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From: Guy_in_the_Sky

Well how are you this evening, Holly? Gotta tell you, I just love hearing all those great stories of yours about your day. Gee, your job sounds so pressured and demanding. Can’t believe you were in the Four Courts earlier reporting on a murder case. How cool is that? And knowing you, you’ll probably unwind by skydiving or else going off mountaineering at the weekend, for fun. Just awesome. Your whole life just sounds so glamorous and exotic. Sadly, unlike my own at this moment.

Right now, I’m stuck in terminal two at Hartsfield International Airport here in Atlanta (busiest one in the world and, boy, it sure does feel like it on days like this). I’m shortly going to be pushing back for LAX; that’s sunny Los Angeles in California where, even though it’s December, I’m told it’s a humid twenty degrees outside.

Then tonight, I shuttle the return flight back here to Atlanta and, weather permitting, should be home to read Logan his bedtime story before tucking him in for the night.

To tell you the truth, Holly, days like this, my job sort of feels like I’m just a bus driver, except with a fancier uniform. Don’t get me wrong; I love the actual flying part, but the truth is, you get real tired of staying in yet another hotel room in yet another corner of the globe, missing my boy so much it hurts and wishing I could just settle down to a normal family life, without having to shuttle around so much. Ever feel that way?

Speaking of Logan, he was the one who took this latest photo I’m attaching for you, just like you asked. In case you were wondering at it being taken at a bit of a funny angle, that’s all. You gotta make some allowances; the kid is, after all, barely six years old.

I sure loved seeing your photo too, Holly. Last one you sent, you were kind of like a younger Sandra Bullock … you sure are one pretty lady. Send me on some more real soon, don’t keep me waiting now!

In the meantime, wishing you a great day.

Gotta fly. Literally.

Andy.

Oh Jesus I thought, looking away from my laptop and trying not to panic. Did I really lay it on thick with all that shite about reporting live on a criminal investigation in the Four Courts?

Suppose Andy decides to Google Afternoon Delight? What exactly are you going to tell him then, my subconscious nagged at me.

But then I just sat back, took a look at his photo and thought feck it anyway. All the, ahem, tweaking of the truth and risk-taking was totally justifiable in this case. And oh dear God, but you should have seen this latest pic. Because Andy wasn’t just gorgeous in it, he was beautiful. Classically broad-framed, light brownish hair with blue eyes and a shy, reserved sort of look to him. Kind of like Tim Robbins in The Shawshank Redemption, minus the prison buzz cut and the murder charge.

He was in full uniform in the photo too, looking so, so sexy that for a worrying minute I found myself thinking, what exactly is a guy like this doing on a dating website? After all, here was a gorgeous, single man who obviously has plenty of dosh. Surely someone like this could land any woman he wanted?

I had a sudden, disquieting vision of tall, leggy air hostesses with exotic suntans stinking of duty-free perfume, all hurling themselves at him, when next thing there was a mad pounding on my bedroom door and Joy burst in, dressed head to toe in her customary black, right down to the black Converse trainers she rarely takes off. But then Joy is one of the few women I know who’s absolutely comfortable to head out for a date night in flats and not give a shite either way.

‘Hi love, just wanted to ask you … Mother of God, what’s going on in here?’ she asked, taking in the boxes of old photos I’d just unearthed from on top of my wardrobe so I could start sifting the wheat from the chaff, i.e. the ones where I wasn’t wearing my jeans way too high and, more importantly, where my eyeliner didn’t make me look like a complete goth.

‘Ehh, long story, but basically if you could help me root out a photo where I don’t have a glass of wine clamped to my hand, I’d be eternally grateful.’

‘Why, exactly?’ she asked suspiciously.

I didn’t say anything, just threw a guilty little glance towards my laptop sitting innocently on my desk, then waited the two-second delay while the truth dawned on her.

‘Ah for feck’s sake, Holly,’ she groaned, ‘don’t tell me this is all in aid of Captain Fantastic?’

‘Well … ermm … possibly.’

‘Now you just listen to me, love,’ she said, plonking herself down on the edge of the bed. ‘Because I’ve a far better suggestion for you. Instead of just sitting on your arse in front of a computer screen for the night, why not come out with myself and Krzysztof? We’re heading out to the movies and we were wondering if you’d join us? A few of Krzysztof’s mates from work are coming along too, so it’s bound to be a bit of fun. Well,’ she added, peeling one of the photos she’s sitting on off the bum of her jeans. ‘Certainly more fun than trawling through a bunch of photos from a decade ago, just so you can impress some virtual stranger.’

Joy herself, by the way, is in a full-on relationship with this Krzysztof, who’s from Poland and who she met in our local Tesco’s about a year ago. He works in security there, all six feet four of him. So of course now, like most happily coupled-off women, she’s on a quest to get me matched up and as quickly as possible. Except, given my recent history, on dates that don’t sail into my life courtesy of Plentymorefish.com, EliteSingles.ie, Guardiandating.com or else anotherfriend.ie. And don’t even get me started on dating apps like Tinder, Grouper and OKCupid. There just isn’t time.

‘Come on, what do you say?’ she insisted. ‘You know, Krzysztof has this lovely pal called Conrad who’s coming with us and I was hoping you two might hit it off.’

A pause while I chanced giving her a tiny shake of my head.

