The apology-in-advance email from Ben, when it came, as you and I both knew it would, made its appearance in my in-box just before lunch the next day. Standing me up seemed to be a male line trait in their family. I just had a feeling that if it wasn’t going to be Richard letting me down for the dinner date tomorrow night, then it would be Ben coming up with an excuse for why we couldn’t do it. And I hadn’t forgotten that Ben still owed me a proper apology for standing me up in the bar – however, I wasn’t pushing that because he might ask me what I’d done instead of sitting around waiting for him, and I wasn’t ready to tell him about my new friend Zoe. She was going to be my little secret! If I couldn’t talk to Jen and everyone about Ben and the things I had been getting up to recently, then at least Zoe represented someone I could talk to.
So, back to the email. It sat there, resplendent in bold text, simply daring me to click on it and open it up. A virtual Pandora’s box for the information age. Should I click on it, and let loose on the world the ills contained therein, or do I have the fortitude to ignore it and simply delete it, consigning it to the trashcan frustrated?
Unfortunately the preview pane was turned on so I could se everything it said straightaway.
It was a one line invitation to meet at a bar close by for lunch. No hello, no how are you, no apologies for standing me up, just “I’ll see you at twelve-thirty” and named a very old, out of the way pub in the city centre, between the car parks and the building sites. ‘Quiet and secluded’ was one way to describe this pub; ‘abandoned and forgotten’ is probably a better way though. Of course, there was no way I was going to meet him. The invitation was downright rude and he probably wouldn’t even bother turning up. Nope, I would stay in my office with the pasta salad I’d prepared this morning and read The Guardian.
