mention fucking rude. OK, I know everyone deals with break-ups differently; going out and getting drunk, sleeping around, lying in bed with their cat eating Jaffa Cakes and watching Desperate Housewives on a loop (I’ve gone for the last option).
But pretending you’ve never met that person? Like they’ve never seen you naked? And on the loo? A flashback of Seb sitting on the toilet, with no clothes on, reading the Proust questionnaire from the back of Vanity Fair and shouting to me that there’s no loo roll. I mean, come on, this is me you’re talking to, I think hotly. The girl who came to your rescue with more Andrex.
‘Are you seriously trying to tell me you don’t know who I am?’ I blurt out.
He looks abashed. ‘You have to forgive me, I’m terrible with faces. Sometimes I look in the mirror and don’t even recognise myself.’ He smiles ruefully. ‘Then again, I’m pretty sure I’d remember you if we had met.’
Oh my god, is he flirting with me?
I stare at him aghast. I honestly don’t know what to say. Or how to react. It was bizarre before but now . . .
‘So . . . is it OK?’ He gestures to the free seat next to me.
‘Erm, yeh,’ I nod dumbly. My mind is all over the place, trying to find a logical answer for what’s going on. Maybe Seb got the same advice as I got from Fiona. Pretend like I don’t exist. Forget about me.
Even so, isn’t this a bit extreme ?
‘So, was I nice?’ he says, sitting down.
I look at him in confusion. ‘Excuse me?’
‘When we met?’
I have a sudden urge to grab him by the shoulders and shake him, tell him to act normal. Like once when I was little and Dad was fooling around, pretending to be a scary monster, and I started crying and begged him to be himself again.
‘Er . . .’ I grope around for something to say, but now I’m lost for words.
Only he’s still looking at me, waiting for an answer. As if we’re two strangers making chitchat, not a couple who’ve just broken up.
‘I . . . er . . . can’t really remember, it was a while ago.’ Caught in some bizarre, dream-like scenario, I struggle to form a sentence.
Seb, on the other hand, seems to be having no such problem.
‘Well I hope I was,’ he smiles cheerfully and, sitting down next to me, starts looking at his iPhone.
Conversation over, I sit back in my seat, stunned. I can’t believe what just happened. What is still happening , I remind myself, sneaking a look at him out of the corner of my eye. Maybe I got it wrong. Maybe it’s a case of mistaken identity. After all, isn’t everyone supposed to have a doppelgänger? Maybe this is Seb’s.
I peer at him from under my eyelashes. He’s still looking down at his iPhone and I trace the familiar outline of his face: same golden tan from his frequent skiing trips; same thick blond hair and neatly trimmed sideburns; same strong jaw and sexy cleft in his chin; same habit of distractedly pulling at his eyebrows when he’s concentrating . . .
My heart thumps. The same name is one thing. Same physical appearance is another thing. But the same characteristics?
‘I broke the screen.’ He tuts loudly and turns to look at me, catching me staring.
Startled, I jump. ‘Excuse me?’ I say quickly, grabbing my fringe and trying to hide beneath it.
‘Snowboarding,’ he shrugs, gesturing to the glass on his iPhone that’s shattered. ‘I tried to get an appointment at their store in Regent Street, but they were booked solid till next week. So I raced over here instead.’
He’s talking to me as if everything is completely normal, as if he hasn’t noticed my discomfort. As if he hasn’t noticed it’s me . Tess. The girl he used to spoon before he fell asleep at night . I stare at him in bewilderment. What the hell is going on?
‘Hi, Miss Connelly?’
I look up to see Ali, the technician, standing over me.
‘Oh, hi,’ I try to focus.
‘I think I might have found something,’ he whispers urgently. ‘Everything else was
But pretending you’ve never met that person? Like they’ve never seen you naked? And on the loo? A flashback of Seb sitting on the toilet, with no clothes on, reading the Proust questionnaire from the back of Vanity Fair and shouting to me that there’s no loo roll. I mean, come on, this is me you’re talking to, I think hotly. The girl who came to your rescue with more Andrex.
‘Are you seriously trying to tell me you don’t know who I am?’ I blurt out.
He looks abashed. ‘You have to forgive me, I’m terrible with faces. Sometimes I look in the mirror and don’t even recognise myself.’ He smiles ruefully. ‘Then again, I’m pretty sure I’d remember you if we had met.’
Oh my god, is he flirting with me?
I stare at him aghast. I honestly don’t know what to say. Or how to react. It was bizarre before but now . . .
‘So . . . is it OK?’ He gestures to the free seat next to me.
‘Erm, yeh,’ I nod dumbly. My mind is all over the place, trying to find a logical answer for what’s going on. Maybe Seb got the same advice as I got from Fiona. Pretend like I don’t exist. Forget about me.
Even so, isn’t this a bit extreme ?
‘So, was I nice?’ he says, sitting down.
I look at him in confusion. ‘Excuse me?’
‘When we met?’
I have a sudden urge to grab him by the shoulders and shake him, tell him to act normal. Like once when I was little and Dad was fooling around, pretending to be a scary monster, and I started crying and begged him to be himself again.
‘Er . . .’ I grope around for something to say, but now I’m lost for words.
Only he’s still looking at me, waiting for an answer. As if we’re two strangers making chitchat, not a couple who’ve just broken up.
‘I . . . er . . . can’t really remember, it was a while ago.’ Caught in some bizarre, dream-like scenario, I struggle to form a sentence.
Seb, on the other hand, seems to be having no such problem.
‘Well I hope I was,’ he smiles cheerfully and, sitting down next to me, starts looking at his iPhone.
Conversation over, I sit back in my seat, stunned. I can’t believe what just happened. What is still happening , I remind myself, sneaking a look at him out of the corner of my eye. Maybe I got it wrong. Maybe it’s a case of mistaken identity. After all, isn’t everyone supposed to have a doppelgänger? Maybe this is Seb’s.
I peer at him from under my eyelashes. He’s still looking down at his iPhone and I trace the familiar outline of his face: same golden tan from his frequent skiing trips; same thick blond hair and neatly trimmed sideburns; same strong jaw and sexy cleft in his chin; same habit of distractedly pulling at his eyebrows when he’s concentrating . . .
My heart thumps. The same name is one thing. Same physical appearance is another thing. But the same characteristics?
‘I broke the screen.’ He tuts loudly and turns to look at me, catching me staring.
Startled, I jump. ‘Excuse me?’ I say quickly, grabbing my fringe and trying to hide beneath it.
‘Snowboarding,’ he shrugs, gesturing to the glass on his iPhone that’s shattered. ‘I tried to get an appointment at their store in Regent Street, but they were booked solid till next week. So I raced over here instead.’
He’s talking to me as if everything is completely normal, as if he hasn’t noticed my discomfort. As if he hasn’t noticed it’s me . Tess. The girl he used to spoon before he fell asleep at night . I stare at him in bewilderment. What the hell is going on?
‘Hi, Miss Connelly?’
I look up to see Ali, the technician, standing over me.
‘Oh, hi,’ I try to focus.
‘I think I might have found something,’ he whispers urgently. ‘Everything else was
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