on, Holly, don’t hold out grade A gossip on me. You’ve spent the past year moaning that the only guys you seem to meet online are either married gits or else barefaced liars who describe themselves as looking like Bradley Cooper, but who turn out to be more like Shane MacGowan in real life. The teeth included. Then you burst in here all glowing and full of the joys – on a bleeding Monday morning – and start waxing lyrical about love blossoming online?’
‘Sorry Dermot, really gotta get back to my desk …’
But he was standing right in front of me, way too big and protein-fed for me to possibly inch my way past.
‘Just off the top of my head … did you by any chance meet someone and you’re not telling me?’ he asked, eyebrows shooting upwards. ‘Do you have some secret little Christmas cracker on the go for yourself?’
‘Umm … possibly.’
‘Possibly means yes you do. Knew it! Knew you were acting weirder than normal this morning. And you never answered my calls yesterday to see if you fancied going to a movie; ergo, I’m guessing you spent most of your weekend stuck in front of a computer screen.’
I was slightly too mortified to admit the truth, but it’s like Dermot just comes with a kind of honing instinct for these things. Because, of course, he was one hundred per cent right. For almost two full weeks now, it was just me and Captain Andy, messaging each other back and forth, day and night, at all hours of the day and night, and from airports at all four corners of the globe, just to ask about my day and to tell me all about his.
And it was bloody amazing and I really did believe this one might just have legs. But of course rule one was do not jinx it by telling everyone all about it, at least not until we’d actually met.
‘Let’s just say, watch this space,’ I told Dermot, with what I hoped was an enigmatic smile.
‘Dirty bitch,’ he grinned and I poked him back playfully.
‘Thanks for not quizzing me any more,’ I said gratefully, ‘for the moment at least. But don’t worry, if this does turn into anything significant, you’ll be the very first to know. It’s a long-distance thing, so there’s a lot for us to navigate our way around.’
He burst into a big, wide grin, then stepped aside from blocking the doorway, so I could squeeze my way past him.
‘Oh honey, long-distance online is the absolute best! There’s all the sexual build-up and anticipation before you get to meet and then when you do, it’s all the more wonderful because you know you’re never going to bump into each other in the vegetable aisle at Tesco’s. Plus, if you ever fancy cheating with someone closer to home, then how will he ever find out? You’re in a win-win, baby!’
From: Guy_in_the_Sky
Well how are you this evening, Holly? Gotta tell you, I just love hearing all those great stories of yours about your day. Gee, your job sounds so pressured and demanding. Can’t believe you were in the Four Courts earlier reporting on a murder case. How cool is that? And knowing you, you’ll probably unwind by skydiving or else going off mountaineering at the weekend, for fun. Just awesome. Your whole life just sounds so glamorous and exotic. Sadly, unlike my own at this moment.
Right now, I’m stuck in terminal two at Hartsfield International Airport here in Atlanta (busiest one in the world and, boy, it sure does feel like it on days like this). I’m shortly going to be pushing back for LAX; that’s sunny Los Angeles in California where, even though it’s December, I’m told it’s a humid twenty degrees outside.
Then tonight, I shuttle the return flight back here to Atlanta and, weather permitting, should be home to read Logan his bedtime story before tucking him in for the night.
To tell you the truth, Holly, days like this, my job sort of feels like I’m just a bus driver, except with a fancier uniform. Don’t get me wrong; I love the actual flying part, but the truth is, you get real tired of staying in yet another hotel room in yet another corner of the globe, missing my boy so much it hurts and wishing I could just settle down to a normal family life, without having to shuttle around so much. Ever feel that way?
Speaking of Logan, he was the one who took this latest photo I’m attaching for you, just like you asked. In case you were wondering at it being taken at a bit of a funny angle, that’s all. You gotta make some allowances; the kid is, after all, barely six years old.
I sure loved seeing your photo too, Holly. Last one you sent, you were kind of like a younger Sandra Bullock … you sure are one pretty lady. Send me on some more real soon, don’t keep me waiting now!
In the meantime, wishing you a great day.
Gotta fly. Literally.
Andy.
Oh Jesus I thought, looking away from my laptop and trying not to panic. Did I really lay it on thick with all that shite about reporting live on a criminal investigation in the Four Courts?
Suppose Andy decides to Google Afternoon Delight? What exactly are you going to tell him then, my subconscious nagged at me.
But then I just sat back, took a look at his photo and thought feck it anyway. All the, ahem, tweaking of the truth and risk-taking was totally justifiable in this case. And oh dear God, but you should have seen this latest pic. Because Andy wasn’t just gorgeous in it, he was beautiful. Classically broad-framed, light brownish hair with blue eyes and a shy, reserved sort of look to him. Kind of like Tim Robbins in The Shawshank Redemption, minus the prison buzz cut and the murder charge.
He was in full uniform in the photo too, looking so, so sexy that for a worrying minute I found myself thinking, what exactly is a guy like this doing on a dating website? After all, here was a gorgeous, single man who obviously has plenty of dosh. Surely someone like this could land any woman he wanted?
I had a sudden, disquieting vision of tall, leggy air hostesses with exotic suntans stinking of duty-free perfume, all hurling themselves at him, when next thing there was a mad pounding on my bedroom door and Joy burst in, dressed head to toe in her customary black, right down to the black Converse trainers she rarely takes off. But then Joy is one of the few women I know who’s absolutely comfortable to head out for a date night in flats and not give a shite either way.
‘Hi love, just wanted to ask you … Mother of God, what’s going on in here?’ she asked, taking in the boxes of old photos I’d just unearthed from on top of my wardrobe so I could start sifting the wheat from the chaff, i.e. the ones where I wasn’t wearing my jeans way too high and, more importantly, where my eyeliner didn’t make me look like a complete goth.
‘Ehh, long story, but basically if you could help me root out a photo where I don’t have a glass of wine clamped to my hand, I’d be eternally grateful.’
‘Why, exactly?’ she asked suspiciously.
I didn’t say anything, just threw a guilty little glance towards my laptop sitting innocently on my desk, then waited the two-second delay while the truth dawned on her.
‘Ah for feck’s sake, Holly,’
