“I don’t think it would be a good idea to change my mind. That’s why I asked about dating apps,” I say calmly. Much calmer than I feel, anyway. It strikes me that I’m going to need to put more effort into my little ruse than I anticipated. It’s not like I have to date. I can just pretend. I’ll just download an app or two. Whit won’t need to know I’m swiping left (or is it right for refusal?) all the time. Because really, who wants to date in real life? Only masochists and people who can take a risk on love.
“So where do you meet the women you…”
“Fuck?” he finishes for me, all hard fricatives. “Nowhere suitable for you, little fly.”
Way to point out I’m one of the training-wheel brigade. “Too niche for my tastes, huh?”
“Have you ever used dating apps before?”
“Have you?”
“You do know there isn’t an app to meet people as friends, that most people out there are looking to hook up? Which you won’t need,” he adds with a sharp look my way.
“That might be the rule, but there are always exceptions to every rule.”
“Yes, I’m sure. Those looking for that special unicorn also known asthe one.”
“There has to be more than that,” I mutter, swiping Google open as I begin to type.
Dating apps in London for Friendship.
“What about Feeld?” I announce, bringing up an article about the app.
“That’s mostly couples looking for a casual third.”
“How do you know that?” He slides me a look that’s hard to decipher. “But it has a tag for friendship,” I add defensively.
“I’m sure I read somewhere that it was created by a couple looking to introduce others into their sexual experiences. I might be wrong,” he adds with the confidence of someone who knows they aren’t. “You can do your own due diligence, I’m sure.”
I scan the text and, yup. I find something to that effect in the sales pitch. “What about Hinge?” I say, flicking back to Google and picking the second from my search.
“A bit like Tinder.” My brows pinch, and my mouth falls open, ready to protest when he adds, “Sign up. See how many people you match with, people who are looking for friendship and not a casual fuck.”
“Fine.” I go back to my search. “Bumble BFF,” I announce excitedly. “It says a simplified way to make meaningful connections—I can date women!”
“Women?” he says inthattone.
“Urgh! For friendship. For coffee dates and things.” On second thought, maybe I should stick to fictitious men. I don’t want him getting too comfortable. “Although, in my experience, women can be harder to befriend.”
“They’re certainly hard to fathom,” he mutters.
We leave the conversation there, the rest of our journey to Edgeware silent, slightly tense, and very awkward.
* * *
“What in the world…” Before we get to the red-bricked street I currently call home, we’re flagged to a stop by a policeman. The road ahead is cordoned off with blue tape. Beyond it stands a couple of fire trucks, police cars, and people in reflective jackets.
“No access to the road ahead, folks,” the policeman says, bending as Whit opens his window.
“What’s going on, officer?” I ask, ducking down to see him better.
“Unexploded ordinance was found in a garden in Barnaby Street.”
“Oh no. That’s Aunt Doreen’s street.” I glance at Whit, then back at the officer. “Unexploded ordinance? You mean, like a bomb?”
“Probably left over from the war,” he says. “The army’s bomb squad are on their way.”
“The bomb squad?” My heart begins to flutter rapidly. I press my hand to it, willing it to settle.
