‘Don’t tell anyone,’ she said. ‘Not that it matters, because I’ll not bother going again. That kind of atmosphere doesn’t do me any good.’ 33

Stella smiled to herself in sympathy. That was exactly what she always told herself as well – every time.

‘Aren’t you on any dating apps?’ she asked.

Gréta shook her head. ‘Ach. I was on Tinder, but it didn’t work,’ she said with an apologetic smile. ‘The women I’m interested in don’t fancy me.’

Stella felt the same pang she had the night before as they had left the party together, and a desire grew inside her to help this woman. Turning down the old-lady vibe just one per cent would go a long way to boosting her chances.

‘I’ll fix your profile for you,’ she said, putting out a hand, and Gréta obediently passed across her phone.

Stella started by changing her profile picture to one that was newer and less formal. An ancient posed passport photo wasn’t ideal bait. She added a couple more photos of her with more or less the same hairstyle.

‘There’s nothing that pisses you off more than going on a date and finding that the other person has been using some really old photo,’ she said, with an accusing glance.

‘I was trying to lose a few years and a couple of kilos.’

‘That’s crazy,’ Stella said. ‘Nobody wants to be deceived. If you’re fooling women into thinking you’re young and slim, then you’re missing out on the ones who prefer them mature and broader.’

She said ‘broader’ even though a more straightforward adjective would have been appropriate; she didn’t want to be too direct by saying that some girls prefer fat women.

‘They really exist?’ Gréta sniffed.

‘Yep. The problem is you’re presenting yourself as something you’re not. Anyone meeting you would think you’re the type that sits in an old armchair and knits socks in front of the telly, when you live in a white designer apartment with splash paintings on the walls.’

‘Those are Jeff Elrods. Originals.’

‘Whatever. But there you go. I wouldn’t know which way up 34these pictures go, but you do. But nobody looking at you would imagine that. See what I mean?’

‘What? Is it the clothes, or what?’

Stella looked her up and down while she searched for the right words to tell the woman how to stop looking like a dork.

‘Well, if you want to wear old-lady gear…’

‘Trouser suits.’

‘Yeah. But if you’re going to wear a suit, then stick to black, dark blue, grey. Go for a power-lesbian vibe and get away from the granny look. Those pastel colours have to go.’

‘Pastels work fine on television.’

‘But do you always have to be dressed for work? Pastels just scream senior citizen.’

‘I’m not even forty.’

‘Exactly.’

Stella turned to the profile text on Gréta’s Tinder profile and sighed. With a thumping hangover and with only half a mug of coffee inside her, she had thrown together a better bio than Gréta had managed to write – and no doubt had struggled with.