I allowed Roger to have telephoned three times before I permitted the call to be put through to me. Yes I did think things were different than before. Yes I did think Alison was worried. And I agreed that she did, as Roger suggested, need a shoulder to cry on. I listened to quite a detailed description of said shoulder. I’m not sure that chiselled features are that comfortable to rest upon if I’m honest – but perhaps that’s just me.
Roger seemed to have fully moved from a funeral march to Yankee-doodle-dandy in terms of changing his tune. Now he was keen to prove that he could be an adequate friend for Alison in this terribly manufactured time of need.
This happily left me in the position of having set the ships off into the ocean without having to fully consider the ruddy great icebergs that said ships were heading pell-mell towards.
As I considered it I wasn’t sure I had totally agreed to it conceptually. I really worried that these two wouldn’t be terribly suited. The only countervailing thought was that Anthony and Alison were the worst possible sickly combination of coupling. Boring to all outside their own bubble. And then the fear struck me, what had I done? What if I was valuing the deterioration of my relationship with my friend above her happiness. That couldn’t be true – she was missable with him – or was she?
What had most worried me about yesterday was Roger’s sense not to mess with bliss. Why was a plank like Roger able to take avoiding action when I had no common sense? Please don’t answer that.