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The large party in the corner – office revellers, by the looks of them – were whooping and guffawing, and had just started pulling crackers, shrieking with excitement at every little bang.
    ‘Well, you should have made some excuse, just settled for a quick drink after work.’
    If only. The final bill, paid by him in total, and including service and three desserts for Olivia, had come to £ 325. Which meant none of his friends or colleagues would be getting much for Christmas beyond a card or calendar.
    ‘If you go to a restaurant, you can get stuck with someone for hours, even if it’s obvious you’re not going to hit it off. So, best to meet in a bar, order one quick beer, then scat within the first ten minutes if you can see the vibes are wrong. Still, I admit you were unlucky with Olivia – you clearly met a weirdo.’
    Another pang of guilt. Perhaps he’d been unfair – too critical, judgemental . There was a school of thought that believed greed was simply fear of scarcity, often associated with a lack of parental love. For all he knew, Olivia might have had a history not unlike his own.
    ‘To be honest, I’m plain jealous of the woman. I mean, from what you say, she can stuff herself, yet not put on a single pound in weight.’
    He glanced at Stella, who, despite her buxom breasts and ample thighs, seemed to exist on little more than cottage cheese, with the occasional bar of chocolate as a treat. As usual, she had refused to share his crisps; declined his offer of a sandwich or scotch egg. Of course, he had no idea what she ate in private, and he’d learned long ago that most people had a secret life, sometimes totally at variance with the façade presented to the world.
    ‘Anyway, just because you drew a blank the first time, doesn’t mean there aren’t loads of decent women, panting for a date with you.’
    ‘Oh, yeah?’
    ‘But you won’t attract them without a punchy headline. “A great catch!” – or something on those lines.’
    ‘I’m not a great catch.’
    ‘You are , Eric! If only you could see it. You’re loyal, honest, generous and passionate about your job.’
    ‘Try telling that to Trevor!’
    ‘We’re not talking about Trevor. I’ve told you – twice – forget about work and think about a headline. How about “Last of the Lost Romantics”?’
    ‘No fear! They’ll be expecting Byron.’
    ‘OK, “Nothing ventured”. Brief but enigmatic.’
    He shook his head. The word ‘venture’ was risibly inappropriate for a coward on his scale.
    ‘God, you’re hard to please! I know – try a bit of humour. “Lowbrow Scrabble-Player Seeks”—’
    ‘“Lowbrow” will only pull in all the air-heads.’
    ‘Well, go the other way. “The Thinking Woman’s Crumpet”.’
    ‘I’m no one’s crumpet, Stella – more a stale old crust, fit only for the feathered kind of birds.’
    ‘Stop putting yourself down. It’s entirely self-defeating.’
    ‘OK, I’m a paragon. But I also happen to be forty-four – which you said yourself was ancient. In fact, half my life is over – maybe more. Do you realize, according to life-insurers, every eight years we’re twice as likely to die.’ Tom Jones, he mused, was sixty-eight. On the radio last night, the singer had been boasting that, when he performed, women still flung their knickers on to the stage, along with their hotel-door-keys. Closing his eyes a moment, he imagined himself taking the applause, picking up the knickers, inserting keys into rows and rows of doors.
    ‘Don’t be so morbid, Eric. And, by the way, I hope you’re updating your Facebook profile every couple of days. You have to try all avenues, you know.’
    Facebook left him cold – all those people bragging about their thousands of friends, when the whole point about friends was that they didn’t come in thousands. Friendship wasn’t a matter of competitive acquisition, but required personal commitment, loyalty, unselfishness. ‘I reckon most of them are