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pseuds – or “clicksters”, as I like to call them.’
    ‘“Clicksters”?’
    ‘Yes, to rhyme with tricksters. One click and they bag a new friend – except it’s not a friend, nothing like.’
    ‘You need to be more adventurous in general,’ Stella continued, ignoring his interruption, ‘strike up conversations with women in the launderette or supermarket.’
    ‘What, and get arrested for sexual harassment?’ The woman in his local launderette was eighteen stone, with acne. He watched a group of girls troop in, all mouth-wateringly young and pretty. Having jostled their way to the bar, they stood giggling and chatting, waiting to be served. If he were a sheik and this was his harem, which one would he choose to pleasure him tonight? Easy – the redhead in the skin-tight jeans.
    ‘D’you think I’m too old for jeans?’ he asked Stella, with a worried glance at his own legs.
    ‘No one’s too old for jeans.’
    Did Tom Jones still wear them, he wondered, although it was the other Tom Jones who had always been his hero – the eighteenth-century literary one. He kept the reason dark, of course, like so much else in his life.
    Stella was looking at him critically. ‘But perhaps you could do with some help with your wardrobe.’
    ‘I don’t have a wardrobe any more. There isn’t room for one in my flat.’
    She didn’t appear to be listening; her gaze travelling from his sweater to his shoes. Was the sweater too bright; were the shoes uncool?
    ‘Actually, you might really push the boat out and make an appointment with a dating coach.’
    ‘A what?’
    ‘Someone who helps you show yourself at your best.’
    ‘Stella, you’re my dating coach and, much as I appreciate your efforts, frankly one is more than enough. I mean, all that stuff you told me about body-posture. I practised it at home and got so hung up, I even embarrassed the cat! In fact, I used her for the eye-contact thing – gazed into her eyes, like you said to do with a woman – and she was out the window in one minute flat.’
    ‘Cats don’t count.’
    ‘They’re easier. At least, dear old Charlie loves me, whatever my body-posture .’
    ‘Well, if you want to spend Christmas alone with your cat …’
    ‘OK, you win! I’ll update my profile tomorrow and you won’t recognizeme, Stella. I’ll be vivacious, sparky, tactile, vibrant, athletic, classy, scrumptious and free-spirited.’
    ‘Great! Only I’d play down the “athletic”. You might attract a female jogger who expects you to run ten miles with her before you both start work. And, listen, talking of Christmas, you’re more than welcome to join us in Ibiza. One of our party has just dropped out, so you’d be doing us a favour. I know you’re short of cash, but it really is dirt-cheap.’
    Eric played for time, spinning out his last few inches of beer. How could he reveal to Stella that he had never, ever, been on a plane, and didn’t intend to start? Forget vibrant, sparky, free-spirited – a wimp and a coward would be closer to the truth. But dating sites avoided any mention of phobias or fears. OK to list your hobbies, your politics, your star-sign, but not the things that brought you out in a cold sweat. ‘Er, can I let you know?’
    ‘’Course. But don’t leave it too long.’ Stella fumbled in her holdall and withdrew a Waterstone’s bag. ‘Listen, Eric, don’t be offended, but I’ve bought you a little present.’
    ‘Why should I be offended?’ Opening the bag, he read the title aloud: ‘ Teach Yourself Flirting . Oh, I see,’ he murmured, crestfallen.
    ‘It’s by this guy who calls himself a date-doctor and it’s full of quite fantastic tips. I thought it might be useful, because it deals with things like the shrinking-violet syndrome and what he calls desperitis.’
    ‘Oh,’ he said again, feeling seriously deflated. Shy he might be, but hardly a shrinking violet – and hardly desperate, either. Besides, could you teach yourself flirting?