DISREGARDING

On my way home waiting to cross the junction bottom of St. Michael’s Hill and Park Row when he e-mailed me after a weekend party at his place came to mind.
‘Sorry how she behaved, if I’d heard what she said to you I’d have said something about it,’ he wrote.
‘Thanks,’ I wrote back, ‘It was okay. She was drunk and sounded like she needed to get it off her chest and I thought she was channelling her mother.’
He didn’t reply then or written since. Predictably I took offence but once I got that out the way embarrassed because a reply is bothered but no reply is disregarding.