‘The guy’s a dick.’
‘You can’t say that. You don’t know him.’
‘I know his type,’ said Sacha. ‘And his type are all dicks.’
‘He was really nice.’
‘Until he ignored you.’
Laura looked out the cafe window at the first date table, staring at it as though the boy would sit down at it, turn her way and come in. Something awful had happened and he was really sorry about not being in touch, and that he’d love to meet next week, maybe for a drink or a meal. Sundays were good for him. We could do lunch and go for a walk after. Yeah, let’s do that. Lunch and a walk after. I’ll text you.
‘Have you stalked him?’
‘I’m not doing that.’
‘Well, I am.’
‘Sacha, don’t! I don’t want to be like that.’
‘So you don’t want to know if he’s playing you?’
Laura sighed. ‘Fine … maybe.’
Sacha began to type and scroll on her phone. ‘You should have done this ages ago.’
‘It feels creepy.’
‘It’s not creepy. Men are creepy. He would have done the same to you.’
‘He wouldn’t have found much.’
‘Just lots of pictures of you and Josh.’
Josh. Had there still been a Josh there would not have been the need for a first date.
‘You should probably delete those.’
‘I’m not doing that. His family might see.’
‘I’m sure they’ll understand.’
‘I don’t want to upset them.’
‘It’s been three years. They’ll expect you to move on at some point.’
Laura said nothing. Sacha resumed her pursuit of the boy.
‘You’re still coming next week, aren’t you?’
‘Yeah, of course,’ said Sacha, glancing up from her phone. ‘Will it be like last year?’
‘Probably.’
‘I never know what to say.’
‘Don’t worry about it.’
‘Should I take flowers?’
‘Sure.’
‘Or a plant.’
‘Flowers are fine. Thanks.’
Sacha returned to her task. ‘Has he got a sister?’
‘Umm … just brothers.’
‘Right,’ said Sacha, turning her phone. ‘Then who’s that?’
This fictional short story was written for a 50 Day Project organised by the artist Amanda Billing. I get 45 minutes to an hour (not the project’s rules, it’s just about the time I have right now) to write a story, sometime between 4.30am and 5.30am. After that, the day is no longer mine.
N.B. The sketch image for this short story was created using AI (at best, I can draw a half-decent stick man). The words are all mine.
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