‘The beast of your digital anxiety.’

‘As a friend you should give me what I need. I would give it to you.’

‘You need help.’

‘That’s not funny.’

‘I’m not joking. Do therapists not specialise in this yet? Is there not social media rehab? There should be.’

‘It’s called motherhood.’

Kelly was silent for a moment and then she said, ‘You’re making more and more digs like that, I do hope you realise.’

Art said:

Why the changes in font sizes?

It was because I made notes in my phone and then cut and pasted them to create the perfect work.

I mailed back:

I have no idea! Life is full of mystique

I stared at the message for hours, lamenting the fact I hadn’t used the word ‘mystery’. Mystery was indeed the far superior word. Sometimes the simpler word was the more effective word. Argh! Why was it always necessary to actually fuck up before you saw your gravest fuck-ups?

The first time he tweeted me, it was his first tweet in two months.

@thejenniferMcLaine YOU.

That full stop. That full stop had me in A FURY OF PLEASURE. It was a hard black sun of decisive cocklonging.

He continued

Are a goddess. I am a drunk loser on a piano stool.

I fired off:

Get a grip, Tom Waits

I gasped after I’d sent it. I kind of couldn’t believe my own gumption. I’d sort of done it without thinking. Even though I was getting into him, that sort of I’m such a loser shtick pissed me off, you know? It’s like all those people who make out they’re ‘such geeks’ (I’m such a geek!) online, as though they’re wearing braces aged thirty-two and gawking around in striped tights. What they’re really saying is, ‘I’m clever even though I’m stylish. Do not be fooled by my attractiveness!’ And what Art was really saying was, ‘I’m cool even though I’m commercial!’ I still listen to Tom Waits’ music. And all those other sad old men with their self-indulgent songs. Anyway, Art fucking loved my disdain.

He replied:

I have so much respect and admiration for you, Jennifer.

I mean.

How the mighty fall.

I started emailing him every day, whether he replied or not. I sent him links to songs and playlists he might like. I sent him my funniest YouTube videos, decades in the gathering. I gave him advice on how to host his first cocktail party, an email that took me six hours and three drafts to write. It was one page long, with pictures and links. The effort!

He didn’t say he’d made the cocktails. He did say:

I have been looking at pictures of you online to while away the time.

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A