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IDA

Shame

Suits are hot

RaffAlone

In that case I’ll pack one

IDA

RaffAlone

Ping me an address for wherever you want picking up from and I’ll send a car for you at 7.30 to take you to Farnborough Airport

IDA

Oh. Not Heathrow?

RaffAlone

Nope. We’re taking a private plane

IDA

Srsly dude?

RaffAlone

Yup. I don’t normally use them, but needs must this time. I’ve got to work till the eleventh hour

IDA

Okay. See you there tomorrow then

RaffAlone

Thanks

I owe you BIG

2

RAFFA

The executive lounge at Farnborough Airport is mercifully quiet when I walk into it, preparing myself to meet Ida in person for the first time.

If she actually turns up, that is.

I guess I wouldn’t blame her if she bottled it at the last minute. Going to a wedding with a bunch of strangers and pretending to be the girlfriend of a guy you’ve only ever talked to online is quite a thing to agree to do.

We’ve been direct messaging for weeks, after meeting in a chatroom for a game we were both obsessed with, then hiving off when a bunch of dickhead trolls started getting on our tits, so I feel like we’ve got a good sense of each other now.

And the video call last night helped; even if it was only brief. At least I know what she looks like and can be confident she’s not going to turn out to be a middle-aged dude called Dave.

She actually looked exactly how I’d expect a gamer to look: hair scraped back in a ponytail, large-framed glasses for computer work, oversized hoodie and no make-up.

She’s pretty, though, that was clear.