We ate cheap tasteless bread. We moaned about lecturers. We said we’d jog at the start of each term. We didn’t. We drank too much. We worked through the night. We slept through the day. We ran on medicine. We travelled home with bags of dirty washing. We kissed. We argued. We made up. We fell in love. We said it would be forever. We didn’t do well at the end of our second year. We fell out. We spent time apart. We made up. We flirted. We danced. We cycled together. We raced. We got warning letters from missed lectures. We argued. We ate noodles. We drank coffee. We were worn out. We said it would last forever. We both wanted different things. We went into hibernation. We worked. We missed each other. We worked. We cycled. We knew something had changed. We were coming apart. We argued. We kissed. We cried. We said we wished it could last forever. We rode on our bikes for the rest of the day. We laughed.
I went to meet him bang on time. He wasn’t there. And hell is he going to get away with it. I kept my composure though, ordered myself a skinny flat white, found the cleanest seat I could and have decided that this has worked out well for me. I haven’t had some me time in a long while. I deserve it. I run a publishing company. I don’t have time for childish games. If a man, boy, asks me to go out for a coffee with him and I say ‘fine’, I expect him to meet me. He doesn’t deserve me. A young waiter with a peculiar shaped nose, too many freckles and blushed cheeks, walks over to me.
“What do you want?” I ask as he stares at me.
“Um, are you Mrs Preston?”
“Ms,” I correct him, raising my eyebrows.
“Yes, um, of course. Sorry.”
“Spit it out,” I sigh.
“A Kevin Peters is on the phone. He said you would be waiting for him.”
“I am not waiting for anyone.”
He doesn’t listen.
“He told me to pass on a message. He said that he is very sorry but he’s been in a car accident and is suffering severe injuries.”
He turns and walks away.