My Single friend by Jane Costello

Chapter 13

Henry was top of the class at everything when we were growing up. But he’s not at Kingsfield Primary now, and tonight, as he perches on the sofa, his expression is confused. He’s plainly not following what’s going on.

            ‘Flirting Rule Number One,’ says Dominique, jabbing her biro onto the flip-chart we created from a stepladder and a roll of wallpaper, ‘is to feel good about yourself. Do you feel good about yourself, Henry?’

            He takes a gulp of wine. ‘Fine.’

            ‘Fine, Henry? Fine?’ She could be auditioning for the part of the Drill Sergeant in An Officer and a Gentleman.

            ‘We don’t want you to feel fine. We want you to feel on top of the world. Feel good about yourself and others will feel good about you. Everyone loves being around a confident, charismatic person.’

            ‘Okay. Yep.’

            ‘You’ve got every reason to be confident, Henry – because you look wonderful,’ adds Erin encouragingly. ‘Keep reminding yourself how attractive you are. If you walk into a bar looking like this, you’ll be more gorgeous than most of the men in there.’

            ‘And better dressed,’ I add.

            ‘With a hairdo Edward Cullen would die for,’ adds Dominique.

            ‘God,’ says Henry, taken aback. ‘I look that good?’

            ‘Yes!’ we all reply.

            ‘If I’m that irresistible, can’t I go into a bar and wait for them to come to me?’

            We laugh.

            ‘What’s so funny?’ Henry frowns.

            ‘You’re not that irresistible,’ I tell him.

            ‘Oh,’ he says dejectedly.

            ‘No one’s that irresistible,’ clarifies Erin.

            ‘Oh,’ he says once more, perking up.

            ‘The fact is, love,’ Dominique continues, ‘women need a little encouragement. In fact, a lot of encouragement. I don’t know any woman who would hit on a bloke if he’d given absolutely no indication that he liked her.’

            Erin and I look at her meaningfully and she shrugs, saying, ‘Okay, I would hit on a guy without that. But I’m an exception. Besides, I’m not Henry’s type.’

            I detect a flash of relief in his eyes.

            ‘The point is,’ she continues, ‘you have to engage with a woman. To smile at her and say: “I like you, I think you’re hot. I want to talk to you, to get to know you better.” And you have to say all this to her . . . without saying anything at all.’

            ‘I have to pass her a note?’

            I stifle a giggle.

            ‘You say all this with your eyes,’ says Dominique huskily.

            ‘My eyes,’ he repeats.

            ‘Your eyes,’ she breathes.