Death has a way of crystallising priorities, and deadlines have a way of culling them. So when mankind awoke on October 24th with the inexplicable and unshakeable understanding that the world was going to end, what emerged was the crux of human nature – the immutable essence at people’s cores.

The desirous stopped waiting; storming luxury car dealers and jewellery stores, electronics shops and boutiques, taking with force the material trophies that had for so long been their goal. They stole beautiful things from people who no longer cared about them, and hoisted their trophies in vainglorious fury before a world that no longer watched.

The rational sought answers; churning with passionate eloquence theories of aliens and infection, mass delusion and deceit, a storm of ink and sound moving only those already inclined to listen. They deconstructed and debated, deliberated and declared, as though by understanding the coming doom they could control it, and failed in utter logic to agree.

The delusional maintained their fantasies; praying and prostrating, preaching and promising with smug satisfaction that this had all been part of their plan. They blamed their enemies, non‑believers, secret societies as magical as any myth, or they rejected the entire idea with sneering contempt – as it was inconceivable, obviously, that they, the centre of the universe, could ever possibly die.

All over, people spent their last week acting on what was in their hearts. The familial came together, the dull did what they’d been told, and the hateful took advantage of the lack of consequence to violently rectify a thousand nurtured wrongs. The fearful threw themselves desperately at anyone promising safety; the addicted abandoned any pretence of restraint; and then there were the good, those rare and blessed few, who in the face of annihilation still worked tirelessly to comfort and aid their fellow man.

Jacob was none of these.

From the moment he’d woken up knowing they were all going to die, things had been perfectly clear. He’d gotten up, made his bed, had a quick shower and got dressed into a neat lavender shirt and coffee-coloured chinos, then packed a rucksack and quietly walked out the front door without saying a word to anyone.

Outside of course was chaos, but Jacob took no notice. He left his car in the garage, accurately predicting the roads would be gridlock, and spent a minute or two crouched on the sidewalk ensuring his bicycle tyres were properly pumped while the air around him wailed with honking horns. After ensuring he had everything he’d need, Jacob hopped on his bike and set off.

He rode through the city, ignoring the cursing traffic and distant sirens. He swerved to avoid a patch of glass where someone had thrown a garbage can through a pawnshop window and studiously avoided catching the eyes of the three men now removing a TV. After three blocks he had to dismount because a large, bear-like man was stumbling around slurring while swinging a knife, but before too long a police officer – still obviously possessed of a sense of duty – arrived and shot him, and Jacob felt safe to continue.

His first stop was a row of terrace houses about half an hour’s ride away, but with the madness of civilisation collapsing it took Jacob forty-five. The houses were in a neighbourhood had been on the verge of gentrifying, and two streets over a large block of government housing was on fire. Personally Jacob didn’t blame the arsonists – if he’d have had to live there he probably would’ve burnt it down too – just like he didn’t blame fire brigade who were nowhere to be found. It was a hideously unattractive building, all blocky grey concrete, and they were completely disincentivised.

He chained his bicycle to a streetlamp and walked up the redbrick steps to peer through the front window of the terrace house he’d come to see. Though it was obscured by a white translucent curtain, he could vaguely make out the small lounge and dining room inside – the TV on the cabinet, the chairs toppled on the floor. There was no movement. Jacob chewed on a frown but ultimately wasn’t too disappointed. He’d might’ve guessed this would be a bust.

He unchained his bike and got back on the road, or more literally the sidewalk, as the road was mostly still blocked up with cars and people shouting. His next stop was about an hour and a half away, and apart from getting accosted by a hysterical old woman shouting ‘REPENT!’ to everyone she could get her hands on, the ride was relatively uneventful. Jacob pulled the bike to a stop in an open, tree-lined suburb and left it unchained upon a patch of grass.

