Later

I went for that bike ride, it was mad dogs and English men out there. It was supposed to be 37 degrees and it may well have been. Wow! It's been a while since I was riding into any shade I could find, as I was at the end there. I only wore a singlet, well, it didn’t feel that hot when I left home. I can feel that my shoulders are pink, tingling, stinging. Sharp when I move as my shirt slides across my skin.

When I got back and I was standing in my kitchen red-faced and sweating and gasping for breath and shaking, my phone beeped and it was Ravi saying that he wanted to catch up.

Do you think he's psychic?

Of course, it was the same story.

"When will you be home?"

"I'll be home tomorrow afternoon."

"What time?"

"Around 2pm."

"How about the morning?"

"I see my mum in the mornings."

He knows that... but he lives on the fringe of the suburbs, out where you need a bus connection with the train to get home. And he doesn't drive, he's failed his test four times. It's a sore point now, he get's sniffy if I mention it.

Why does he do it, I thought? I guess, he's just answering the call and hoping for the best. I guess, I could be a little more accommodating? I don't know why I'm not? I could ditch my sick mother, after all, so he wouldn't have to miss the last bus.

"When will you be home in the morning?" he asks.

I kinda lose interest. I guess, I shouldn't be like that.