Next!

Next!

In secondary school, there was a boy in my class who I was friends with. I liked him a lot and he really fancied me. I promised him that we would get together in 2000 if neither of us had a steady partner. It seemed to me like ages away.

It was 2004 and I met him in the pub in my home town where I was spending that summer. He walked straight over to me and reminded me of my promise. I was going through a dry spell at the time and he had turned into a man – no longer the spotty farmer's son obsessed with tractors but a blonde surfer looking type with a body just the right side of skinny and bright blue eyes. He had turned his love for HGVs into a successful career in long distance haulage and split his time between Europe and our home town. I needed a distraction that summer, just having split with a long term boyfriend. And so, we went on a date.

It was fantastic. We were snogging outside the pub when my Mum arrived to give me a lift home. (Flashback to 1993 – third year school disco) For a few weeks we re-discovered our friendship and more stuff that we never would have thought of doing in school. And then suddenly, I began to feel him slipping away from me.

At first, it was just indiscernible signs that he was no longer as interested. People told me that he had been in the pub where I worked but on my night off, chatting to another girl who worked there (I had introduced them). I began to see small sparks of attraction between them out of the corner of my eye, in my peripheral vision. I knew what was happening. But instead of confronting him about it, I went out with my sister, drank twelve vodka and cokes and got off with another good looking guy who had a steady girlfriend. In a strange way that was my revenge on the girl that I had been compared against. Totally irrational.

A few days later, the inevitable happened. He guiltily told me that it wasn't working out. I knew at that moment that everything depended on my reaction, and keeping my pride intact was the best thing I could do at that time. It felt like he had skewered me through the stomach and as we watched my guts dripping onto the stone flagging beneath our feet he stumbled and stuttered and made silly excuses that I really could have done without. I turned to him with a bright smile and told him that it was fine, I thought it was just a bit of fun and anyway, I was moving down south the next month to start my PGCE. Then I went home and stared at the wall for a really long time.

So, anyway, without knowing it, I was doing The Rules – pretending that it didn't matter, that he didn't matter. Knowing that matching his indifference was crucial at that point.

Recently I've been thinking about that moment again – as it looks like the hot Facebook guy who I've mentioned in previous blogs has run for the hills and won't be coming back. I don't know why. All I know is that there has been no contact for a week. My friends seem to think that he's just sorting himself out, he's getting out of this long relationship and needs time. Personally I think he's just taking time to get himself out of the situation he got himself into with me. So it's NEXT! And I'll say it again and again until I can't say it any more.

I'll plaster that bright smile on my face to cover the disappointment and cover myself with the single lady's armour – red lipstick and heels. I'll reconstruct that brittle exterior, that independent 'don't fuck with me' attitude that I've worked so hard to cultivate. I'm off to spend a week with F in the big city and I know that after a couple of nights out dancing, long lunches with plenty of wine and a few days of long, heartfelt analysis of why men are so rubbish (and why they leave wet towels on the floor) I'll be fine. In a few days I'll be back to my old bouncy self.

I recently found out that my childhood friend with whom I had that brief fling married the girl that he dumped me for and they have two kids. I don't quite know how I feel about that. Maybe they were meant for each other all along and I was just a brief distraction in their meant-to-be togetherness. If so then I'm glad I helped them find each other. Really I am.