brad

Brad called me tonight. First time I've actually talked to the guy. I probably wouldn't have picked up, but he wasn't calling from his own number.

"Uh, hi. This is Brad. Um, I was wondering, uh, have you seen Maria?"

His voice was thick, as if he was drugged or holding back a sob.

"Yes, I have."

"Is she OK? Is, uh... I just need to know, she won't answer my calls, is she really alright? Do you know when she's coming back?"

"Look, mate, I really don't know what went on between you two and I really don't want to get involved. I haven't met her for a few days, but she seemed more or less OK last time I did. If she's not answering your calls, then I think you're just going to have to respect that and leave her alone."

I prudently didn't mention orgasms in the countryside or my own pathetic attempt to win her back.

"Hey, don't bullshit me, you're fucking her, aren't you? Aren't you?" Angry.

There we go.

"No, Brad, I'm not."

I didn't mention that I wished I were.

"She dumped me months ago and I'm sure she doesn't want to go there again. But I know you're not going to believe anything I say, so I'm hanging up now. Goodbye, good luck getting over her."

I hung up on his protests and stared at my phone for a moment.

Brad had called me from an Irish number.

I picked up the phone again and called Maria, told her about the call.

She wasn't best pleased, but she's pretty sure he doesn't know where she is staying. She thinks he's probably here on business, that's how they met in the first place. So maybe he isn't stalking her. But I made her promise to be careful and then went and checked the locks on my door. My address is relatively easy to look up.

Moving to another country is getting more appealing all the time.