I smile, can’t face it, can’t face this conversation, being optimistic and ready to meet ‘hunks’, my arms feel weak and heavy at the thought. Swiping left and right, Petter 42, Thomas 36, Steven 45, a beer in a pub where there’s no risk you might bump into someone you actually know, that weird shyness when I realise which of the men there is him, he looked different in his pictures. Probing conversations as I drink more quickly than I ought to, worrying about the prospect of conversation drying up, and so I smile more than usual, speak more quickly, gesticulate, nervous that he might start to feel bored, and somewhere inside I think calm down, don’t do that. Do you watch Game of Thrones, I ask, do you watch anything else, what season are you on, is your 37job very hectic, how many people are there in your department, why aren’t I better at this, I’m not usually this stupid. He can see how much more I want, he can tell I’ve never had a proper boyfriend. Eventually the moment arrives when I ask if we should have another pint and he tells me he’s got an early start the next day, and my heart sinks, we might walk a block together before one of us turns off, and I stand there on tiptoes as we make small talk, I know that my eyes are too wide, my smile too broad. I hope he’ll tell me he wants to see me again, I hope even though I’ve been bored stiff all night, but then he just says that it’s been nice, have a good evening, then maybe speak to you again sometime, and I lift my arms halfway in some attempt at a hug, but he steps back and my arms sink, and then I say bye for now, and I lift my hand stupidly in something resembling a wave instead, walk to the bus with my stupid arms hanging down by my stupid sides, sit on the bus alone with my stupid arms, people all around me, make my way into my flat with my stupid, useless hands.

‘Make the most of it while you can,’ Kristoffer says, wiping his brow, he’s melting butter in a pan and adding flour. ‘Before you know it, you’ll have a husband and kids and find yourself dreaming about how things used to be.’

‘Do you dream about how things used to be?’ I ask him.

‘Sometimes, maybe,’ Kristoffer says, laughing.

‘I’ll tell Marthe that,’ I say.

‘Don’t do that,’ Kristoffer says, laughing louder. ‘Please. That’d make her miserable. But all that online dating stuff,’ he says, shaking his head. ‘I don’t think I could be bothered 38with all that. It seems like a right fucking ordeal.’