It starts to rain, so I wait for a bus at the bus stop. I’m just wondering how to document this – how to make it more exceptional, more meaningful, more like an actual moment in life, when my phone pings with an email and—

You know when you just know?

Hi.

Hi.

How are you?

Peachy.

I’m sorry you had to find out like that. It can’t have been very nice.

Thank you for understanding. And being patronising. I appreciate it.

Can we please talk on the phone?

No. We barely did when we were together so what’s the point in starting now?

To acknowledge our new relationship as friends.

Right-oh. So I suppose Suzanne knows we fucked last month?

I thought we were going to be cool about that?

People change their minds, Art. Often in the most inconvenient ways.

I just wish we could draw a line under the negativity and move on. I want you to meet Suzanne. I think you will like her. She’s very kind.

Are you trying to make me feel better or worse, telling me that? Is her kindness testament to your goodness, or is it indicative of my future pleasure in her company?

Haha. I still like how you talk, Jenny.

Thanks?

Let me know when you are ready to talk properly, with me xx

I’ll try x

Hope work is going okay? And I saw your mum is staying, hope that’s going okay?

Of course

Now THAT I’d like to read about xx

Thanks for the encouragement

X x x x

DRAFTS

Art,

DO NOT LINE-OF-KISSES ME. That does not constitute a sign-off. Oh thank you for bestowing your almighty kisses on me – shame you could not be arsed to compose ACTUAL WORDS, you illiterate blowhard.

Jx

ON THE BUS

I see a kid trying to use the window as a screen. He is two or three, in a little red mac. I watch him pressing and swiping across the misted-up glass, his finger-trails streaking through the condensation. I watch him become gradually more frustrated and confused as things pass behind the window, out of his control. His mother sits staring at her phone, unaware of his predicament. Eventually the kid gives up, and sits staring sadly out of the window as though it is just a window.

I feel his pain.

TABS

I open the front door to see a pile of bills on the mat, stretching up the hall. There are bills on the radiator shelf. How have I not noticed? Credit cards and god knows what. I can’t bear to open them.

Nor can I bear to tell my mother I have been fired.