‘Would you kill me if I didn’t go out with you tonight?’

‘Oh God,’ she said, folding her arms and rolling her eyes to Heaven. ‘So you can just stay home emailing some complete stranger a whole continent away?’

Which of course only sent me on the defensive.

‘Ah come on, Joy, I’m just enjoying all the attention and flirtation so much! Who wouldn’t? Plus Christmas is only a few weeks off and you of all people know it can only be a good thing for me to have this great distraction on the go.’

Her whole expression changed, the way everyone’s does around me whenever the subject of Christmas comes up.

‘Oh hon,’ she said gently. ‘I know it’s a rough time for you, but …’

‘I mean, it’s not like I have a big family to go home to at Christmas, like you do …’

‘You’re welcome to stay with my family anytime,’ she said firmly. Same as she does every year, bless her. ‘You know that goes without saying.’

‘Of course I do and I couldn’t be more grateful. But you’ve got to stop giving me a hard time just because I’m chasing after a bit of romance this time of year. You know the reason why – you know everything there is to know – so come on now, would you really blame me?’

‘Well … when you put it like that … then I suppose not, no …’ she said, a bit doubtfully.

‘Plus, when it comes to men, the Olympics is more regular in my life than a proper boyfriend is, and then all of this love bombardment? Who wouldn’t cave, just like I have?’

‘I know,’ she said, ‘but still.’

‘And would you just have a read of some of his messages?’ I said, plonking her down into a desk chair in front of my laptop so I could scroll up all his emails.

And believe me, there were dozens of them by then; as though neither of us was able to put the brakes on this hypnotic little spell that had been woven between the pair of us. Emails from him just to say good morning, how are you today? Little short, snappy one-liners sent from this airport or that, telling me funny stories about grumpy passengers or flight delays.

And then my favourite emails of all: the ones where he chats all about Logan. The play dates Andy regularly takes him on, the fun they have on their father-son days out together and the lovely stories about how supportive Andy’s mother has been towards Logan ever since Andy was widowed, and how he couldn’t ever manage without her.

Melt-your-heart emails. Almost-know-them-off-by-heart-at-this-stage emails.

There’s silence as I watch Joy’s face while she scrolls down through them, one after another, waiting on her reaction. Because I challenge anyone without a heart of stone to read Andy’s own words and not just … melt.

A long, long pause and eventually she leant back, arms folded and threw me that look.

‘OK,’ she eventually said. ‘Well I’ll give him this much at least. He sounds … likeable.’

‘That’s the best you can say? Likeable?’

‘Although I will add this small caveat. He does lay on the Southern accent a bit thick for my taste. All this, “write back real soon now!” And “gotta fly!” Don’t know why he doesn’t just throw in “y’all!” at the end of every sentence for good measure and start singing a few verses of Sweet Home Alabama while he’s at it. Jeez, you can practically smell the Southern Comfort off the screen.’

‘Oh, now you’re just nitpicking. Besides, I like it. In fact, I can almost get a feel for what Andy sounds like just from the way he expresses himself online.’

‘Yeah, but aren’t you at all concerned at the whopping great howlers you’re peddling him? You told him you were reporting on a murder trial live from the Four Courts?’

‘Yeah, I know but …’

‘You don’t need to do any of this, Holly. Any guy in his sane mind would adore you just as you are. So come on then, time to choose. Come to the movies with us or stay home? Real life or keep spinning make-believe illusions?’

I think we both already know my answer to that one though.

And, sure enough, the very minute she was out the door, wouldn’t you know it I was straight back online. Fingers trembling, I attached the most passable photo I had of myself, taken on my birthday all of, ahem, five years ago. I was in Paris with Joy at the time on a girlie weekend, and it’s just that the background to the photo looks so Parisian and cool. It was taken at night (hence far more forgiving lighting), and I’m sitting on the Pont Neuf with my feet dangling over it, while Joy screeched at me from behind the camera to pose like something out of a Fellini film. As it happens though, I’m just trying to sober up and not fall in.

I clicked ‘send’. And then waited.

And waited.

Just past midnight and I was all snuggled up in bed, half dozing off, but with half an ear open, just in case. And then, thank you God, a blessed ping as a message came through to my phone.

Him. Andy. Back to me already.

From: Guy_in_the_Sky

Well hey there Holly,

I sure hope this message isn’t waking you up from your beauty sleep? I know it’s the wee small hours over there in the Emerald Isle, but I just had to get in touch to say I got your photo, safe and sound.

And wow. I knew you were pretty, but honey, in this photo you’re a total knockout. A real belle, as we say down here. I’m just looking at you right now, swinging those long legs off the edge of a bridge in old Paree, and marvelling at my good fortune in meeting a lovely, genuine lady like you. And I sure know it’s tough, all this messaging back and forth again and not actually getting to meet each other in real time, but that’s kinda what I wanted to talk to you about.

See, I just got my work roster for the next month, and as good fortune would have it, I’m flying on the ATL-DUB route right at the end of the week. That’s right, honey, Atlanta to Dublin … I’m coming right to your home town!

So I guess, here’s my question. Would you do me the great honour of having dinner with me? And if your answer is yes, then maybe you’d give me your phone number, so I can call you to arrange?

So that was pretty much it for me then. No more sleep for the rest of the night and come to think of it, for the whole rest of the week ahead.