I always thought I was the favourite.
Life sort of stopped and I disappeared and now I'm back (until I fly out to Asia on the 1st of June)
It was 2 am and as I crawled into bed, from a late night at the library instead of bar hopping, my phone lit up and it was Danny.
“No.” My bed was so close.
“I can see you through your window, don’t go to bed, we’re leaving again.”
This time he made me bring my Royal Wedding flag and we dissected the outfits from the Wedding last week. He said he fancies Pippa but I know he knew too much about Harry’s attire.
I don’t see Danny very much, just every few months when he’s between girlfriends. He calls me up, like clockwork, in the middle of the night, and we drive out to the Lake District to watch the sun rise. He tells me that my current beau is a bore and I tell him that girls are too much hassle. We listen to Belle and Sebastian and Blondie (my choice). And talk Tolstoy (his choice), Orwell and last time he taught me Russian. He brings a hip flask filled with whiskey and forces it down my throat because the roads are clear and we don’t care so much for road safety (although if the popo read this then we love to abide by the rules.) Once we drove and went over to take the ferry to Ireland and then realised we’d forgotten our wallets and that he hated the Irish. When I see him on the street I keep quiet but sometimes in crowded bars he pretends to be the angry boyfriend when a lecherous old man is getting too close. He always tells me that no boy is worth your hassle even when I say I don’t care about them because he knows that’s not true.
I used to like Danny because he was sporadic in my life that was far too controlled. But when everything went tits up recently, I like Danny because his erratic-ness is now the closest thing to routine.