‘What’s his name?’ asked Abigail.
‘Fraser,’ said Liv, feeling a squirm of something in her gut at the sound of his name. They were still getting to know each other but there was something about his messages and their connection that made her feel this could be the start of something special. After her last dating disaster she was trying to be cautious, which was difficult given Fraser ticked all her boxes.
‘Tell us more,’ urged Charlotte.
‘He’s from Scotland. He’s a chef with his own restaurant. We both like reading, Mariah Carey and holidaying in Spain. He had a bad break-up so he wants to take things slowly, but he’s kind and caring and he sends me the cutest messages.’ Just talking about him was giving her all the feels.
‘Photos! We need photos,’ demanded Charlotte.
‘Not dick pics though,’ added Abigail quickly.
‘He’s not like that,’ Liv said. In between Pierre and Fraser there had been two men who had quickly introduced themselves and sent her a close-up of their favourite body part. Why men thought that was attractive was beyond her.
Liv got her phone out and opened up the dating app they’d been using to chat. He’d had an issue with his phone so they’d not exchanged numbers yet. But the app was fine and at the start it had actually been reassuring that she’d not had to give out any personal details other than her full name – Olivia Bingham. Only people she was close to got to call her Liv, although Fraser was fast approaching that status.
They messaged every night and whilst she’d been keen to talk on the phone, he’d admitted that he wasn’t much of a talker – so the messaging worked just fine. That little bit of anticipation as she waited for a response was oddly exciting. She was chatty, some might say gobby, so it was probably best that they didn’t talk directly. The messaging meant it was a more balanced exchange. There were also frequent exchanges during the day. Some encouraging her if she was feeling a bit down, some flirty, and others were quite funny. It wasn’t a conventional relationship but after what she’d been through this felt like a safer way to get to know someone. And while she didn’t like to think of herself as superficial, hedidlook hot in his profile picture. She’d initially been attracted by his auburn hair – a very similar shade to her own. He had the most stunning blue eyes she’d ever seen and a well-groomed beard.
Fraser had a sort of ruggedness about his features, not that she’d studied his tiny picture for hours on end. Okay maybe a couple more hours than was healthy, one of the many dangers of working from home. She was keen to show him off to her friends and was speedily navigating the app. For some reason Liv couldn’t get his details to come up. She also couldn’t seem to find their lengthy message thread. The app was likely playing up so she refreshed it and waited impatiently for it to reload. Still nothing. His profile, along with their messages, was gone.
An icy sensation crept over her and settled in her gut. ‘What’s wrong?’ asked Charlotte, quickly sensing all was not well.
‘It’s gone. His picture has been deleted and all of our messages,’ Liv said in a small, defeated voice.
‘Ghosted again?!’ said Abigail with a hiccup.
The phrase shot alarm through her. This couldn’t be right. It couldn’t have happenedagain. Could it?
2
After a fitful night’s sleep, Liv woke with a dull pain in her head, thanks to the Prosecco, and an acute ache in her heart, thanks to Fraser.
She also had a whopping great dent in her already battered ego. She huffed and flopped back on her pillows. Reality was not being particularly kind: she was living in her sister’s spare room, driving a clapped-out Fiesta, working her backside off at a job that never quite took off, and to make mattersevenworse, she had a love life worthy of any agony aunt column. She felt like a complete and utter loser. She really wanted to believe everything Charlotte and Abigail had said last night; it wasn’t her fault, it was men being horrible, and she wasn’t a shit magnet. Being ghosted once was clearly bad luck. But to have it happen twice – it was hard not to conclude that she was the common denominator.
She wasn’t the prettiest but she also didn’t look like a cow’s backside. She frequently received lovely comments about her long, auburn hair. The remarks were somewhat in contrast to the teasing she’d endured at school – where she had been called everything from ‘ginger nut’ to ‘Ron Weasley’, none of them very original. She was a bit of a talker, perhaps that was what put them off. She wished she knew because all she could see stretching ahead of her was an endless cycle of her being dumped and having no idea why. Actually, being dumped would have been a whole lot better than being ghosted. When they just disappeared she didn’t even get the chance to ask why, or to vent her anger and hurt.
There was a tap on the bedroom door and Charlotte’s face appeared.
‘Hey, you. I made you some toast and a large cuppa.’ She put the offerings on the nightstand and sat down. ‘How are you feeling?’
‘Like I’ve won the grand prize for biggest loser in the world – ever.’
‘Seriously? It’s not that bad. It’s just some random bloke. What does he know?’
‘Apparently the same as Pierre.’
‘He was another idiot. Liv, you are better than them. You need to pick yourself up, dust yourself down and get on with your life.’
Liv harrumphed from her pillow. ‘I think I’ll be doing some wallowing first. A day in bed is probably what I need. I’m owed some wallowing time surely?’
‘That won’t make you feel any better,’ Charlotte said, sounding all school-teachery.
‘I sure as hell can’t feel any worse.’
‘I’ve just been to the gym so I’m going to have a shower, then I’ve got a work call for an hour or so. After that I’m expecting to see you up and dressed.’
‘Why?’ asked Liv.
‘Because life goes on, little sister,’ said Charlotte, and she almost skipped from the room.
