The Single Cynic: Even from a distance, I could see a red flag

Ellie had become intrigued by my accent over a number of weeks while we were in touch through work. We had only been in contact remotely, and she asked me to email a photo, which I did, but she would only describe herself to me: “Petite, 5’ 4”, with brown hair, brown eyes and tanned skin.” 

This was in the days before smartphones and photos taken with my Nokia weren’t the best, so the photo I sent had been taken on my own 35mm camera. She might have compared herself to a celebrity, but many years later I don’t recall who. She said she was 20, and I was 22 at the time, but I got the feeling she was younger.

She was based in a suburb of Manchester, and I was due to visit the city to catch up with two colleagues I was working with at the time. We made a plan to meet for lunch.

We met at Piccadilly Station, and straight away she suggested we go for a coffee nearby. She asked me lots of questions, including about previous dates, as well as the usual ones about hobbies and family.

She spoke mostly about being an only child of a single mum with some health issues and hopes of starting her own business. Besides the account manager job she was doing, she also enjoyed dance classes in her spare time and wondered aloud whether she might start a business related to that somehow.

We decided to visit the city’s Science Museum for a few hours after an unremarkable lunch during which there were some clichéd awkward silences. “If you’re up here again, we could get out of the city and go for a hike somewhere, maybe get lunch in a country pub too,” she said. 

I found Ellie attractive, but something increasingly didn’t feel right. I didn’t reply to her texts in the days that followed. They became more and more concerning, however, each one wanting to know why I hadn’t yet arranged to see her again. (The fact that we lived a four-and-a-half-hour train journey apart was, admittedly, only part of the reason.)

It got to a point where she was calling my phone and leaving several voicemails a day, which I found increasingly distressing. My housemates at the time tried to make light of it, sarcastically asking if I was enjoying the attention.

It continued for about 10 days, culminating in about 12 missed calls and a few voicemails in just one day. I sent Ellie a text asking her to stop calling and texting me, apologising for not arranging to meet up again, and advising that I wasn’t going to, as apologetically as I could. 

The texts and calls stopped, thankfully.

If you’re currently on the dating scene you might benefit from a masterclass in online dating from cyberpsychologist Dr Nicola Fox Hamilton.