The house he approached was a proper house, no measly terrace or apartment. It had a garden, somewhat untended, and a porch, somewhat unpainted, and a wooden latched gate leading to a modest backyard. It was to this Jacob walked. Around back, a well-maintained lawn sat in the middle of a careful garden, and it was there Jacob stopped, looking into the house through a run of glass doors, and considered the fat man passed out inside.

For a minute Jacob did nothing. He knew the man, of course, though he had no desire to disturb him. What he was after wasn’t there, and it was doubtful the man could do anything to change that. And from the looks of the food and ash splayed over the floor around him, it’d be some hours before he came down from his almighty high.

Jacob walked back to his bike and kept riding.

And so it went. One after the other, day after day, Jacob rode in disconnected silence, stopping one place after the other, never entering, never engaged. All around him, civilisation crumbled – fires spread, gangs looted, people took their own lives. Jacob rode right through it, patient and calm, neither pushing himself onwards nor permitting substantial delay. He simply rode and kept on looking, stopping only to wash, to eat, to rest.

The places he stopped grew ever further distant, drawing apart from each other in a slow outward spiral. A school, a hospital, a farmhouse – disparate places, unconnected save for a single thread running through them, a silent process of elimination. It was a strange way to spend your last week alive, perhaps, but Jacob had never struggled for satisfaction. There was nothing he wasn’t doing that needed to be done and nothing worth doing that he hadn’t done before. Except this.

On the sixth day, he moved beyond the city, riding out along the highway in the cool Autumn breeze. The roads were empty now – all the people gone to their homes, to desperation or to death. It was a beautiful chance to experience the slow softness of the countryside, the subtlety and beauty unremarkably omnipresent in nature. He took regular stops and made sure to rest well, seemingly in no hurry to reach his goal – for it wasn’t a goal, really, just something he wanted to do.

His last stop was a camping ground, and he reached it just after dawn on the seventh day.

Jacob’s bicycle slid slowly to a stop at the end of a long dirt road. There, a hundred feet in front of him stood a boathouse, plain wood cabins and outdoor grills. Trees lulled low and lazy over sparkling water and a soft breeze whispered across the lake. The grass was a wide green cushion beneath his shoes, and somewhere waterbird stirred. All was quiet and empty – save for two familiar cars.

Jacob drew a deep, calm breath, revelling at the cool fresh air between his lungs. He gently placed the bike, his faithful steed, down to rest upon the grass, then with patient calm alighted the steps of the foremost cabin and knocked upon the door.

Sounds came from inside. Confused voices. The latch turned and a young blonde woman appeared wearing a pink nightgown, her hair unbrushed and dishevelled. Her eyes fell on him in shock.

“Jacob?” she whispered.

Jacob nodded, his face mute. “Eliza,” he acknowledged.

“What are you-?”

“Just bear with me,” he said simply, cutting her gently off, “I’ve come a long way.”

The woman fell silent, just staring at him, her mouth open. Jacob closed his eyes and spent a few moments steadying his thoughts. He took a deep breath and opened his eyes, looking Eliza directly in the face. Then very calmly, he started to speak.

“You are a bad person,” he said. He lay the words down like cards on a table, without passion or antipathy. “I don’t know if anybody ever told you that; probably not. You’re probably too beautiful. But I just wanted you to know that, before this all ends. You are a piece of shit.”

“I don’t think you mean to be. I don’t think you wake up in the morning and go ‘today I’m going to hurt someone’. You’re not malicious; but in a way, it’d almost be better if you were. At least if that was the case, you’d be being honest about it. But you’re not; you’re just oblivious.”

The woman opened her mouth, but Jacob held up his hand. “I’m sure you’d argue,” he continued, “Because that’s what you do. You excuse and explain and justify so you’re never the wrongdoer, always the victim. And to you, you are, because nothing you do feels wrong – because that’s your guiding light, your feelings. You have this unshakeable belief that whatever you feel is right must be right, and it never once crosses your mind that that is literally the definition of immorality. You are objectively a bad person, but I don’t think you have a single regret in your life.”

