I imagined it. I couldn’t imagine the actual person, of course, but I was right behind the idea. I didn’t get a chance to say so to Robbie, though, because he carried on, in full flood.
‘Doesn’t bear thinking about it, does it? I mean, I know you could argue that once you’ve seen one penis you’ve seen them all, but I’m just not willing to accept that theory until I have in fact seen them all. Courgette and tahini muffins this morning, right, boss? Since it’s Thursday?’
‘That’s the one,’ I said. ‘And we got that load of chicken wings from the farm shop, so those are going to need putting in a marinade, if you don’t mind? Maybe two – one hot, one not so hot?’
Although my job made it impossible for me to be as strictly vegan as I’d like – only a crap chef wouldn’t taste their food, and the Ginger Cat’s clientele wasn’t quite ready for a totally plant-based menu – it was still a massive relief that Robbie was on hand to help prep ingredients that had once had a face.
While he busied himself feeding courgette after courgette into the grating blade of the food processor, I made coffee for us both.
‘So I’ve been thinking,’ I said, handing him a mug, ‘about this dating malarkey.’
‘You’re going to do it!’ he breathed. ‘Finally! After all this time! The only woman in the world not to have Tinder on her phone has come over to the dark side!’
‘Not yet,’ I admitted. ‘But I’m going to. I’ve decided. And I’ve got a plan. Have you ever heard of an app called Stargazer?’
‘Is the pope Catholic? I’ve got it on my phone, I check it all the time. Oh, the burns it gives! Just this morning, right, it told me age might just be a number, but that doesn’t stop you getting older every day. So no more early nights for me. I’m back to living life to the full.’
The problem with trying to have serious chats with Robbie, I’d discovered, was the challenge of keeping him on any kind of conversational track. If I wasn’t fast enough, he’d be telling me the story of how his grandpa once put his nan’s hair removal cream on their poodle by mistake. Again.
‘Yes, well,’ I said. ‘Me too. This morning Stargazer told me if I wanted love to find me, I wasn’t making it easier by hiding away.’
‘Ouch. You know, my mate Damian – he’s a physicist – reckons it’s all bullshit, but if the moon controls the tides, how come the position of the stars when we’re born can’t have some influence on our lives? I mean, it’s science, right? Literal science. I told Damian…’
I half-listened, waiting for Robbie to run out of stuff to say. At last, his story concluded (with Damian admitting that there might be something in Robbie’s theories, although probably because he knew that was the only way to get some peace and quiet), and I was able to carry on.
‘So I was thinking,’ I said. ‘What if I accept your dare, but start with the signs that are meant to be least compatible with me. That way I can manage both of our expectations, and also test out how accurate the app is.’
Robbie put his head on one side, half looking at me and half watching the muffin batter he was carefully spooning into compostable paper cases.
‘Which sign would that be, then?’
‘Virgo.’
‘So, like, if your Virgo dude turns out to be totally fugly or have bad breath or hate Ariana Grande or whatever, then you bin him off and you won’t be disappointed?’
‘That’s right. I mean, imagine if I had a first date with a Gemini, my ideal match, and he was awful? What would happen to my blind faith in the power of the stars to reveal our destiny?’
‘But what if Mr Virgo is hot as fuck, and you click right away?’
‘Well, that doesn’t necessarily prove anything, does it? I mean, the app says that there are always exceptions and sometimes the stars align in surprising ways. But I’d have a hot boyfriend, so I wouldn’t care, would I?’
‘Sounds like a win–win situation,’ Robbie agreed. ‘So now what we need to do is get you a killer profile set up. No duck face. No filters. And no pics of your cat.’
‘What? But Frazzle’s gorgeous.’
‘Not bad for a cat, I suppose. But still. Photos of pets are a no-no.’
‘Why?’
‘They scream crazy cat lady, Zoë. Come on. No bloke wants to think if he dates you he’s going to have to play second fiddle to a bloody cat.’
‘But I am a crazy cat lady,’ I said. I didn’t add that any guy I dated would have to accept that Frazzle was my first priority, and if they didn’t like that they’d be out on their ear.
‘Tell me about it.’ Robbie rolled his eyes. ‘Okay, one pic with the cat. But only one. And he’d better not be making that face he does.’
‘What face?’
‘The one that’s like, “I see you. I know you forgot to send your mum a card for Mothering Sunday and told her it must have got lost in the post. I know you washed your hair with Fairy Liquid once for a whole week because you were too skint to buy shampoo. I can tell you eat Pot Noodle sandwiches when you’re hungover.” You know what I mean. That face.’
‘But all cats look like that.’
‘God. How do you ever manage to have sex with him watching you?’
I wasn’t going to tell Robbie that since Frazzle had come into my life I’d had sex precisely zero times, so I kept schtum.
‘Right, it’s almost eight thirty,’ I said instead. ‘We’d better get our skates on.’
‘Not so fast, young lady,’ Robbie countered. ‘We’re going to get that Tinder profile of yours set up right now, before you chicken out.’
‘But I should prep the mango for the smoothies.’
‘Did it last night; it’s in the fridge.’
‘How about the celeriac soup for lunch?’
‘The veg is already done, and it’ll take half an hour to cook. Come on, Zoë, if you don’t crack on I’ll take your phone off you and do it myself. “Flame-haired temptress seeks Jared Leto lookalike for nights of passion. Must be hung like a moose.” And I’ll set the password so you can’t change it.’
When I’d taken Robbie on as my sous-chef, I’d been very clear that I believed in a collaborative working environment, and there’d be no hierarchical management structure in my kitchen. But now, the urge to pull rank on him was stronger than it had ever been.
I resisted it, though. ‘Okay, okay, I’ll do it.’
I tapped my phone, creating a new account in record time before I could change my mind, using Frazzle’s name as a password even though I knew it wasn’t particularly secure. If some random wanted to hack into my online dating, they were most welcome – a Russian bot would probably do less damage than my colleague, who was hanging over my shoulder offering advice.
‘Your profile needs to stand out, Zoë. Be funny but not try-hard. And don’t say you like nights out and nights in.’
‘I can’t remember what a night out even is any more. How about this?’
I passed him my phone and he read aloud from the screen. ‘“Me: Aquarian, vegan, feminist. I care about the planet and creating a more equal society. Looking for a like-minded Virgo.” You can’t say that.’