No, she was not there, she thought, with another flurry of jitters. She was here, out in the real world, and walking into a pub. She was stumbling a bit on the rarely worn high heels, wondering if she had put on too much eye make-up, wondering if she looked too old, too fat, too frumpy. Trying, nonetheless, to appear confident, yet approachable. Fun without being a maniac. Was such a combination even possible?

She had succumbed to the lure of the Silver and Single dating site, giving it a second go after her abortive first attempt. Yes, she had ‘put herself out there’, as Robyn liked to say, opened her inbox to a whole hoard of would-be suitors and marvelled at what a varied mix of people humanity had to offer. Tonight, she was meeting what appeared to be the pick of the bunch: Calum McRae, aged sixty-seven and a businessman from Leeds, according to his mini-biography.

I’m looking for a fun, confident lady who likes a laugh, his description had read and she’d thought at the time – Yep, that’s me. Now, though, she didn’t feel as if she fitted the bill when it came to any of those adjectives. She might be fun, confident and full of laughs at work, or in her own home, but out here, in this pub full of strangers, she felt scared and uncertain, as if she had nothing to say for herself any more. What a fraud she was! Coming here under false pretences! Maybe she should turn round and go home. Maybe her instincts for a quiet, simple life had been right all along.

He had sounded nice, though, Calum McRae, even if she suspected he might dye his hair, judging by the photo. At least he hadn’t been too prescriptive, like some of the other men on the website, with their ridiculously specific wish-lists of requirements. I’m looking for a lady aged between 62 and 65, must not be taller than 5’ 8”, slim (maximum size 12), clean, young-looking, attractive, financially independent, no plastic surgery, one charmer had written. And to think people said romance was dead, Alison had thought witheringly, scrolling on past at once.

Having reached the bar, she glanced around in anticipation, wondering if she would recognize her date amidst all the other men in here. She and Calum had exchanged a few messages in order to arrange tonight’s meeting, providing visual pointers for one another, so that they wouldn’t be left stranded. I’ll be wearing a dark-green dress with a purple brooch, she had written, after some thought. (She hoped that would do. What did one wear for one’s first date in nearly fifty years anyway?)