Page 6 of In the Same Boat

Oh, great, he’s taken this as his cue to stay, rather than to leave.

‘And this is Nico.’

He gives me a hard slap on the back as he says my name.

They introduce themselves too. Sandra and Zoey. It’s still hard to tell if they actually want to talk to us, or if they’re just being polite.

‘So what brings you here tonight?’ Hank asks.

‘A friend’s birthday,’ one of them says. ‘She’s over there.’

We all glance vaguely in the direction indicated. There’s a group of women dancing, drinking Prosecco, having a great time – and not a man in sight. Hank needs to learn who wants to be chatted up and who doesn’t. I’m certain these girls don’t.

‘And you?’ she asks.

‘We’re trying somewhere new,’ Hank says. ‘I love to try new things.’

‘Where do you usually drink?’ the other woman asks.

I open my mouth, to say anywhere other than where I do usually go out, then close it again as Hank answers.

‘Oh, all over,’ he says vaguely. ‘We get around.’

I stare at him.

He smiles like he’s really pleased with that answer.

The conversation continues for a few more minutes, never leaving that space where everyone is being polite but no one is particularly invested. Hank is trying his best, though.

‘It’s a shame you don’t come here often,’ Zoey tells me.

‘We would have noticed you,’ Sandra adds.

I don’t say anything – mostly because I’m not here to meet someone. I’m here to help Hank.

As their attention seems to drift in my direction, I notice Hank stand a little taller, puff up his chest a bit.

‘He might not be up for it, but I could definitely see myself becoming a regular,’ he tells them.

Zoey glances over at her friends and gives the thumbs up. I don’t think anyone did actually call her over, but I can’t blame her for trying to make a quick exit.

‘We should probably get back,’ she says. ‘But it was nice meeting you.’

‘You too,’ I say.

Hank nods, already recalibrating, scoping out the place for his next targets.

‘That went well,’ he says as soon as they’re gone.

‘It did not,’ I reply.

‘It wasn’t a disaster,’ he insists. ‘You were the problem – your one could tell you weren’t really interested.’

I would be fascinated to find out which one was allegedly my one, and which was his one, because neither of them seemed all that interested.

We drift back towards the bar.

‘You’re supposed to be helping,’ he reminds me.