‘Not a problem. So, am I your boyfriend?’
My already red face bursts into flames. ‘Ha, well. Sorry about that. Y’know kids. Um.’
Oh, just fucking kill me.
‘I’m just teasing. I was hoping we could have dinner on Wednesday? Your daughter goes to her dad’s that night, right?’
Someone has been paying attention.
‘She does. Yes, that would be nice. Did you have anywhere in mind?’
To Tom I might sound unfazed by the fact we’re having another date, but I’m doing a happy bum shuffle on the couch. I hope he takes me to that new Thai place in the West End.
‘How about at home?’
YES! HE WANTS TO HAVE SEX.
‘Sure. Your place?’
‘Actually, I was thinking your place . . . I would have suggested here but the landlord is having the radiators replaced and it’s a bit of a mess. Be nice to see where you live.’
Bollocks, that’s less good. And wait, what number date is this again? Am I even ALLOWED to have sex yet?
‘Sounds great,’ I reply cheerily, slapping my forehead. ‘You bring the wine and I’ll cook. Say seven thirty?’
‘Excellent. I’ll see you then!’
He’s already hung up, but I stay holding the phone to my ear. Why did I just agree to this? Can I trust myself not to jump him? Can I trust my cooking not to poison him? WHAT WILL I WEAR?
‘GRACE, TWENTY MINUTES UNTIL YOUR BATH!’ I shriek hysterically. Her head pops round the door. ‘Mum, why are you shouting?’
‘I don’t know. Sorry. Quick question – what do I make for dinner that’s nice?’
‘Chicken teddy bears and sweetcorn, ham omelettes, sausages and mash.’ She spins around and I hear her hop back into her room.
Chicken teddy bears? This is going to be a catastrophe. I jump up and scour through my bookcase, hoping a gourmet cookbook will have magically appeared in the last five minutes. Shit. It’s Monday evening and I have a day and a half to become bloody Nigella. I rush through to the bathroom and start running Grace’s bath. How the hell am I meant to pull this off? What would a Rules of Engagement girl do?
Dylan answers his phone almost immediately.
‘What’s up?’ he asks breezily. ‘I take it loverboy called?’
‘Yes, and somehow I’ve agreed to him coming over to my house for dinner.’
‘And this is a problem? Are you in the bath?’
‘No, I’m running one for Grace and, YES, it’s a problem. What if he expects something good?! Though I guess I could just order a Chinese and—’
‘Don’t get a takeaway, Cat. First, it tells him you didn’t make any effort for him, and second, it lets him know you’re a terrible cook.’
‘I am not a terrible cook!’
‘So cook him something then!’
‘I can’t, I’m terrible.’ I hit my forehead against the bathroom mirror with a thud. It hurts more than I thought it would.
‘Look, you have a kid; you must be able to cook some-thing.’
‘Hmm. Cook is a strong word. I can boil, steam and put things I bought in the oven. Does that count?’