“A part of me thinks it’s insecurity. A part of me thinks maybe it’s arrogance, that you’re so self‑important that you immovably believe that if you feel like doing something, it can’t be wrong. A part of me thinks you’re just ignorant, and too stupid to give it any thought.” Eliza started to bristle, but her objections were kneaded into nothingness as Jacob continued to simply talked.

“Don’t misunderstand me,” he said, “I’m not stuck on what you’ve done. I got over it, I moved on. I lived my life – I’m happy. The world’s coming to an end and I don’t regret anything. I don’t need anything, don’t want anything, except this. And this isn’t spite, it’s not revenge – it’s just straightening out the papers.” He paused. “I didn’t get the chance to tell you, and now I have. That’s all.”

“Not that it’ll change anything mind you, because it can’t; by definition it can’t. You’re already thinking of how to dismiss this, how I’m just trying to hurt you, how I’m wrong. You stopped listening the second I said something critical. The truth rolls off you like Teflon. But there it is.”

Jacob paused. “You are a bad person,” he finished, “And you always will be.”

For a few moments, neither one said anything. The two of them stood in silence, outside the calm wood cabin, in the murmuring cold salt wind.

Finally, the woman opened her mouth. “I-”

And then the world ended.

It was at that point that Sonnie noticed her penis.

“What the fu-” she started to say, but then stopped – because the voice that had come out of her mouth was not the refined, endearing tones of a darling English movie star, but rather the profound rumbling bass of Mufasa trying to repel hyenas. She spun towards the mirror – only to find herself staring at a gigantic black man with a dong the size of a Costco salami, who stared in horror back at her.

“What the fuck!” Sonnie shrieked, or rather thundered, because again, her voice could’ve been put to the ground to test earthquake sensors. She stumbled out of the chamber in semi-delirium, steadying herself against the walls with hands the size of a Texan ribeye, then lurched forward, buck‑ass nude, towards the front counter.

“What the fuck is this!” she demanded, and the overweight speckly guy behind the counter winced as her words physically impacted his face.

“What’s what, why, what’s wrong?” he stammered, nervously pushing his glasses back up his nose.

Sonnie was incredulous. “What’s wrong!” she howled, likely causing every dog within a two-mile radius considerable panic, “What’s wrong! Are you blind? This isn’t what I ordered!”

The BodEz clerk wilted. “No it’s-it’s-it’s fine, that’s what you-” He reached down with trembling hands and brought up the clipboard with her paperwork on it. “See?”

Sonnie didn’t even look. “This is not Keira Knightley!” she roared, and she slammed her meat‑hammer fists into the counter so hard it caused her ridiculously oversized penis to jump.

There was a moment’s silence. The clerk blinked and swallowed nervously.

“Keiran,” he said, cowering slightly. He held up the clipboard. “You, um. You selected Keiran Knightley. Male, um, African-American male adult, um, film star. K-k-keiran. Keiran Knightley.”

For a moment Sonnie just stood there panting, her eyes bulging at the clerk like he’d just slapped her grandma across the face. Then slowly she forced her gaze down to the signed form on the counter. It was indeed hers – her name was there, along with her details and her signature. And then, just like he’d said, in the ‘Selected BodEz’ box, there it was, plain as day – Keiran Knightley.

Sonnie made a quick note to kill herself as soon as she got home.

“Change it back,” she hissed, a sound that could’ve seduced an anaconda. She leaned towards the trembling clerk, her massive bulk blotting out the fluorescent light. “Put. Me. Back.”

“I, I can’t,” he whimpered, looking for all intents and purposes like he was about to cry, “The-the mental st-stabalisers, it’s not safe, you, you can’t ch-ch-change m-more than once a week.”

Sonnie suddenly felt weak. “I can’t be like this for a week!”

“I’m sorry.”

