Roo takes some cups down from the press and turns to face me. ‘Speaking of social lives …’ She takes a deep breath. ‘I’m going on a date tomorrow.’
‘What?’ I stare at her in delight, all thoughts of my parents and Art andNorthsideforgotten. ‘Oh my God, Roo! When did this happen? Tell me everything!’
‘Don’t look so excited,’ says Roo. But she’s smiling. ‘It’s not a big deal. That’s why I didn’t tell you before now.’
‘It’s not asmalldeal,’ I say. ‘Who is he?’
‘His name’s Steve,’ says Roo.
‘Was he impressed by the fact that you can tap dance?’ I say.
‘I didn’t ask,’ says Roo. ‘Though he works in the theatre, so maybe?’
‘Let me have a look at him,’ I say.
Roo opens the app and shows me his photo.
‘Not bad,’ I say honestly. He’s got good hair and a nice smile. A vast improvement on Justin’s habitual peevish expression.
It turns out he and Roo have been chatting since they matched on Sunday night. She shows me some of his messages.
‘He seems normal, right?’ she says.
‘Totally normal,’ I say. ‘And not a creep. So where are you going? And who asked who out?’
‘I suggested meeting up,’ says Roo. ‘I know it’s kind of quick, but I figured we might as well find out if there’s a real-life vibe between us sooner rather than later.’
‘Very sensible,’ I say.
‘And it turns out his friend is the manager of this new cocktail bar on Drury Street,’ says Roo, ‘so we’re going there.’
I can’t remember when I last saw her look forward to something like this.
‘Oh, Roo, this is so great!’ I say. ‘Who needs Justin? Tomorrow night he’ll be playing stupid German board games with a woman who only wears fleeces and you’ll be drinking cocktails with Cute Theatre Guy!’
‘Yeah.’ Roo can’t stop smiling. ‘I know.’
Much as I would love to spend the entire evening anticipating Roo’s first date with a new man in four years, I have to get back towork. I find myself getting distracted by the Frog Boyfriend group chat (Maggie thought she might be going into early labour this afternoon but it was a false alarm) but I keep working. I stay up until after midnight and the next morning I almost mail Susan to say I’m going to work from home. But I decide against it.
‘It mightn’t look good, especially after the notes debacle,’ I say to Roo, who doesn’t have any clients this morning and is sitting at the kitchen table eating toast. ‘I should probably show my face. Not that I particularly want to show any part of me around that office.’
‘I can lend you my mantilla,’ says Roo. ‘Though you should probably get yourself a bright blue one to match that top. And those insane enormous trousers.’
‘Very funny,’ I say.
‘By the way,’ says Roo, ‘I have a favour to ask.’
‘Oh yeah?’ I drain the last of my coffee.
‘I’m doing this ethical beauty thing on Saturday morning,’ says Roo. ‘Francesca’s organising it.’
Francesca is one of Roo’s PR pals. She’s got to know a lot of people working in this field since she started doing events, and some, like Francesca, have become good friends. While I know and like most of Roo’s college friends, I was living in England when she met her work chums and, to be perfectly honest, I’m kind of intimidated by them. They’re all very glamorous. And I’ll admit that when I’m intimidated I can be a bit … prickly. (Not prickly like a hedgehog, no matter what Laura says. Prickly like … a very delicate rose.) So they may not be fans of mine either.
‘Okay,’ I say. ‘Where do I come in?’
‘They asked me if I could bring all the props I use for my videos,’ says Roo, ‘which means I’ll have to carry two cases ofstuff and it’ll take ages to arrange everything properly. Could you give me a hand?’
‘One question: do I have to dress up?’