Page 7 of The Love Hack

But that wasn’t my only concern. The regular Friday afternoon exodus had begun, and I was determined to get out of joining my new colleagues in the pub. I didn’t want to go – but at the same time I did. I didn’t want to be exposed to their chat, their questions, their banter. I wanted to go home to my silent, solitary flat and cuddle my cat. But then – maybe I did. Maybe it would be fun. There’d been nothing so far to make me think it would be anything other than fun.

I could feel tension ratcheting up in my body with every sound: the click of Neil’s mouse as he shut down his computer; the rustle of Barney’s rainproof jacket as he eased it over his shoulders; the squeak of Ross’s chair wheels on the wooden floor; the crack of Marco’s knuckles as he stretched luxuriantly overhead.

Then Ross’s voice broke into my reverie, making me jump. ‘Earth to Lucy?’

‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘Did you ask me something?’

‘Just what you’re up to this weekend.’ His eyes met mine over the top of our monitors and he smiled. Nice teeth. Middling-straight. ‘Wondered if I might bump into you. You live off Dalston Lane, right?’

How the hell did he know that? I must have mentioned it in passing, perhaps when Chiraag was talking about his forty-five minute cycle commute to work.

‘Holly Street,’ I confirmed.

‘Wow! We’re practically neighbours. Maybe I’ll see you in A Bar With Shapes on Saturday night.’

I thought of the weekend stretching ahead of me, calm and featureless, the way I’d learned to like it. Sleeping in on Saturday, tinkering with the mod I’d been working on for Elden Ring, cleaning my flat, chilling out with Astro. A pretty solid weekend, all told. I was looking forward to it.

But, for some reason I couldn’t quite identify, I didn’t want Ross to be able to picture me like that, alone, when he was hanging out in cool places I walked past every day but had never been to, no doubt surrounded by his cool friends.

I heard my voice say, ‘Got a date on Saturday night.’

‘Really?’ He raised his eyebrows.‘First date?’

‘Um… yeah.’

‘On a Saturday night. Punchy. He must be keen.’

Shit. Of course no one would give up a Saturday night for a date with some random you didn’t even know you’d like. Except me, apparently. If the date had existed, which it didn’t.

‘I guess he is. We met…’ Where the hell did we meet? ‘Online.’

Damn. That just made it a million times worse. Giving up a Saturday night for a date with some random off Hinge? That had gone beyond punchy and straight into desperate territory. Just as well it wasn’t true, or I’d have needed to take a long, hard look at myself. Although, given I was fabricating a date with someone who didn’t exist just so my work colleague would think I was more interesting than I really was, I probably needed to do that anyway.

‘Going anywhere nice?’ Ross asked.

Stop asking me questions! You’re stretching my creative powers to their not-very-long limit, I thought. I wracked my brains frantically for a second. Where did people go on first dates? I hadn’t been on one since forever. Not even with Kieren. Where had Amelie gone on her first date with Zack? That I could remember clearly – after all, my sister had snuck off to the loo to send me WhatsApp updates so frequently that Zack had assumed she had an upset stomach or was having the period from hell and had asked if she was okay or needed to go home. Cue total radio silence from her and panic from me because I thought he must have murdered her.

‘Cocktails,’ I said. ‘At the Savoy.’

‘Wow.’ Ross did the eyebrow thing again. ‘Really keen. I guess there’s no point asking you if you fancied joining us at the Prince Regent tonight for a couple of pints, then. Wouldn’t want you to slum it down the local.’

Shit. It was an invitation. A backhanded one, but an invitation nonetheless. And it coming from Ross made it much harder to refuse, for some reason I couldn’t quite pinpoint.

But I thought ahead to what would happen if I said yes. Once we were installed with our drinks, Ross would say, ‘Lucy’s got a hot date tomorrow night. Cocktails at the Savoy,’ and everyone would press me for details about the fictitious man I’d met online, who was taking me to a fancy hotel bar on our first date. I’d have to lie – lie to Ross, and risk getting caught out in my lie if he questioned me about it on Monday and remembered the made-up details better than I could.

That alone would have been enough to make my decision for me. But it didn’t need making, because I couldn’t go anyway.

With a pang of something that felt almost like disappointment although, given the excruciatingly awkward consequences of saying yes that I’d rapidly formulated in my head, it couldn’t possibly have been, I said, ‘Sorry, I can’t. I’m seeing my family tonight.’

‘Fair do’s,’ Ross replied amicably. ‘Blood’s thicker than water, right?’

‘My sister’s getting married,’ I volunteered, as if that somehow made a difference. ‘In a few weeks. I’m her chief bridesmaid, and we’re going round to Mum and Dad’s place for dinner. I expect she wants me to try on my dress for the millionth time to make sure it still fits, or something like that.’

Ross grinned. ‘Tell me your sister’s a bridezilla without telling me your sister’s a bridezilla.’

I felt a flare of defensive annoyance. ‘She’s not. At least, not more than anyone else who’s getting married. It’s stressful.’

‘Tell me about it,’ he agreed. ‘I was best man for my mate Duncan a few months back and it was carnage. His missus got so worked up in the lead-up to the day they almost called the whole thing off. It was fine in the end, though. You’ll talk her down.’

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