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when Jack was about eight, I met Will. Sexy, talented Will, who played in a band and was rather gorgeous – but who ended up being almost as free-range and untrustworthy as Liam, and who finally decided he wasn’t doing either me or Jack any good. And since then, five or so years have passed and I’ve just not had the heart to begin dating again, even though Jack has intermittently told me that I should put myself on Match.com before I get ‘like
reeeeeally
old’.
    Lawrence knew Will, and was really fond of him, and knows how hard his departure hit our little family at the time, and he looks suitably sympathetic. ‘Look, I know it’s really difficult, but Jack has moved on and so should you.’
    ‘I know that,’ I tell him, and I really do. ‘It’s more that I just can’t be bothered with it all. Getting your heart broken, and all that. It’s so overrated.’
    ‘Ahh, I get it!’ Lawrence persists, clearly still bemused. ‘You’ve made an assumption based on watching just a few seconds of an old YouTube clip and now that’s the end of it! Dan Wright isn’t your type!’ He holds his palms up in the air in an ‘I-give-up’ pose.
    ‘No. But look, he’s a celebrity chef from swanky Mayfair,’ I pull a face. ‘Worlds apart from me. I can’t even remember the last time I went to London.’ I pause to think and then it comes to me. ‘I know, Jack was about ten years old and Will and I took him to see the sights – Big Ben, Tower of London, Madame Tussaud’s, that kind of thing,’ I start, feeling very provincial indeed.
    ‘Marvellous!
Seeeee …
’ And Lawrence smiles. ‘You have the perfect icebreaker. You can ask Dan what his favourite waxwork person is.’ He laughs to lighten the mood.
    ‘Ha-ha, very funny,’ I smirk. ‘And just look at how he’s sitting.’ I tap the laptop screen where the film is paused, showing Dan on the TV sofa with his legs wide open.
    ‘Sitting?’ Lawrence laughs harder. ‘What does that have to do with anything?’
    ‘Everything! He’s a spreader. And spreaders are inconsiderate, with no respect for personal space,’ I inform him, sounding far haughtier than I actually intended to. I cringe inwardly.
    ‘Ha! Well yes, I can see what you mean. But honestly, I’ve not seen him sitting like that at the breakfast table – in fact I think he had his legs firmly crossed, and on the few occasions when we’ve chatted, he actually seemed quite nice. Plus, you have to agree, you aren’t exactly spoilt for choice when it comes to meeting a new man here in Tindledale.’
    ‘Hmm, this is very true,’ I say, loath to agree, but Lawrence has a very valid point. I grew up with most of the Tindledale men – went to school with them – so any charm or sexual attraction they might have had got lost somewhere along the way, likely when they were busy picking their noses in class or attempting a snog at the end-of-year disco, having scoffed all the prawn cocktail crisps from the finger buffet only moments earlier. Eugh. No, the mystique and magic just isn’t happening. ‘Anyway, like I say, I really can’t be bothered with all that.’
    ‘Truly? Isn’t it what we all want? To love and be loved! Oh come on, Meg, wouldn’t it be brilliant for you to be wined and dined? A gorgeous creature like you with your peaches-and-cream complexion and curves in all the right places …’ He grins, sounding very corny indeed.
    ‘Oh stop it, you old smoothy,’ I laugh, giving his arm an affectionate bat.
    ‘Weell, it’s true, and how marvellous would it be … swept off your feet and whisked away to his restaurant in Mayfair? Very romantic! And he has three Michelin stars, so you’d know you’d be in for a gourmet treat,’ Lawrence adds, brightly, for good measure.
    ‘Maybe, but what’s he even doing here in Tindledale?’
    ‘Good point …’ Lawrence pauses. ‘I actually don’t know …’ He looks thoughtful.
    ‘Ooh, you’re slipping, Lawrence,’ I tut, pretending