The world was spinning. “No,” she gasped, gulping in huge lungfuls of air, “I can’t be like this for a week!” Her knees shook and she had to hold onto the counter with her canned-ham arms.

For a few moments the clinic was deadly quiet save for her ragged breathing.

“Would you like some clothes?” cringed the clerk.

***

Two hours later, a six-foot-five, two-hundred and fifty-pound black man sat in a teenage girl’s bedroom and sobbed hysterically into her Hello Kitty bedspread.

“It’s all ruined!” she wailed, tears leaking out from behind hands the size of dinner plates, “I can’t- hic- oh God look at me! I can’t go to prom like this!”

Sonnie’s boyfriend Kevin, now occupying the body of Orlando Bloom, tried to keep the despair from his rugged face. “It’s okay,” he lied, not particularly convincingly, “It’ll… it’ll be fine.”

“Fine?” howled Sonnie, “How will it be fine Kevin? Are you fucking kidding me, how will this be fine!”

“We’ll just say it was on purpose!” he shouted, throwing up his beautifully sculpted arms, “We’re doing a thing, like making a statement, like, gay pride!”

“I don’t want fucking gay pride Kevin!” Sonnie cried, “I want us! I wanted it be perfect! Just one perfect night!” She moaned and curled up on the bed, clutching the pink comforter to her chest in a hug that probably could have asphyxiated an antelope. “Ohhh, I was supposed to be beautiful. It was supposed to be our first time!”

“It still can be!” Kevin replied, although with marked unenthusiasm. Sonnie let out a wet scoff.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” She let go of the comforter and sat up, glaring swords. “Look at me. Look at me! I have a bigger penis than you!”

Orlando-Kevin’s face flushed. “There’s nothing wrong with my penis now!” he cried, and began unzipping his trousers to pull out Legolas’s dong, “Look!”

“Oh stop, put it away!” Sonnie cried, and sunk once more to sob uncontrollably into Hello Kitty’s midriff. Halfway exposed, Kevin reluctantly re-zipped himself, then stood around uncomfortably while his now-black now-boyfriend continued to weep.

“There’s other ways to fix it,” he said, uncomfortable, averting his gaze, “You don’t even have to go, what if you stay here and motion-capture a hologram instead?”

“A hologram.” Sonnie paused her crying to look up at him with an expression of venomous disgust. “So not only will the whole school know I’m ugly, but they’ll think I’m poor too?!”

“Holograms aren’t just for poor people!” he tried, but the argument was half-hearted. Sonnie leant her giant black head back and released a loud anguished moan.

“Fat Sonnie Chu,” she wailed, “Ugly and lazy and stupid and poor! Oh God I can hear them now, they’re all going to laugh at me, fucking Jessica Johnson and her fucking skanks, oh God why is this happening to me, why is this happening!”

“Because you chose the wrong name from a drop-down box?” Kevin snapped. Sonnie glared at him.

Downstairs, the doorbell rang.

“Oh God,” moaned Sonnie, burying her head in her hands. Orlando-Kevin rolled his eyes and strode out of the bedroom. The thud of his feet descending the stairs was followed by the sound of the front door swinging open and sudden squeals of excitement, then the distant tones of conversation. Sonnie listened glumly as several sets of footsteps traipsed back up the stairs towards her.

“Oh my God, honey,” lamented Julie the moment she entered. The skinny brunette swooped down over Sonnie’s bed and placed a small hand on each of her enormous shoulders. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry, this is awful!” She leant in, trying and failing to wrap her arms around Sonnie’s enormous chest. “What happened? Is there anything we can do?” Behind her, Jake, Noni and Orlando-Kevin trailed into the room, the first two looking appropriately sombre.

“No,” Sonnie grumbled, “I’m stuck like this. The fucking BodEz guy screwed up.”

“Oh God, that’s the worst!” She pulled back from the hug and stared at Sonnie, her mouth set in pity. “I can’t believe they’d do this to you! And two days before prom!”

