There’s a bang on the door. It’s after midnight. "I’ve lost my key!"
I run to unbolt. Cindy’s in a state. Hair everywhere, lipstick a mess, tears pouring down her face. And she’s wearing only one of the pink Nikes she bought last week.
"What the …?"
She flops on the sofa. "Why did he have to behave like that? Oh, Buttons!"
She calls me Buttons because I wear jeans without a zip.
"You mean wotsisface, the banker wanker?"
"He called me a cocktease because I say on OKCupid I might have sex on the third date." She’s still crying. "It was only our second, but he was counting the one on Zoom. And then he leapt on me like a wolf."
Cindy’s been on dating sites since breaking up with Jack. She tells me how handsome the men are, how much they earn, even how good they are in bed. I hate hearing all that. But then they dump or ghost her, or she dumps them, which makes me feel better.
I sit down, pretending to sympathise. She lets me give her a sideways hug.
Some people have to meet many wolves and kiss lots of frogs to find their prince, I say.
"How many girls have you kissed to find your princess?" she asks.
I say I’m waiting for the right person. Then I gaze into her eyes and plunge. "But maybe I’ve found the right person already."
Cindy goes silent, kisses my forehead and goes upstairs to bed. I think I’ll never wash my face again.
Tomorrow I’ll retrieve Cindy’s shoe, and next week is Valentine’s Day. I’ll write her a card. I know you’re not supposed to, but I’m going to sign my real name with two kisses.
After that we’ll live happily ever after.
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