by Helga Jensen
Good evening,
I saw the media appeal for Patrick. Well, you found him!
I remember meeting a beautiful girl in 2000. She was so cute. I waited for her to call for so long, but she never did. I never forgot her. I didn’t know her name, but I often thought of her. I would have tracked her down to the moon if I could have. My beautiful British girl. I am so happy to have finally found her. Please contact me as soon as you get this. I can’t wait any longer. Drop me an email, call me, whatever, contact details below.
Yours always,
Patrick x
I need to message him back, find out a bit more information, but it all sounds quite credible. Sian was right: I think we have found Patrick. I ignore all the other messages waiting for me. I don’t know why, but I have the feeling that this is the one. I don’t need to look any further. He is my Patrick. I can’t quite believe it. I look at his photo. It is as if we have met before. My tummy does somersaults as I study him. Why, oh why would I not ring him when we met? He’s gorgeous! Looking at him I think of my previous life. The one before I met Dick, when everything was an adventure. What has happened to me? I seem to have lost myself. I lost myself being a mother, a wife and a part-time staff member at the bookshop. Seeing this message reminds me of who I was. The real Amelia with dreams. I was full of fun and laughter once long ago. Maybe I wasn’t brimming with confidence, otherwise I would have met up with Patrick and followed my nursing dream, but I know that I was a different person to who I am now.
I feel the urgent need to write back immediately in case he disappears again. I don’t want to lose him a second time. Maybe he will give me everything I have been missing – or he could be very married. If he is single, would he make my loneliness and heartbreak disappear? He suddenly feels like the escape I need and so I eagerly enter the email address he has given and start writing.
Dear Patrick,
Delete, too formal.
Hello Patrick,
Yes, that’s better.
Thanks so much for getting in touch. I can’t believe it’s you after all this time!
Do you remember Tiffany’s? It was such a beautiful day when we met. That taxi driver was so miserable. Are yellow cab drivers always like that?
So, what’s been happening? Are you a journalist I seem to remember? Are you married? Do you have children?
I don’t know what else to write. Perhaps it is a little early to say I am divorced and talk about the boys, etc. I don’t even know the guy that well. Yes, that’s enough for now. He has my direct email, so the ball is in his court to contact me back.
Anyway, lovely to hear from you.
Love,
Amelia x
I press send and await his response. I wonder what time it is in the States at the moment. Hopefully, he will reply with more information soon and then we can slowly get to know each other. I can’t wait for him to respond. Sian was right: this is fun.
I feel a little guilty for being so happy, as one of my other messages has informed me that Jane arrived home early last night to find Markus with a woman on their sofa. I do consider myself slightly responsible, as I was the one who gave her all that vodka and tequila and the reason that she left earlier than planned. I didn’t want her to find out like this, but Markus was being quite blatant about it all. Jane has now taken the children and is staying with her parents. I will give her a call later to see how she is. I am aware of how she will be feeling right now.
I hope Perfect Patrick doesn’t have anyone in his life. I know he is only a pen pal at the moment, but I wouldn’t want any partner of his getting the wrong idea. Even though I secretly hope he is single, I don’t want to upset anyone. At least my message is written in a friendly manner. It is not like I have asked him to have WhatsApp sex or anything, unlike Dick and Tanja.
* * *
Ten hours later and there is still no reply from Perfect Patrick. Roxanne has messaged saying they already have some responses from the newspaper. I think I am going to have to tell her the news before too long.
By the time I go to bed there is still no response from Perfect Patrick. Strange, but I suppose I have gone over twenty years without being in touch, another day isn’t going to make a difference.
I think about his smile, his eyes, and that beautiful hair of his. I do hope I hear from him soon. Perhaps my email wasn’t direct enough. Does he realise that I am waiting for a response? Maybe I should have ended with an instruction, such as, I await your reply. Or, I eagerly await your reply – no, too keen. This is my first email to him and I am already useless at communication. But how are you supposed to write to someone gorgeous? I’m too embarrassed to ask Sian or anyone for advice. Sian would find it funny that I’m so out of the dating game that I can no longer communicate with a man. Are there any books you can buy that tell you how to communicate in a friendly and not overtly flirty way? The only letters I have received have been from lawyers over the past year or so. I am not used to communicating with a potential love interest. The only communicating Dick and I did more recently involved shouting. This is a whole new world to me.
Oh, come on Patrick, write back. I promise to be more forward if only you will reply.
Chapter 11
A mysterious location – WhatsApp
Monday
Remember me????
Sure.
I bet you’re still hot. I’m sorry I didn’t take you up on that date.
Lol, no issues.
