‘It is better,’ Fran intervenes. ‘He’s got back to you. If he wanted nothing to do with you, he wouldn’t have replied at all. This shows he’s still interested, but wounded. You need to tread carefully.’
‘What shall I say?’
‘Ask him if you can talk. And be humble about it, babe. Don’t get all snarky like you do, sometimes.’
I look at Adam to see what he thinks and he shrugs. ‘I say you cut your losses and aim higher.’
I raise an eyebrow. ‘Higher than a chartered accountant who works for one of the Big Four, who also happens to be over six foot and really sweet and generous?’
‘Whatever. I’m six three.’
Fran and I look at each other, and yawn, ‘We know!’
It’s the end of the day when I work up the courage to text Hamza back with, I’m really sorry for what happened the other day. Can we please talk?
His reply comes within seconds. OK.
It’s obvious he’s pissed off, and I don’t blame him. I know we only met three times, but we spoke on the phone quite a bit, and it wasn’t nice for him to come all the way to North London to support my career, only to be antagonised by Adam and then Mo. At the very least I owe him an explanation, if not an apology.
I call him when I get out of the office and he answers on the third ring.
‘Hey,’ I say, forcing myself to sound upbeat as I walk towards the bus stop.
‘Hey,’ he replies quietly.
‘Are you free? Do you wanna meet up in Central?’ I feel a bit nauseous suggesting this. I wasn’t planning on chatting to him face to face – it would be too excruciating – but it kind of makes sense that we do.
‘I can’t, sorry.’ He doesn’t sound sorry. He sounds vexed.
‘OK, then.’ I take a deep breath. ‘Look, I’m really sorry about what happened at the event. I’m mortified and I can’t imagine what you’re thinking.’
‘Can’t you?’
‘Well, I can. I have a pretty overactive imagination, after all. But obviously I don’t know exactly what’s going through your mind.’
‘I’ll give you a clue. I feel like you’ve been taking me for a ride, talking to me and a million other guys at the same time.’
Ouch. He’s not going to hold back then. ‘OK. I can see why you feel like that.’
‘Am I wrong?’
‘Yes. Sort of. Not a million, one other, but it was an online thing. I never invited him to come to my event. I was as surprised as you were.’
‘Yet he felt comfortable enough to turn up.’
‘Hamza! Come on, be fair. We’ve only met three times! You know I’m looking to get married. It’s normal to talk to a few people at the same time – until things get serious, anyway. Are you telling me you stopped looking elsewhere the moment you met me?’
‘Pretty much.’
‘Oh.’
‘Well, it’s good to know where I stand.’
The conversation continues in a similar manner, so much so that I start to wonder why I’m trying to get through to someone who doesn’t want to listen. Has he always been this black and white about everything, and I hadn’t noticed?
By the time we hang up, I’ve been standing at the bus stop for over an hour and he still doesn’t understand where I’m coming from.