thought you’d decided Mr McAvoy and his appropriate sideburns, in Becoming Jane, were what you were looking for. Are you still hunk-spotting?’
‘As if I would?’ He batted his eyelashes as if he’d never once logged onto Onmygaydar.com. ‘No lovie. It’s you. You’re in trouble, girl. You got email.’
‘What sort of trouble?’
‘Seriously, doll.’ Vince’s blue eyes widened, like a small bush baby. ‘Looks as if it’s your virus.’
It wasn’t my virus.
I carefully put down the hairpiece, before scurrying over to the computer, to find an email from a complete stranger.
I heartily wished I’d never sent that first email.
From: [email protected]
Subject: FW: URGENT – Possible loo roll crisis
Dear Matilda
Do I know you? I’ve just had an email from you. Don’t think you meant to send it to me but
loo rolls? Try Tesco. Although funnily enough, I’ve literally just finished that book, funny read. Did you know there was a sequel?
With kind regards
A Liverpool Supporter.
P.S. Didn’t think Arsenal supporters could read, not as erudite as us Liverpool supporters.
‘Oh pants.’ Thankfully, despite his duff allegiance, the Liverpool supporter didn’t seem too upset. ‘Do you think I’m going to get loads of these?’
Suddenly I realised Jeanie was standing behind us. She rolled her eyes, and squinted at the screen beyond them. ‘If they’re all as dull as this, you haven’t got a problem. A football supporter who sounds very sensible. Probably short, bald and lives with his mum. And likes Liverpool United.’ She shook her head, before adding. ‘Oh God, a Northerner.’
Southern born and bred, Jeanie was convinced that anyone north of Mill Hill was slightly suspect.
‘Come on, some of us have work to do.’ She gave both of us a pointed look before turning and heading back to her office.
I shot the screen another look and then my watch. Christelle was incapable of being late, I had no leeway.
‘You’re not going to email him back, are you?’ asked Vince, clutching his throat in dramatic horror, which was a bit rich coming from Mr Online Romance himself. ‘What if he’s a stalker or one of those people that’s looking to groom you for the sex-slave trade?’
With great show, I pointed to my flat chest and raised my eyebrows.
‘Seriously, I read about it in the paper.’
‘Well it must be true, then.’
‘No, honest, girls promised designer clothes and given make-overs and then sold into high-class prostitution.’
In my favourite vintage 1950s skirt, printed with cherries, a matching red ballerina style cross-over cardigan and flat chunky boots, I was hardly sex-kitten material.
Vince inspected my boots. ‘Maybe not.’
‘Definitely not. Besides, it’s not as if we’re to become pen-pals.’
‘Hmm.’
‘I’m not letting him have the last word on my football team.’ I shrugged my shoulders.
Vince raised his eyes heavenwards. ‘You’re a girl, is that normal? You know – the football stuff.’
‘You’re a boy. You wear yellow. Putrid mustard yellow. That’s not normal unless you’re a Buddhist monk.’
With another quick check of my watch, I edged him out of the way, pausing only fractionally as I remembered the thing about e-safety his royal ITness had said. But this was different. This bloke had taken the trouble to email me, it was only polite to email him back and thank him. If he was up to no good, he wouldn’t be trying to help, would he? Then I stopped, what if he thought I was some sad loser type sending random emails out to try and make friends.
From: [email protected]
Subject: Loo Rolls
I’m so sorry. That email was supposed to be to my fiancé.
There. Not single or desperate.
I think I might have got a virus.
No shit, Sherlock.
I opened an attachment I shouldn’t have. Thanks for being nice about it.
And for God’s sake please don’t mention it to anyone.
I’ve finished the book now. Don’t want to read the sequel straight away but want something as good. I always feel a bit bereft when I finish a book I’ve enjoyed.
With kind regards
Deciding to keep things formal I put Matilde rather than Tilly which felt like it kept a bit of distance.
I hate my name. Matilde, written down, looks German and butch rather than French. The ‘d’ is silent but very few people get that, so I prefer Tilly. My mother is Parisian – hence the name. Although these days, even she managed to call me Tilly – on the odd occasions we spoke.
‘How about that?’ I re-read the words on the screen one last time. Mostly harmless.
Vince pulled a mournful face, disappointment filling his big blue eyes.
‘It’s not that bad, is it?’
He sighed and tossed his head. ‘Well, it’s hardly Gone with the Wind. I mean…’
‘It’s not supposed to be.’ I read the words again. It was OK. Not like people you heard of, who gave in to the heady temptation of on-line and text flirting, and ended up creating daring alter-egos that bore no resemblance to their real persona.
Although, I rolled my neck feeling the tension. God knows a flirtation would be a welcome ego boost – Felix seemed to find me about as sexy as a moth-eaten camel these days, but I was not going to fall into that trap.
Vince rubbed at his goatee and sighed in theatrical despair. ‘Lovie, why don’t you compare slippers? At least ask him what he thinks of the book. It’s seriously, seriously dull.’
‘Thanks a bunch. It’s just a response. It’s not as if I’m going to get to know him.’
‘I should think not.’ Vince bristled, folding his arms and speaking with hushed reverence. ‘Not when you’ve got Felix.’
There