So, is it too late to see you now?
Are you serious?
Well, if you don’t ask, you don’t get.
Okay, sure. Are you here at the moment?
No, but I can arrange to come and see you.
Oh, okay. Send me a photo. I don’t even know what you look like anymore.
Tuesday
Beautiful pic, you have a lovely smile.
Aww, thank you. You’re so sweet.
I’m a journo, I have a way with words ☺
Shame you’re not a surgeon, you might have a way with your hands!
Ooh, naughty. I like it.
I’m always naughty.
Nice ☺
Wednesday
I like messaging you. I wish we’d met before.
Thanks, it’s been fun hearing from you.
So, what you doing today?
Predicting a crash on Wall Street. Not very exciting stuff.
So cool. I looked for some of your articles online. Couldn’t find them :(
Oh, honey, these damn paywalls. You have to subscribe and pay for the newspaper.
Ah, okay. Shame.
So, what’s my honey doing today?
Messaging you, listening to the rain.
Sounds like typical British summer weather to me, I bet you’re drinking tea – total cliche. ☺
No, a Pinot Grigio actually.
At this time in the day? I guess we do have a time difference between us. Listen, I have to run to a meeting now, honey. Speak soon!
Byeee, have a great day.
X
Thursday
So, did Wall Street crash yesterday?
Lol, no, not yet!
Hope your meeting went well.
It was only my boss, total slave driver.
Don’t work too hard, you’ll need some energy if I come over!
Lol. You really are a naughty one, aren’t you! You’re coming over?
Maybe we should get to know each other a little first, hey ☺
Maybe. But why take things slowly? Imagine what would happen in person!!!!!
Sounds tempting ☺
XXXX
Friday
Good morning, how was your evening?
Not as exciting as chatting to you, honey.
Nice. You know what to say.
Well, I have been published in all the best newspapers.
Woah, I’m super impressed. I don’t know how you have time to message me.
I like to take a break every now and again from
the stressful deadlines ☺
I’m glad to hear it.
Please send me some articles if I can’t get them online.
Hey, I have to get back to work now, let’s speak tomorrow.
Definitely. I’ll miss you till then xxx
Message me when you wake up. Speak soon. XX
Chapter 12
Sian’s house – the moment of truth
‘You’d better explain everything right now, Sian,’ I demand.
I keep staring at her phone in disbelief. I can’t stop myself from shaking my head in disgust. Had I not seen the name Patrick pop up when I was looking at the selfie of her and Rob at dinner last night, I would have been none the wiser.
‘Okay, okay. I just may have messaged Patrick.’ Her normal confident persona has been replaced with someone I don’t recognise. She is meeker and seems to have acquired a nervous laugh suddenly.
‘Why would you message Patrick when you knew I was waiting for him to email me back?’ I ask. I can’t get my head around this at all.
‘Look at his messages. He clearly likes you. Read again what he said about your photo. “Nice smile”. Aww.’
‘Sian, don’t change the subject. Tell me why you would do such a stupid thing.’
‘I knew if I left it to you then you’d be all polite and nice. I just wanted to get things moving along a bit, that’s all. I’m sorry,’ says Sian.
‘But we know nothing about him. He might be married for all we know. What is wrong with you?’
I am so upset with her. I don’t know when she was thinking of telling me. It is so fortunate for me that I saw Patrick pop up on her WhatsApp, or goodness knows how far it would have escalated. God forbid, she may have sent him nudes next and passed them off as me.
‘Come on, I was only trying to help. I’d never hurt you. Surely you realise that,’ says Sian.
‘I know you wouldn’t mean to hurt me, but can’t you leave it to me? He’s going to think I’m a right floozy now. What sort of start to any kind of relationship with him is this?’
Sian doesn’t reply and looks away, her bottom lip jutting out. A habit she has when she doesn’t get her way.
‘I’m sorry, I just wanted to help. I want you to be happy. Look how miserable you’ve been lately. I thought we could have some fun and encourage him a bit.’
‘Encourage him with me flying to New York for sex? Is that what you mean?’ I ask incredulously.
How on earth could Sian be so naïve? We know nothing about the man. Sian might not always think of the consequences when she is up to something, but this is something else. What must he think of me? I don’t even know that we can recover from this. How on earth can I contact him ever again after her flirty messages? She has given off the wrong impression of me entirely.
