‘Oh, hi Steve. Look, emm…sorry about, you know…everything, but I really better get back to the kitchen…’

‘Jessie, sit down.’

I don’t know why I do as he says. I rarely do what anyone tells me. But now I’m sitting opposite him, in a Smiley booth, looking straight into the big blue eyes and there’s no getting out of this.

‘OK. Here goes,’ I sigh deeply. ‘I know that what I did that night was unforgivable…’

He waves this away and instead leans forward, pushing a Smiley tray out of the way and focusing on me directly. ‘Jessie, are you OK?’ he asks, concerned.

‘Emm…’

‘I don’t mean to be nosy, but I was standing in the queue just now and I saw those people you were talking to. Tell me to mind my own business if you like, but whatever they said seemed to upset you.’

‘Long story,’ I say wryly.

‘People from your past life? Gave you grief about working here?’

‘How’d you know?’

‘Wild guess. Tell you what you should have told them though.’

‘What’s that?’

‘That you’re on the witness protection programme. That would have shut them up pretty pronto.’

I smile in spite of myself. Then I remember. I still owe him an apology. ‘Steve, that night when you called to the house, I have to explain what happened. I feel awful about it. You see, well…I had to be somewhere, it was important, so important that I wasn’t even thinking straight…’

‘You don’t need to explain,’ he smiles.

A nice smile. Friendly and warm.

‘No, I really do…’

‘No, you really don’t. Sharon told Joan who told my mother who told my sister who told me. About, where you rushed off to that night and…well, about what happened when you got there.’

Shit. I’m always inclined to forget that life on our street is lived under a microscope. Even if you’re a semi-recluse like me. Everyone knows everything. It’s like if one neighbour hears you sneeze at 9 a.m., by 9.30, someone will have knocked on the door to say they heard you were laid up with a terrible dose of pneumonia.

‘I’m sorry you broke up with your ex. But if you don’t mind my saying, what an arsehole.’

It’s the first time all day I’ve cracked a smile.

‘I’m also glad you didn’t end up with a prison record for breaking and entering.’

‘So am I.’

‘So you’re one of the Smiley crew now.’

Absolutely no judgement in that statement.

‘Yeah, and I was lucky to get any kind of job at all. Anyway, speaking of which, I’d better get back to work, or…’ I glance over to the tills to see Larry the Louse glaring at me and pointing at his watch.

‘And do you enjoy working here?’ he asks innocuously. Faux-casual.

‘Come on Steve, what do you think?’

‘It’s just that, if you didn’t, I might be in a position to offer you something else. Something let’s just say a bit more suited to your talents.’

An utterly unfamiliar sensation washes over me: hope.

Chapter Thirteen

I think Sharon’s met someone. Can’t be too sure until I worm the whole story out of her, but when I get home from my shift later that night, she meets me in the hall wearing a smart new jacket, fully made-up with her hair all washed and glossy. Then she stuns me by saying that we’re going out for a drink. Which is so completely unheard of in this house for anyone other than Joan, that I have to ask her to repeat herself.

‘OUT out? Outside of the house? Like as in…away from the TV?’

‘What’s wrong with that? It’s a Saturday night and we’re going out. Like people do.’ Then, dropping her voice, she adds, ‘I’ve something to tell you, and we may as well get out of here so we can chat properly.’

She gives me exactly two minutes to whip off my minging Smiley uniform and change into jeans and a T-shirt and next thing, we’re out the door and on our way down to the Swiss Cottage, leaving Maggie in the TV room all on her own for her usual Saturday night telly-fest of American Idoland X Factor.

Fifteen minutes later, we’re tucked into a fairly quiet corner of the pub, with two glasses of Bulmers in front of us. Funny, but I’m actually developing quite a taste for cider these days.

‘I’ve news for you,’ she says, taking a big gulp out of her drink.

‘I’ve news for you too, but you go first.’

‘Oh Jess, I’ve met someone. OK, pause for reaction.’

I ooh and ahh accordingly, prodding her for more info.

‘Well, you won’t believe it, but he’s actually nice and normal. At least I hope to Jaysus he turns out to be nice and normal and not, like, emailing me from a prison library or something.’

‘Tell me everything,’ I say firmly, taking a sip of the cool, sweet cider. ‘And omit no detail, however trivial.’

A quick, grateful smile from her. ‘He’s called Matt and he’s an actuary, whatever the feck that is.’

‘Oh, something to do with working out probabilities, I think. Like when you go for insurance, they calculate whatever the likelihood is of your having an accident might be. Pretty much the same with the online dating, if you think about it. Didn’t I tell you that it was a numbers game and that if you just stuck with it for long enough, then in all probability you were bound to meet someone?’ I grin, delighted to be proved right. For once.

‘An actuary,’ she says, slowly. ‘Jeez, I hope he doesn’t turn out to be some kind of anorak, train-spotter type. You know, the sort of eejit who goes out to the airport on Sundays just to look at the planes. A gobshite, in other words.’

‘Well, you won’t know until you meet him, will you?’

‘Well when I do meet him, you’ve got to get me ready for the date and drop me off too. As far as I’m concerned, you’re part rabbit, Jessie.’

‘What?’

‘You know, a bit like a rabbit’s foot. I need to rub you for luck.’

I let that hang, thinking that I didn’t exactly bring her much luck last time around. Then something else strikes me. ‘Of course I’ll drive you to your date, hon. But this time I’ve a tip for you. Maybe best to say nothing at home, for the moment at least. If things don’t work out, it’s hard enough to cope with your own disappointment, as well as having to cope with everyone else’s as well. If you’re with me.’

‘Yeah, but I’m still wary, Jess. I mean, you would be too if you hadn’t been with a fella since the Clinton administration. And that other gobshite who took one look at me in Starbucks and ran away did nothing for my confidence, I can tell you. Maggie still slags me about it.’

‘He was your Defibrillator Guy, nothing more,’ I say firmly.

‘My what?’

‘Defibrillator Guy. The one who brings you back to life after you’ve been off the dating scene for a while. Or possibly, you could call him your Sight of Land Man.’

‘Explain?’

‘You know how, centuries ago when explorers went in search of continents to discover? They’d always see a sight of land first. Like a small island or something. It wasn’t what they were searching for, but it was a sign that you were almost home and dry.’

‘Oh, right yeah, I get it,’ she nods. ‘I’m nervous though, Jess. I mean, this guy Matt sounds lovely. He keeps messaging me all the time saying he’s dying to meet up, but suppose he turns out to be just another eejit?’

‘Then we write him off as Knock Off Guy and move on.’ She looks at me, so I explain, ‘Knock Off Guy? You know, one that initially seems to be the real thing, but when you get to know him better, he’s just like one of those Prada handbag knock-offs. Looks the biz short-term, but ultimately you know it’ll only fall apart in a few weeks.’

‘You are really good at this.’

‘Well, I used to be out there, you know, at the dating coalface. Before I met, well…you know. Before.’ Not an avenue of misery I particularly want to reopen, so instead of going down that route, we keep on messing and inventing dating code words and silly nicknames for guys. As the cider kicks in, we’ve pretty much devised the Jessie and Sharon Woods Definitive Dating Guide.