Page 19 of Stella is Starting Over

‘It’s really lucky that you’re not looking for anything serious because, under other circumstances, I think I’d have to marry you for that answer,’ he says.

‘Yeah, well, bad luck, I’m still technically married,’ I say, tipping the pasta into the salted water. ‘Can you lay the table?’

He goes through the drawers to find the cutlery and place mats rather than asking me where they are, which I find surprisingly impressive. He even scrounges up a box of matches and lights some candles from the book shelves, dusty because I haven’t bothered to do anything so scene-setty for months. Then he picks up a pile of papers from the end of the kitchen table, various leaflets about things I need to do with Rose or don’t want to do with Rose or have promised myself I will do with Rose. And then I watch in slow motion as he picks up a piece of paper, turns it over and sees his own name.

‘Just put that over there!’ I say, my voice embarrassingly high pitched.

‘What is it?’ he asks.

I try to pull the paper out of his hands, but he’s taller than me and holds it sufficiently high that I can’t see. ‘The Bad Boy, the Romantic – why is my name on this?’

I go bright red and remember that I can’t throw myself off the roof because the windows are painted shut and I have a child to look after. ‘It’s a list,’ I say.

‘A list of what?’

‘My mantourage,’ I say shamefully, looking down at the floor.

Dom bursts out laughing. ‘What the fuck is a mantourage?

I try to sound dignified. ‘A mantourage, it’s actually based on a book by this very impressive American professor.’ Okay, I don’t think she was a professor, but he might take me more seriously if that’s what I call her.

‘A professor of shagging?’

‘No, professor of. . . I want to say sociology.’

‘That really sounds like a euphemism for shagging.’

‘She’s not about shagging! Okay, well, maybe a bit about shagging, but basically, she has this theory that if you lack experience and you eventually want to settle down again, you have to spend a predefined period dating a number of men who fit different archetypes, and then when you’ve spent time with all of them, you can date to marry. And you know, I’ve done like no dating, I’m a total idiot when it comes to this stuff, so that’s what I’m doing. This is like my intensive revision course.’

He nods and then goes back to the paper. ‘Which archetype am I? A Bad Boy?’

I really don’t know yet. I’ve barely got to know Dom, and I haven’t actually got past the third chapter of Lexie Leung’s book because Rose is having a sleep regression and my brain has been melted by mum Instagram and breastfeeding TikTok. ‘That would be telling,’ I respond, looking up at him and trying to sound coy. ‘I put you down as Bad Boy provisionally, okay?’

Dom is elated. ‘What makes me a Bad Boy?’

‘I don’t know!’ I retort. ‘You were wearing a leather jacket in one of the pictures on your profile.’

‘I was dressed up as Danny Zuko for a Grease theme night!’

‘Well, I didn’t know that! You’re not even in the mantourage yet; I’m just working it out.’

‘Wait, I’m auditioning?’

I sigh, exasperated. ‘Yes!

He laughs again. ‘This is genuinely amazing. I am going to need you to update me at absolutely every step of this insane plan. I’m going to get into the mantourage purely so I can have a front row seat to what’s happening around me.’

I shake my head and drain the pasta, then combine it with the sauce, snow a generous amount of Parmesan over it and put both plates on the table. As the plates touch the tablecloth I realise that I haven’t cooked dinner like this, low key, things from the fridge, for one other person since Gav left, and I want to cry all over again but then he probably will leave and it’ll be a waste of pasta.

‘Where did you grow up?’ I ask in a slightly strangled voice.

‘Are you okay?’ he asks, not ignoring the oddness in my voice like I’d hoped he would.

I nod. He seems to understand that I need to not talk right now. ‘Ruislip.’

‘Nice,’ I say, blowing on a forkful of pasta that I’m suddenly not hungry to eat. ‘This might need salt.’

He takes an enormous mouthful. ‘It doesn’t. And I’m taking it you’ve never been to Ruislip.’