She wasn’t stuttering at all, Sonnie noticed.

“You guys all went okay then?” she asked glumly. She didn’t really need to ask for Noni – her skin looked as clean and clear as porcelain, the micro-hologram emitters sitting as studs in her earlobes hiding any visible trace of acne. The three newcomers nodded.

“You’ve still got a bit of a limp though,” she said to Jake. The short dark-haired boy nodded, turning slightly red as he leant on the doorframe.

“I only got the Disco Package uploaded,” he informed her, “It won’t kick in until I start dancing.”

“Yeah but then you’ll show everyone,” enthused Orlando-Kevin, and the pair of them exchanged grins. “Want to see my dick?”

“I’m fine,” cooed Julie, her words flawlessly enunciated. Sonnie could just make out the small wireless device implanted behind her temple, but if you weren’t looking for it you’d never notice the implant, or that her words were actually being spoken by a voice coach in the Philippines. “And honey, you’re going to fine too, there has to be a way, we can fix this.”

“How?” said Sonnie, choking up once more with tears, “How can we fix this? Look at me Julie. Fucking look at me.” Her lips trembled. “I’d already altered my dress.”

Julie and Noni both moved beside her and together managed to give Sonnie’s enormous frame a unified hug as she descended into a fresh round of sobs. Over in the corner, Kevin and Jake were chortling, Kevin’s pants around his ankles.

“Hey Sonnie,” said Jake, looking up from Orlando-Kevin’s proud new dong, “I hear you’ve got a huge dick.”

“Shut up Jake,” snapped Julie, as Sonnie’s howling intensified, “Don’t be an asshole. Don’t listen to him sweetie,” she reassured her, patting Sonnie on her enormous back, “You’ve got nothing to be ashamed of. It doesn’t matter what you look like, okay? It’s what’s on the inside that counts.”

The five of them exchanged glances.

“Yeah,” hiccupped Sonnie, “Totally.”

It was at that point that Sonnie noticed her penis.

“What the fu-” she started to say, but then stopped – because the voice that had come out of her mouth was not the refined, endearing tones of a darling English movie star, but rather the profound rumbling bass of Mufasa trying to repel hyenas. She spun towards the mirror – only to find herself staring at a gigantic black man with a dong the size of a Costco salami, who stared in horror back at her.

“What the fuck!” Sonnie shrieked, or rather thundered, because again, her voice could’ve been put to the ground to test earthquake sensors. She stumbled out of the chamber in semi-delirium, steadying herself against the walls with hands the size of a Texan ribeye, then lurched forward, buck‑ass nude, towards the front counter.

“What the fuck is this!” she demanded, and the overweight speckly guy behind the counter winced as her words physically impacted his face.

“What’s what, why, what’s wrong?” he stammered, nervously pushing his glasses back up his nose.

Sonnie was incredulous. “What’s wrong!” she howled, likely causing every dog within a two-mile radius considerable panic, “What’s wrong! Are you blind? This isn’t what I ordered!”

The BodEz clerk wilted. “No it’s-it’s-it’s fine, that’s what you-” He reached down with trembling hands and brought up the clipboard with her paperwork on it. “See?”

Sonnie didn’t even look. “This is not Keira Knightley!” she roared, and she slammed her meat‑hammer fists into the counter so hard it caused her ridiculously oversized penis to jump.

There was a moment’s silence. The clerk blinked and swallowed nervously.

“Keiran,” he said, cowering slightly. He held up the clipboard. “You, um. You selected Keiran Knightley. Male, um, African-American male adult, um, film star. K-k-keiran. Keiran Knightley.”

For a moment Sonnie just stood there panting, her eyes bulging at the clerk like he’d just slapped her grandma across the face. Then slowly she forced her gaze down to the signed form on the counter. It was indeed hers – her name was there, along with her details and her signature. And then, just like he’d said, in the ‘Selected BodEz’ box, there it was, plain as day – Keiran Knightley.

