It wasn’t devastating, exactly, but the whole experience had been enough of a let-down that I approached my phone in the mornings to check Tinder with far less enthusiasm than previously, and far more trepidation.
‘How do you do it?’ I asked Robbie, as we made sandwiches one lunchtime.
‘I just slice the bread, butter it, spread on the filling, top with another bit of bread and cut it in half,’ he said. ‘Voila.’
‘Not this, you doughnut! The dating thing. Like, without it totally destroying your self-confidence?’
‘Oh, Zoë,’ he said, with a sigh that seemed to come all the way from the AirWear soles of his Doc Marten boots. ‘You poor love. It’s tough at first, isn’t it? You’re going to have to develop a thicker skin, stat.’
‘But how do you do that? I mean, surely getting knocked back hurts every time? Or do you get used to it?’
He paused, biting his lower lip reflectively, and spread mustard onto a slice of ham. ‘You don’t have to get used to it. It might always smart a bit. But why not tell yourself there’s a reason for it? If someone’s a dick, or flaky and doesn’t turn up, or ghosts you after you’ve shagged or whatever, then actually you’ve dodged a bullet. Because if someone does that after one date, how badly could they break your heart after a year? And how much of your life would you have spaffed away if you ended up marrying them or something, and only realised they were a dick after that?’
‘I suppose that’s true. But it’s kind of disheartening, putting all this time and effort into it on the off-chance that the right person could be out there, when your chances of finding them must be pretty microscopic really.’
‘It’s not about finding The One, though, is it? Not at first, anyway. You’ve got to play the long game. Kiss a few frogs, go for drinks in a few places you wouldn’t normally, build up some experience of what the world is like, learn a bit more about yourself. That kind of thing. Oh, and have masses and masses of sex, obviously.’
He yawned hugely, stretching his arms high up over his head so the sleeves of his T-shirt slipped down over his lean biceps.
‘Isn’t it weird? The whole hook-up thing?’ I asked.
‘Weird? It’s like being a kid in a candy store. Actually, it’s not. It’s like being the candy in a candy store.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Zoë, I’m twenty-two. I won’t be forever. But for now, I can log on to Grindr and twenty minutes later be walking into a guy’s house for a fuck. I can take my pick, as well. I’m in high demand and I intend to make the most of it.’
Often, I’d noticed that Robbie made me feel absolutely ancient, but now, he was making me feel like a mere child, still wet behind the ears.
‘You mean a guy you’ve never met before?’
‘Usually. Sometimes it’s a second bite of the cherry. But you know, so many men, so little time. I may as well work my way through them while I can.’
‘So what, you go online, someone sends you a message, and you go round to his and…’
‘Have sex. That’s right. Sometimes they’re quite sweet and want to romance me with a glass of wine and a chat. But usually it’s walk in the door, shoes off and upstairs we go. If it wasn’t for my housemates I wouldn’t have to leave my bedroom, but I can’t really have people turning up at all hours of the morning, so I go out mostly.’
‘What if you don’t fancy the guy?’
‘We exchange pics first, of course. I like to know what I’m getting. No old blokes, no hairy blokes, no blokes with tiny cocks. I make my standards clear.’
‘And if he doesn’t look like his picture?’
‘Then I turn right around and walk back out again. Or sometimes I can’t be arsed with that and I just go through it anyway. It’s just sex.’
Just sex. I thought about that for a moment while I sliced a cucumber. I couldn’t imagine doing what Robbie was describing: walking out of my flat at three in the morning, getting on a night bus or into an Uber, turning up at a stranger’s house, going upstairs and having sex. I’d be terrified.
But it didn’t seem to bother Robbie in the slightest. Part of me wanted to warn him to be careful, to give him a massive hug and