By Saturday morning I still hadn’t heard from him. In our first few weeks he always texted me a ‘Good morning’ message but they had waned in the last week or two. By early afternoon I saw on whatsapp that he had been active and so reluctantly I sent him a message, against all my will power urging me not to text him I gave in like the shitty stupid girl I am when I get to that point in a power struggle with a man I like.
“Hey, best of luck in the match later” I said lamely. The six nations was on and England were playing against Italy.
I incessantly checked my phone every 5 minutes willing the grey ticks to turn blue.
This is the absolute worst thing about modern dating.
When I was a tweenager it was: will he knock in for me?
A teenager: Will he call me on the house phone? (A fear worse than death being that your Dad would answer and you have to mortifyingly accept the handset from his disapproving stares as he sternly told you ‘Some boy is calling for you’. Or worse your sister would pick up the handset in the other room and listen to you arranging to meet said boy by the electricity box the next day for some inevitable fumbled and sloppy kissing . Cringe)
In my early twenties: Will he text me or like my picture on Bebo.
And then BOOM my mid twenties hit along with the explosion of social media and smartphone technology and my dating life exploding into a paranoid torrent: Will he text me/iMessage me, whatsapp me, Facebook me, Snapchat me. But not just that…. will he swipe right, will he like my pic on Instagram, will he like my pic on FB, no wait, has he seen my message, when was he last active, oh no he has seen my message he just hasn’t replied. His last snapchat showed him out at 2am with some blonde girl in the background, but his facebook status said he was out with the guys from work…..the ticks are still grey, no wait now they are blue, he’s typing something, no he’s stopped typing, oh dear lord he just sent me a thumbs up emoji and now the one of the man bending with the triangles above his head. What does that even mean?? 😦
Jesus wept! The life of a modern dater was unkind.
Anyhoo back in Dublin and by 6pm he still hadn’t replied to me, the match was done and dusted at this point so I convinced myself that he was just getting drunk in the pub with his mates. Later that night I got a text from him that just read.
“Thanks, nice win. I hope Ireland fares well tomorrow”
That was it. No how is your trip, no X at the end. I had been in this game long enough to know when a guy was pulling back and he was most definitely pulling back. It just frustrated the hell out of me more than anything else. I was the one wanting to take things easy and slow in the beginning and he was the one that was all ‘I really like you’ and ‘You’re amazing’ blah de blah blah.
By the time I flew home on the Tuesday afternoon I hadn’t received any more messages from him. The previous week when lying in bed we had loosely planned to meet up the day after I came back from Ireland. I knew the likelihood of it happening was slim to none but I hated being ‘ghosted’ so I messaged him.
“Hey, so I take it from your silence these last few days that we aren’t meeting up tomorrow now no”?
This time he replied almost straight away.
“Hey, hope you made it back to Blighty ok” he sent
I then had to sit there for an excruciatingly long time as I watched the ‘typing’ word flash on an off my screen. Then came this…
“Yeah look, I’m really sorry but you are right, we won’t be meeting up tomorrow. You are an amazing girl and I have had so much fun with you over the past few weeks. But I thought while you were away this weekend I would really miss you and then actually I realised I wasn’t really missing you and in fact I was actually enjoying just being out with my mates and just having fun. As you know Matty recently split up with his girlfriend and it just made me realise that actually I am enjoying being single at the moment and just don’t want a serious relationship. I’m sorry, I hope you understand”
I was so mad I didn’t even reply.
The absolute dick.
To be continued…..