Sonnie made a quick note to kill herself as soon as she got home.

“Change it back,” she hissed, a sound that could’ve seduced an anaconda. She leaned towards the trembling clerk, her massive bulk blotting out the fluorescent light. “Put. Me. Back.”

“I, I can’t,” he whimpered, looking for all intents and purposes like he was about to cry, “The-the mental st-stabalisers, it’s not safe, you, you can’t ch-ch-change m-more than once a week.”

Sonnie suddenly felt weak. “I can’t be like this for a week!”

“I’m sorry.”

The world was spinning. “No,” she gasped, gulping in huge lungfuls of air, “I can’t be like this for a week!” Her knees shook and she had to hold onto the counter with her canned-ham arms.

For a few moments the clinic was deadly quiet save for her ragged breathing.

“Would you like some clothes?” cringed the clerk.

***

Two hours later, a six-foot-five, two-hundred and fifty-pound black man sat in a teenage girl’s bedroom and sobbed hysterically into her Hello Kitty bedspread.

“It’s all ruined!” she wailed, tears leaking out from behind hands the size of dinner plates, “I can’t- hic- oh God look at me! I can’t go to prom like this!”

Sonnie’s boyfriend Kevin, now occupying the body of Orlando Bloom, tried to keep the despair from his rugged face. “It’s okay,” he lied, not particularly convincingly, “It’ll… it’ll be fine.”

“Fine?” howled Sonnie, “How will it be fine Kevin? Are you fucking kidding me, how will this be fine!”

“We’ll just say it was on purpose!” he shouted, throwing up his beautifully sculpted arms, “We’re doing a thing, like making a statement, like, gay pride!”

“I don’t want fucking gay pride Kevin!” Sonnie cried, “I want us! I wanted it be perfect! Just one perfect night!” She moaned and curled up on the bed, clutching the pink comforter to her chest in a hug that probably could have asphyxiated an antelope. “Ohhh, I was supposed to be beautiful. It was supposed to be our first time!”

“It still can be!” Kevin replied, although with definite unenthusiasm. Sonnie let out a wet scoff.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” She let go of the comforter and sat up, glaring swords. “Look at me. Look at me! I have a bigger penis than you!”

Orlando-Kevin’s face flushed. “There’s nothing wrong with my penis now!” he cried, and began unzipping his trousers to pull out Legolas’s dong, “Look!”

“Oh stop, put it away!” Sonnie cried, and sunk once more to sob uncontrollably into Hello Kitty’s midriff. Halfway exposed, Kevin reluctantly re-zipped himself, then stood around uncomfortably while his now-black now-boyfriend continued to weep.

“There’s other ways to fix it,” he said, uncomfortable, averting his gaze, “You don’t even have to go, what if you stay here and motion-capture a hologram instead?”

“A hologram.” Sonnie paused her crying to look up at him with an expression of venomous disgust. “So not only will the whole school know I’m ugly, but they’ll think I’m poor too?!”

“Holograms aren’t just for poor people!” he tried, but the argument was half-hearted. Sonnie leant her giant black head back and released a loud anguished moan.

“Fat Sonnie Chu,” she wailed, “Ugly and lazy and stupid and poor! Oh God I can hear them now, they’re all going to laugh at me, fucking Jessica Johnson and her fucking skanks, oh God why is this happening to me, why is this happening!”

“Because you chose the wrong name from a drop-down box?” Kevin snapped. Sonnie glared at him.

Downstairs, the doorbell rang.

“Oh God,” moaned Sonnie, burying her head in her hands. Orlando-Kevin rolled his eyes and strode out of the bedroom. The thud of his feet descending the stairs was followed by the sound of the front door swinging open and sudden squeals of excitement, then the distant tones of conversation. Sonnie listened glumly as several sets of footsteps traipsed back up the stairs towards her.

