Page 35 of Oar Than Friends

Oz:

Olly just said you’re definitely falling in love with him, please tell me it’s not true

That last message got me, and when Imogen found me two minutes later pulling on a fresh-smelling pair of leggings, I still had a smile on my face.

‘What?’

‘Nothing, just hungry.’

I slipped my phone in my pocket and followed her out. I should message him to stop, but for some reason I couldn’t bring myself to, especially when all I was wondering about was what the next message would say.

7. Arthur

(Tenacity,noun. The quality of being very determined)

Asking for a friend.

How many unanswered texts does it take until you’re labelled a stalker? Or worse, a total loser.

Six? Seven?

Ten maybe?

I think I was currently sliding on the scale somewhere between ‘Saddest Man on Campus’ and ‘I’m calling the police.’ Why was I still trying?

Because one week and three messages ago I saw the bubble of dot dot dots appear. Then they stopped.

I waited. And waited.

But nothing.

Still, I figured the dots were a good sign.

Or at leastasign.

I told myself I’d stop at nine messages. One for each of the seats in a boat, plus the cox. Obviously, I couldn’t leave the coxswain out, seeing as that was Kate’s position. So nine it had been, until it became ten, then eleven …

You see my predicament.

‘Mate, you’ve been staring at your phone for five minutes. Either fucking text her or don’t. But can you make your mind up please because I’m sitting here like a total lemon, talking to myself. If anyone sees us it’ll incorrectlyappear like I’m boring. And I’m not, I have an actual problem.’

I put my phone face down on the table and looked up at Charlie, making sure I showed him my best and most winning smile. I knew it had worked when he huffed at me.

‘I apologize,’ I swapped my phone for my pint, and sipped it. ‘What’s up? And if you could repeat what you were saying, that would be appreciated. Also, where are the guys?’

No matter how intense things got during the year, we tried to keep to a regular Saturday evening social. Whoever was around would come down to our usual table at the Blue Oar on Saturday evenings and have a drink; some of the boys would bring a deck of cards, Scrabble, or occasionally in Charlie’s case, a jigsaw puzzle.

It was a good way to bond, relax our bodies from training but also keep ourselves in check ahead of it all beginning again on Sunday. Drinking until three a.m. and staggering home wasn’t an option when you rowed for Oxford and spent eight months of your year preparing for one race.

‘Brooks and Frank are down at the Tank on patrol. Joshi, Bitters and Drake will be here soon, Marshy’s on a date, and Fellows is polishing off an essay he’s late to hand in but said he’d come for last orders if he finished it.’

‘Sounds good, any news from patrol?’

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