Chapter 23

After an agonising Saturday afternoon and evening spent trying to make sense of what’s just happened, I predictably have an unsettled night. This leaves me feeling less than refreshed for my date with Matt the next morning. The good news, however, is that the weather has settled into a nice calm, sunny-but-chill day. While I wait for my buzzer to announce his arrival, my mind resumes whirring over my dilemma like an overworked CPU.

This would be an impossible predicament in any normal set of circumstances: choosing between going back to something that made me so happy pre-diagnosis, and something new and exciting but very much uncharted territory. The outcome of either is impossible to predict. I then have the added uncertainty of my MS.

Dom asked if Matt knew, and throughout the previous day I pondered his motives for this. Was it to give him the upper hand? To knock me off my perch, so I’d see him as the only realistic option? As soon as I think it, I brush these questions aside; that’s not Dom’s style, he wins by putting in the hard work. And his question is a fair one: one I’ve already allowed to get in the way, which Sasha then helped me see beyond. But Sasha’s a romantic. Dom’s more pragmatically minded, like me – though I’ve been wondering recently whether I’m losing my touch. Am I kidding myself thinking this thing with Matt could have any kind of happy ever after?

The buzzer sounds, signalling Matt’s arrival, and I stop dead. Should I make an excuse? This initial instinct matches the logic, no matter what way I look at it. Then my conversation with Sasha floats into my mind: it’s just dating; it doesn’t need to go anywhere.

‘For goodness sake,’ I cry out loud. ‘When did I become this overthinking, indecisive idiot? Just go on the date and don’t think a moment beyond it.’

I grab my bag from the sofa and march out of my apartment, letting Matt know I’m on my way as I do.

‘How are you?’ I greet him as I emerge into the cold air, wrapped up in my grey puffer jacket, scarf and gloves.

He’s leaning casually on the roof of his VW Golf, dressed in similar outdoorsy gear to what he was wearing on the train when we first met. It makes him look so strong and handsome. I feel an immediate flutter in my stomach.

‘I’m great. You?’ He walks round the car and gives me the same electric-shock-inducing greeting as on Friday night – a lingering kiss on the cheek, hand gently touching my upper arm.

‘Bit tired. But otherwise good.’

‘Bad night?’

I immediately regret admitting to this. ‘Didn’t sleep as well as usual. Nothing to bother about.’

‘The fresh air will sort you out. I’ve been on a few walking holidays with the boys and while open campfires and cosy pubs are perfect for beers and banter, you never feel quite as clever the next day. The outdoors clears the thickest of heads.’