Guess where I am

She’s sent a picture of a chrome wheel on a polished concrete floor and it looks familiar, but I can’t quite place it.

Send me another clue.

I shouldn’t encourage her, but she’s been messaging me since Monday and each one is so much fun – the emojis that replace punctuation, her relentless expression of all the feels that veer wildly from breathless joy to deepest despair. I try to be a steadying influence with my replies.

Within a few seconds, another photo pops up: a muscular arm covered in wild cactus tattoos.

My hairdresser’s arm. So the wheel was from his snazzy chair.

You’re with Pepe! Hooray! How is it going?

He is amazing and he has nearly finished and I am scared to see it

I know he’ll have done the best job. Send me a picture of the final result!

I hope, for Casey’s sake, that her mum approves – and for Pepe’s sake too. I wouldn’t want anyone else to be on the receiving end of that woman’s wrath.

Come and see it yourself if you want

I told Casey that I live round the corner from the salon.

After what happened with your mum on Monday it’s better that I don’t do that.

Mum is having a bad day so she hasn’t come and I’m here with my dad and we are getting pastries afterwards at the cafe you love and I can get him to buy you one to say thank you

I stare at the screen.

Her dad.

Dan.

Here it comes again: that wave of warmth that spreads from my face all the way down to between my legs. Proper lust.

My theory about the fertility hormones causing it is possible, except this feels like the real thing. I start composing a polite no message in my head, but before I finish typing, she’s sent another one:

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE I want you to see it because Mum will freak even if it is actually nice and my dad will say it is nice even if it isn’t and I cant trust anyone to tell me the truth except you

No one could say no to that. And I reckon Casey knows it.

OK but I can’t stay long. Shall I bring Bear?

She sends me a row of dog emojis back.

I need time to work out where my head’s at, and the cafe is around the corner from me, so I take Bear in the opposite direction. Walking has always helped me to think more clearly.

So . . . that chance encounter with Dan rattled me because I am hormonal and he looks like a film star. And yes, after I realized he was Casey’s father I was consumed by rage. I’m not usually an angry person, so I could put that down to hormones too.

But today I’m calmer and the chances are Dan won’t even remember me, so all I have to do is say hello to Casey, admire her hair, ignore him and go straight back home. Do not pass Go, do not collect a cheese and mushroom croissant.