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There are alternatives, such as live chatrooms, but he's proving reluctant to use instant messaging. There are a lot of long silences in our online conversations, and he comes back and says things like: "Sorry, I was talking to my [long pause] brother." Great. I thought it was someone I knew casually, but in fact it turns out to be another girl with the same first name. Who does not even know my boyfriend is seeing someone. This mostly consists of me ringing up and him accusing me of all sorts - spying, paranoia (all true, but wouldn't you have done the same? I shouldn't even be talking to him, but I want this relationship to last, and know from experience that forgiveness trumps anger every time.

I had become a keeper of a plethora of stories, secrets and experiences, but who was I to have the privilege of being this keeper?WEEK 11 I suppose the other girl in England must have tired of toying with my boyfriend, because, suddenly, he's ringing me three times a day. It's annoying that men are so transparent, but I can't say it's not nice. For another, getting dolled up for a camera with no one behind it reeks of sadness. I do a set of me posing in black lingerie, which I had to buy specially, having left most of the tools of my former trade behind. My agent sends me a book to review: The Story of Sex Talk by Mark Morton. I'm not normally the sort of person who resents young love in public places, but, for goodness' sake, why do they always have to be doing it on the beach next to me? I replace my carnal urges with the compulsion to exfoliate. I briefly consider forwarding it to him, but decide against. I not-so-casually kick a little sand in the happy couple's direction every time I get up but they DON'T EVEN NOTICE. Not least because the treatment comes with a vibrating wand you're meant to apply the cream with. Thrice-daily phone calls with precious little action.

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