Free A Passionate Love Affair with a Total Stranger by Lucy Robinson Page A

being cooped up here with nothing to do … God.’ He shuddered.
    In spite of myself, I laughed. ‘I’m just a born doer. It’s how I roll, man. I ain’t no freak.’
    ‘I know. But when you’re not doing you
are
a freak. A monster. One of the worst I’ve ever encountered.’
    This was fair.
    There was a companionable silence.
    ‘Um, Chas.’
    ‘Yes?’ An awkward flush was spreading across his face.
    ‘I … we … have been wondering how you’re feeling about, erm, stuff. Ness told me you were spouting shit in hospital about having wasted your life …’ He was picking at a burnt onion. ‘I know you don’t want to talk about it but … mffppfff …’ He trailed off and it occurred to me that I’d probably never seen him look so uncomfortable.
    And I felt suddenly ashamed. What kind of a monster was I? Poor, lovely, silly Sam had gone to war with a sack of potatoes and a box of eggs – all for me – but was afraid to ask how I
was
?
    ‘Sam, you can ask me how I am! The only reason I said, “I don’t want to talk about it,” is that there
is
nothing to talk about. That stuff I said to Ness was just a load of self-pitying bollocks! I was still off my face.’
    He raised an eyebrow, but failed to make eye contact with me. Instead he scooped up a very large piece of egg with his fingers, dipped it into a pool of sauce and shovelled it into his mouth.
    ‘Sam,’ I tried again, determined that he should believe me, ‘things are great for me. I’ve started my own business, I’m managing to have Mandarin lessons and my physio
says I’m way ahead of schedule with the crutches. I should be going back to work soon! I’ll definitely be there in time for the Simitol launch! My life is fine!’
    Sam looked very relieved. ‘Excellent, Chas.’
    I found myself hoping fiercely that he believed me. My life
was
fine. Not only was I continuing language classes and running a business, I was writing a blog and consistently meeting my reading target of one historical novel a week (anything low-brow had to be extra)
and
I’d started up an anonymous Twitter account, which had gained more than two hundred followers in five weeks. I might not be able to do as much as usual, but I’d not been anywhere near as bored as I’d predicted.
    I rather prided myself on being so busy and creative even when bed-bound.
    Later, after poor Sam had shovelled me sideways into bed from The Tank, I fired up my laptop. Pants-jizzing Iain had replied to Joanna already (of course) and was waiting, breathlessly, for ‘her’ response. ‘Member online right now!!’ screamed his profile. I felt a little bit sorry for poor old Iain, pacing around his bedroom in Tooting, refreshing his browser every few minutes ‘just to be sure’. He was definitely in Internet love, that one.
    My younger sister, Katy, had tried Internet dating last year, not because she needed to, but simply because, in her words, it looked ‘fucking hilarious!’. But she had scrapped her profile two weeks later because she’d ‘fallen in Internet love three times in a fucking fortnight! Mental!’ She had reported all-night email conversations and social situations where she’d been unable to listen to a
word that anyone was saying, so busy was she checking her phone. Apparently she had even spent an afternoon casually strolling up and down Columbia Road because some boy she had ‘fallen for’ worked there and she couldn’t wait three more days until their date.
    Katy wasn’t mad. Young, yes, irresponsible, definitely … but mad, no. Internet love must, therefore, be a phenomenon.
    When I’d hauled Matty in for Hailey, I’d seen just how real this phenomenon was. In spite of the fact that he was a landscape gardener who was out in the wilds of Fife all day, he appeared to be online all the time and always responded in seconds. (Knowing Matty, he’d probably rustled up a Wi-Fi hotspot in the grounds of Falkland Palace using a coat-hanger and an egg box.)
    And