I don’t normally storm out of Sian’s house, but I need some breathing space from her. She might be my best friend, but sometimes she oversteps the mark and this is just too much. She has always been the same. This feels just like when we were sixteen. She told me that the school heartthrob, Kevin Williams, wanted to meet me outside the chippy for a date. She knew how much of a crush I had on him and I spent hours doing my hair. I turned up and he asked me what the ‘F’ I was doing there as he was there to meet Sian and proceeded to walk off. I cried all the way home. Sian insisted she meant well and was simply trying to fix us up. I didn’t think I would ever forgive her then either. I slam her front door and walk out into the fresh air. I don’t know what to think anymore. I can’t even trust my best friend at times.
* * *
At home I get the biggest spoon I can find. I know I shouldn’t.
Ah, Nutella. Why is it so easy to get through one of these massive jars in one go?
I feel truly lonely. The boys are at Dick’s and I miss their company. When we were together as a family, we used to have a takeaway on a Saturday night, followed by watching some reality contest on TV. Now, every other weekend, they are over there, with Dick and Tanja Tart. The house is so empty without the boys. Maybe I should take up salsa dancing, or some kind of hobby to get me out when they are not here.
My phone keeps bleeping and I know it’s Sian. I munch on some Pringles and sip some wine before reluctantly picking it up.
I see that she has forwarded me the WhatsApp chat, along with a huge apology. She states that she had no choice but to do this, as she knows that Patrick is what I need in my life. She says that sometimes a person is destined to come into your life at a certain point in time. Even if it doesn’t work out, right then, at that point in your life, that person is meant for you. Like a guardian angel, only without wings and carrying a Creme Egg. That does make me smile, but she is not off the hook entirely. Especially as I told her that I was disappointed Patrick hadn’t replied. The number of times she sat there with a completely straight face, telling me she was sure that he would get in touch soon. Perhaps that is what hurts me the most: the lies.
As I read through the messages they have been sending each other, I die of embarrassment.
Shame you’re not a surgeon, you might have a way with your hands, oh my, Sian. What an awful thing to say.
I take a sneaky look at Patrick’s WhatsApp profile. I can’t help but wish there was another photo of him. Instead, he has a poem, which I googled and discovered is Keats. It seems to be about dying, which is quite morbid.
When I have fears that I may cease to be,
Before my pen has glean’d my teeming brain,
Before high-piled books, in charactery,
Hold like rich garners the full ripen’d grain.
My WhatsApp profile has a picture of a cute fluffy dog, which I hope would portray that I like cute fluffy things. It is a little difficult to work out what Patrick’s profile means. A poem doesn’t give much away, except for the fact that he likes poetry. I suppose he is a writer and, as he said, he does have a way with words. But why this particular poem? ‘When I Have Fears That I May Cease to Be?’ Does it mean that he thinks he is dying? What if I have left it twenty-odd years to get in touch and now he is dying and he was, in fact, my soulmate all along?
That is probably not the case, but I should perhaps get things moving in the event that he does have some kind of terminal illness. I assume he can’t be married after the messages he has been sending Sian, although I do need to be sure. How I can salvage things, though, I don’t know. Looking at these messages, he must think I am some kind of sex maniac.
I need to find a way of messaging him while bringing it back down to my tone a little and definitely not Sian’s. He also now has Sian’s WhatsApp number and not mine. How on earth can I resolve this mess?
I want to find out more about Perfect Patrick first before I attempt to salvage anything, so I look him up on Facebook. It might even show that he has checked into a hospital and given them a review or is having treatment for something.
This is a bit of a task, though, as his surname still hasn’t appeared anywhere. On his email it only said Patrick E. However, I enter ‘Patrick E’ into the Facebook search, as I am convinced that when people look you up, you only have to put in a name and they seem to appear. He knows my full name now, so he may have Facebook stalked me – you never know.
Sadly, ‘Patrick E’ doesn’t bring up any positive results, which means that either I haven’t been Facebook stalked, or I am wrong about Facebook stalkers. I google ‘Patrick E’ instead, but I don’t think either of the results are him. One is a serial killer from somewhere in Texas and one was banned from an Irish pub for dancing naked with his Guinness. Fortunately, both photos look nothing like Patrick. No, there are absolutely no New York journalists fitting his description. I don’t know much about the paywall that Patrick mentioned in his message to Sian, but it must be blocking us from finding his stories.
It is disappointing that I can’t find anything, but I guess in the pre-Dick days nobody had the luxury of being able to find out more about a potential love interest with the click of a mouse. S
o, this is no different really. I shall simply have to find out more by asking him myself.
I go back onto WhatsApp and begin my dialogue with Patrick. I will somehow rectify Sian’s forthrightness.
Hi, it’s Amelia. This is my new no. Just thinking of you. Hope you’re having a fab day. X
The ticks go blue almost immediately; Patrick’s read the message.