‘I’ve had your gift engraved with my feelings,’ he said. I hope he can spell'

‘I’ve had your gift engraved with my feelings,’ he said. He can spell’ I wish he could. 

 I am writing this in mid-December. You are probably completely over Christmas and your tree is now as bald as I am*, but I’m afraid I am going to torture you with my misery. I will be making Christmas lunch for my friend Isobel, but she is insisting I take a PCR test first (I’m reminded of my first proper boyfriend, Trevor, who always made sure he wore two condoms before having sex with me; I imagine Isobel will turn up in a hazmat suit). I’m responsible for my signature nut roast, vegan gravy and vegetables. She asked me if she would bring dessert. ‘I wonder if I’m capable of making a sorbet,’ she wrote. ‘I might Google it. You do know I’m allergic to walnuts.’

This doesn’t bode well. Then my New Year mini-break at a high-end spa cottage in the Cotswolds got cancelled, as I casually told them I’m bringing a fourth collie. An extra foible that seemed to break the camel’s back, given my earlier missive that I’m vegan, allergic to mushrooms and anything in a stack, teetotal, Gracie now needs a nappy at night, and that my ex-boyfriend, who has mainly been drafted in to hang on to a couple of dog leads, is coeliac and will complain if his cappuccino isn’t mouth-blisteringly hot.

An ex-partner is celebrating Christmas in secret with some friends at the coast. They’re the ones who won’t allow him to reveal their names or exact location in case I write about them; let’s hope for a very high tide. When he sent me the following, I was just about to tell him that the spa cottage at the top of my list is now closed.

‘I’ve had your Christmas gift engraved with my feelings for you. It’s obvious that I care about you. Xxx’

Engraved! It can be engraved! A pewter tankard? Rolex?

It must have been that he saw I had sold my beautiful watch in order to purchase my husband’s food. Aw, that’s kind. A second engagement ring? I hope it’s not something awful, like a bangle. I wish he could spell.

A misspelled apostrophe could cause me to rage. I wonder what his feelings are for me. What?

Oh my! He hasn’t had the c-word engraved, surely? Wouldn’t that be against the jeweller’s Hippocratic oath?

But, I have been trying to find him a Christmas gift. After he broke the phone, I gave him the old iPhone and then lost the Sim card tray. He thinks it is ‘under a table’. I sneakily ask him whether his Sim is active. ‘I don’t really miss not having a phone,’ he said. Honestly!

I have not seen him in a long time. I think he said to me the penultimate time I saw him, when he announced we should no longer see each other as he finds it too upsetting, that – and I can’t be sure given I’m deaf, it was dark and he has a northern accent – he just wants to ‘ride out’ his time until he shuffles off his ‘mortal coil’. I can’t leave him like this, especially given the engraving, so I have an online chat with Apple, and meet a nice man called Pardeep. Pardeep writes that he gave my ex an iPhone 13, case, and charger. is ‘a really sweet gesture. He is lucky to have you in his life.’ You see? Sometimes men can be nice. Then I begin to wonder if I am flirting or not with a robot.

A phone is necessary for my ex or friend (with not many benefits, as I’m going to refer to him) My husband had my cell phone before I transferred it to him. (He still has the 07710 number that I used in 2007; I would love to get it back).), that I lost him in Barnes & Noble in New York and had to have him paged over a Tannoy. He was six years old, so the staff laughed when a 30-year-old man emerged from self-help looking sexy.

Then I click on purchase. Oh dear god. He just purchased me an engraved tankard.

*Turns out it’s a side-effect of the diuretics.

 

8 1/2 Stone is Liz Jones’s first novel and it can be downloaded as an audiobook from Amazon or Audible. Soon to Spotify and Apple Books, as well as all other outlets. 

 

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