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was even wrong. I just thought he was a bit stressed at work…’

      ‘Ah love, that must have been horrible.’

      ‘And this girl had started as an intern. Daisy. You know the sort, all cute and helpless and, um…twenty.’

      (Cute and helpless was Marnie’s thing, and Helen had time to realise this, quickly panic, and then relax in relief. Marnie was not twenty, not even close.)

      ‘Ooooh, tell me he didn’t…’

      ‘It came up on his phone. He was too stupid to turn off the messaging…’

      ‘Oh my God, the utter dick.’

      ‘And I asked him and he said they were in love, and he was moving in with her—I mean, Jesus, she lives with four other students in some fleapit…’

      ‘I can’t believe it!’

      ‘And Mum and Dad, you know what they’re like, they think they’re so lefty and hip, then suddenly Mum’s crying on the phone to the rabbi and Dad’s down the synagogue with David’s uncle trying to sort it all out—they’re not even practising, it’s ridiculous…’

      By the end of the story Marnie’s eyes were jewel-bright with tears, and Rosa was half crying, half laughing. ‘At least I kept the flat. And at least I never have to listen to his stupid Bob Dylan B-sides ever again. I guess, if I’m honest, I should have known he wasn’t happy. I mean, I actually had to beg him to have sex with me instead of watching Robson Green’s Extreme Fishing. But now I’m thirty-two, and I’m single again, and I have no idea what to do. How do you date? I don’t even know. You’re the dating expert—help me!’

      Marnie swirled her glass of ‘Brigitte Bardot’s Knickers’ (it being against the law to have non-ironic cocktail names in London), a concoction of Campari, gin, and Fanta, and looked at Ani and Helen. ‘Hmmm. What about you two, any romance?’

      When Marnie wasn’t there, Ani was too pessimistic to discuss her love life, Helen just didn’t date (because: reasons), and Rosa had been happily married until a few months ago. So at the question, a silence fell over them. Helen cleared her throat. ‘Ani got asked out by her client,’ she said.

      Ani rolled her eyes. ‘Mr “I had sex with my kids’ auntie under the Christmas tree”, yeah, great. If I’m lucky he still has his Santa suit. Otherwise, no, still nothing that sticks. Mum and Dad are starting to despair of me, I think.’

      ‘And you, Helz?’

      She went for an ironic shrug and ended up spattering chipotle mayonnaise on her chin. ‘Do Dr Derek Shepherd and Walter White, crack dealer, count as men? Because I’ve been spending a lot of time with them.’

      ‘No, box sets do not count.’

      Helen squirmed. Marnie couldn’t know the real reason Helen hadn’t dated in two years. ‘Ach, it’s such a lot of hassle and heartache—tell her about your last date, Ani.’

      ‘The one where he took out his contacts and said, “You could be anyone now!”, then his cat bit me on the foot? I still have the scar.’

      ‘Not him, the other one.’

      ‘The one who took off his trousers and he was wearing Superman pants? Or the one who didn’t even have a bedroom? Honestly, he was living in an actual airing cupboard.’

      ‘I was thinking of Blubbing Ben, actually.’

      ‘Oh God, yes. Wait till you hear this, Marn.’ Ani launched into a story of a date she’d had recently, the punchline of which was ‘and then he spent the whole evening crying on my shoulder, and the worst bit was, it was a dry-clean-only top’.

      Rosa shook her head over her ‘Brighton Rock and Roll’—peach schnapps, vodka, cream soda, a stick of actual rock to stir it. ‘I don’t know why you can’t just date someone nice, Ani.’

      ‘You sound like my mum. I’m trying to find someone nice—I date all the time. You guys don’t know what it’s like. I don’t want to put you off, Rosa, but if you decide to jump back into the water, well, online dating is like deliberately swimming into a big shoal of sharks.’

      Marnie was nodding. ‘My friend Caty, do you remember her? The one who does reiki healing and has that weird little sausage dog? She was seeing this guy she met online, and it was all going really well, except he wouldn’t invite her to his place. He said his flatmates were always there, the place was a mess, he needed to clean up, blah blah. Then one day he says, fine, come round. So she goes, and it’s lovely. Like a really nice clean grown-up place. And the next morning they’re making waffles in the kitchen, and she’s in his shirt, just like in a romcom.’

      ‘With yoghurt?’ said Helen, transfixed despite herself by the image.

      ‘Yep. They are totally eating yoghurt. Probably he’s dabbed some on her chin and licked it off. Anyway, you can see where this is going.’

      ‘Oh no.’ Rosa buried her head in her hands.

      ‘Oh yes. So the door goes and it’s his wife. That’s right, she’s home early from her holiday. With the kids. So that’s internet dating,’ said Marnie grimly. ‘Every time you think it can’t get worse, you hit another rock bottom. A new low standard every time.’

      ‘It’s not all like that,’ Helen said. ‘I mean, I would know.’

      ‘Of course, I forgot you ran that dating site.’ No surprise—Helen never talked about her job. Because: more reasons.

      ‘How come none of us have ever used it? Maybe I should, now my husband’s left me for a teenager.’ Rosa was attacking her drink as if it had personally offended her.

      Helen wished she hadn’t said anything. She usually succeeded in making her job sound so dull no one ever wanted to ask about it. ‘Um, well, it’s sort of a bit…niche.’

      ‘Trust me, Rosa, babe, you don’t want to go online,’ said Marnie, shaking her head. ‘No offence, Helz. I’m sure you do a great job. Rosa just needs to be eased in.’

      ‘None taken,’ she said, with huge relief. Mentioning her job, how stupid. That and Ed were two topics that needed to be avoided at all costs.

      ‘She’s right,’ said Ani, who was on her third ‘Why Hasn’t He Kahluaed?’ (Kahlua, pineapple juice, a dash of paprika.) ‘I went on Tinder, and I got chatting to this guy who seemed nice, so I asked him out, and he said could we just meet in a park so in case we didn’t like each other we could save money on drinks, and we met up and it was freezing and we walked round in the rain for half an hour and then he tried to shove his hand down my top.’

      Helen no longer felt like drinking the rest of her ‘Sloe Dirty Orgasm’, a sloe-gin martini with an unfortunate splash of Bailey’s leaching through it. Across the table, Rosa was also looking crestfallen. ‘Sounds awful. Is there any point? I might just stay home and watch The Great British Bake Off, like the spinster I’m now inevitably to become.’

      ‘I’ve got a better idea.’ Marnie wiped the remains of her aubergine dip from her plate—as Ani pointed out, London food was more like Milupa every year. ‘Ladies—and sorry to lump you in, Rosa, babe—but am I right in thinking that what we have here are four totally single women?’

      Helen hadn’t known Marnie’s romantic situation, was afraid to ask. And there was no need to usually—she would tell you herself, in Technicolor detail. ‘I guess so,’ she said cautiously, as Rosa slumped into her spicy coleslaw.

      ‘So why is it? Why are we all single? Look at us.’ Marnie spread her arms. Helen moved a glass out of her way. ‘We’re amazing, sassy women.’

      ‘That’s the problem,’ said Ani. ‘They don’t want sassy women.’

      ‘No,’ said Rosa gloomily. ‘They want twenty-year-olds who wear Miffy T-shirts to the office.’

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