‘And?’

‘She doesn’t have a dog. But,’ I lean in confidentially, ‘she wants a dog.’ She positively pines for doggie cuddles and kisses; she never stops talking about it. ‘But Bea doesn’t have one because she works long hours, has got a very small apartment, and loves her holidays abroad.’

‘O-kay, you want a date. She can’t have a dog, but she’s got a dog. I’m not confused at all.’

‘I did wonder if she’d been dog-napping, but she’s really honest, you know, and then she explained about an app she’d discovered where you could borrow a dog for a day! Isn’t that brilliant! It’s genius: you sign up, fill in a profile about your perfect pooch match and all these dog owners do the same and they find you the perfect doggie date. You just borrow them, like a playdate, or a sleepover, or for a whole week!’ Bea doesn’t like big things. She likes cute, fluffy, clean, portable pups. She loves the idea of a glamorous meal out, with a tiny dog sitting next to her, awaiting morsels of food. This app had delivered exactly what she’d asked for.

It was while she was explaining the genius of this app to me that it came to her. If she could find the perfect pup online, why couldn’t I find the perfect first date the same way? One I was matched carefully with, one that I could return the next day and mark as unsuitable if necessary, one I didn’t have to worry about house-training or commitment with. We laughed about it. She put her dog back in her handbag, and I went back to tidying bookshelves and forgot all about it for at least ten minutes.

‘And then my dad texted me cos he’d heard.’

‘What?’ Noah looks confused again. ‘He’d heard about your mate’s obsession with little furry dogs?’

‘No.’ I frown. ‘He’d heard about Robbie!’

‘Oh. And why would that make you …?’

‘He laughed at me!’ Normally I would not pass on any of Dad’s less than nice comments, but I’m drunk, and I’m never going to see Noah again. So, it’s fine. It’s like writing it down on a piece of paper and burning it. ‘Said it was bound to happen at some point he guessed, me being single.’

‘What?’ Noah looks indignant on my behalf, which makes me feel a bit warm and fuzzy inside (or that could be the alcohol, at this point I’m not sure).

‘He said I’m too loud, too outspoken. Men don’t like it. Even drips, his word not mine, like Robbie get fed up of it in the end.’ I need to shut up before I get carried away.

‘Bollocks! I like the way you say what you think! You’re funny, you’re clever. Sorry, know he’s your dad and all that, but he sounds like a bit of a dick.’

I frown. ‘He is my dad, and all that. He’s not a dick. You don’t know him!’

‘Sorry.’ He doesn’t look sorry. ‘I didn’t mean to upset you, but …’