LITMIR.BIZ

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ballsy,’ comments Luke. ‘Chatting you up without talking face to face.’

      ‘We’ve been exchanging looks all night,’ I say pertly.

      ‘Do you want to meet him?’ asks Sophie.

      I nod as timidly as a girl who woke up in someone else’s bed this morning can. (Don’t look at me like that! This is all so new and fun. Imagine, you just go out to dinner, and by the end of it, you could meet someone new! Someone who might be your soulmate! Singledom! Best thing in the world, seriously.) (Look, please forgive the ‘soulmate’ comment. I know I’m not supposed to think like that. But in a tiny corner of my mind, the thought is there.) So I tick ‘yes’ and ‘yes’ and write ‘Abigail’ on the note. I add ‘Thank you for the drink’.

      ‘Add “meet me at Motcombs in ten minutes”,’ suggests Robert. ‘It’s the bar a few doors down.’

      ‘I thought I was supposed to let him make that decision,’ I say.

      ‘No, in this instance, a little bull-by-the-horns is good.’

      ‘OK,’ I say. I wait for the waitress to come by, then give it back to her.

      I take a calming breath. Henry is still eating, Sophie and Luke are nibbling and kissing each other, as they tend to do whenever they think they’re unwatched, and Robert is texting someone with a little half-smile on his face. He glances up at me, and presses ‘send’.

      ‘You alright? This is good. This is just what you need to get over last night. You know you can text me if you have any problems,’ he says.

      ‘Yes sir,’ I nod, taking a careful sip of my champagne and trying not to look around at the bar. I glance up and see Luke and Sophie staring at us. ‘What?’ I say.

      ‘What is going on here?’ asks Luke slowly, his eyes going from Robert to me. ‘I thought Robert was giving you advice. Not virtually dating for you.’

      ‘He’s not!’ I protest, at the same time as Robert says ‘I’m not!’

      ‘He’s more of a . . . singledom coach,’ I say. ‘Teaching me how to be like him.’

      ‘Right,’ says Sophie, looking from me to Robert suspiciously. Then she grins. ‘You know, I never even liked dating. It was like . . . I don’t know, performing, or something. Stressful.’

      ‘That’s because you didn’t have me to help you,’ says Robert.

      ‘Thank fuck for that,’ says Luke.

      ‘Could you be a singledom coach for guys?’ says Henry self-consciously. He clears his throat. ‘I’m shit at, uh, that whole thing.’

      ‘No, you’re not,’ chorus Sophie and I loyally.

      ‘I’ve been reading this book about being a pick-up artist,’ says Henry shyly. ‘It’s about playing the game. I’m sure you know it,’ he adds to Robert. ‘It gives you loads of techniques . . .’

      ‘Like what?’ say Sophie and I in unison. I’m shocked: I had no idea Henry felt he needed pulling help so badly.

      ‘Like, you should wear something to make you stand out. It’s called “peacocking”. Like my red belt, see? Or, there’s this thing called a “neg”. So I might say, “I love your hair, but you should wear it up more”. It’s a negative compliment – so it confuses the girl and makes her want to impress you.’

      ‘That is ridiculous,’ I say, at the same time that Luke says ‘I get it . . .’

      Henry sighs. ‘It’s not working for me so far.’

      ‘“Confuses” the girl?’ Sophie repeats. ‘What, like we’re farm animals that need herding?’

      ‘Like drawing a circle in the ground and putting a chicken in it,’ I suggest. I’m trying not to look at the Tick Boxer guy to see if he’s reading my note.

      Henry ignores us and looks at Robert for validation. ‘I bet you do that, right, Rob?’

      ‘Uh, no, I’m sure it’s a great book, but no,’ says Robert.

      ‘What do you do?’ Henry persists. ‘What’s your secret?’

      ‘No secret. I just ask questions, and listen to the answers,’ says Robert. ‘Conversation is pretty much all it takes.’

      ‘Well, I can’t do that,’ says Henry. ‘I can’t get past the asking-for-a-number stage. I need the girl to make the first move.’

      ‘Good luck with that,’ I comment drily. I cannot imagine ever making the first move.

      ‘Make eye contact and if she’s looking at you, go and talk to her,’ says Robert. ‘If she’s looking, she’s interested.’

      ‘Are you saying that girls need to be visibly available for dating, and guys need to be proactively ready?’ I say, trying to fit this into my working knowledge of Robert’s surviving singledom techniques. ‘That’s sort of primal, isn’t it?’

      ‘Uh, yeah, sure,’ Robert grins at me and shakes his head. ‘Don’t analyse everything so much.’ He turns to Henry. ‘You’ll be fine. Try it the next time you’re out.’

      ‘I’m not that guy,’ says Henry. I wonder if most men feel like Henry does. I can’t imagine it.

      ‘We’ll go to a bar after this,’ says Robert reassuringly.

      ‘You can be my wingman!’ says Henry excitedly.

      ‘Right. I need a make-up pit stop,’ I say, standing up and still not looking towards Tick Boxer at the bar. ‘Sophie?’

      ‘Roger that,’ she nods, and we get up to go to the bathroom together.

      As we’re in the bathroom side-by-side, silently make-upping, Sophie turns to me. ‘Look, I’ve just got to ask. Do you fancy Robert?’

      ‘No!’ I say, surprised. ‘Not at all!’

      ‘Really?’ says Sophie.

      ‘He’s not my type. Far too . . . tall. And he’s a player, did you not hear the advice he was giving Henry? He’s only friend material.’

      ‘But you get along so well . . .’ says Sophie.

      ‘No,’ I say firmly. ‘He doesn’t fancy me, I don’t fancy him. We’re just friends.’

      ‘Robert doesn’t have female friends,’ she says. ‘Luke told me. And everyone fancies him. Even me. A little.’

      ‘Well, not me,’ I say, zipping up my bag and taking one last look in the mirror. Dismissing the conversation, I head for the door. Come on, Adam The Tick Boxer guy. Let’s see what you’ve got.

       Chapter Eleven

      ‘No milk, no eggs, no bacon, nothing,’ says Robert, leaning into the fridge. ‘Fuck this. We’re going out.’

      It’s Saturday morning, a week after the The Pantechnicon Rooms evening, and I’ve just returned from spending the night at Harry The Tick Boxer’s house. Robert’s just returned from a night with – actually, I don’t know. (I’ve stopped asking their names.) I’m mildly stubble-rashed, a little tired, and, after a shower and new clothes, feeling rather pleased with myself.

      ‘Look at you, practically skipping around the house,’ says Robert, grinning.

      ‘Thank you so much for your advice,’ I say happily. ‘I think it’s made all the difference with Adam The Tick Boxer. I’ve been cool. Detached. Funny. Ended dates first. And he likes me and I like him! It really worked!’

      ‘Good,’ he says. ‘Let’s eat.’

      We walk down to The Engineer and enjoy a lovely,

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