“Oh my God, honey,” lamented Julie the moment she entered. The skinny brunette swooped down over Sonnie’s bed and placed a small hand on each of her enormous shoulders. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry, this is awful!” She leant in, trying and failing to wrap her arms around Sonnie’s enormous chest. “What happened? Is there anything we can do?” Behind her, Jake, Noni and Orlando-Kevin trailed into the room, the first two looking appropriately sombre.

“No,” Sonnie grumbled, “I’m stuck like this. The fucking BodEz guy screwed up.”

“Oh God, that’s the worst!” She pulled back from the hug and stared at Sonnie, her mouth set in pity. “I can’t believe they’d do this to you! And two days before prom!”

She wasn’t stuttering at all, Sonnie noticed.

“You guys all went okay then?” she asked glumly. She didn’t really need to ask for Noni – her skin looked as clean and clear as porcelain, the micro-hologram emitters sitting as studs in her earlobes hiding any visible trace of acne. The three newcomers nodded.

“You’ve still got a bit of a limp though,” she said to Jake. The short dark-haired boy nodded, turning slightly red as he leant on the doorframe.

“I only got the Disco Package uploaded,” he informed her, “It won’t kick in until I start dancing.”

“Yeah but then you’ll show everyone,” enthused Orlando-Kevin, and the pair of them exchanged grins. “Want to see my dick?”

“I’m fine,” cooed Julie, her words flawlessly enunciated. Sonnie could just make out the small wireless device implanted behind her temple, but if you weren’t looking for it you’d never notice the implant, or that her words were actually being spoken by a voice coach in the Philippines. “And honey, you’re going to fine too, there has to be a way, we can fix this.”

“How?” said Sonnie, choking up once more with tears, “How can we fix this? Look at me Julie. Fucking look at me.” Her lips trembled. “I’d already altered my dress.”

Julie and Noni both moved beside her and together managed to give Sonnie’s enormous frame a unified hug as she descended into a fresh round of sobs. Over in the corner, Kevin and Jake were chortling, Kevin’s pants around his ankles.

“Hey Sonnie,” said Jake, looking up from Orlando-Kevin’s proud new dong, “I hear you’ve got a huge dick.”

“Shut up Jake,” snapped Julie, as Sonnie’s howling intensified, “Don’t be an asshole. Don’t listen to him sweetie,” she reassured her, patting Sonnie on her enormous back, “You’ve got nothing to be ashamed of. It doesn’t matter what you look like, okay? It’s what’s on the inside that counts.”

The five of them exchanged glances.

“Yeah,” hiccupped Sonnie, “Totally.”

“Excuse me miss. You look like you’re waiting for someone.”

The woman laughed and the man grinned, lowering himself into his seat. Around him, the warm air of the restaurant hummed with the sound of striding waiters and gentle conversation, a soft bed of noise draped in the scent of garlic intermingled with smoky firewood.

“I was beginning to think you weren’t going to show,” she said. Her voice had a clear, clean ring to it that reminded him of spring water. “Or that maybe you’d gotten lost.”

“A little lost,” the man admitted, “But the nice Irish lady on the GPS told me right in the end.”

They both laughed.

“Belinda.”

“Michael.”

Their words were warm, though neither moved for a handshake.

“How’d you find me?”

“Oh, the nice maître d at the front helped. Apparently you stand out.”

“It’s the indoor sunglasses,” she laughed, “Such poor fashion sense.”

“Well, fashion is my everything,” he replied dryly, and they both laughed again. By the time the laughter died out, the waiter had arrived and handed them both menus.

“We should have thought this out better,” said Michael, running his finger down the page.

“How so?”

“Well think about it. This was a real opportunity. We could’ve both shown up here in our most disgusting outfits without it ever being an issue. We could’ve really made a scene.”

“Oh my,” Belinda replied, falsely aghast, “What a horrendous idea. Think of the children.”

“Second date perhaps.”

“Bold of you to presume there’ll be a second date.”

“What can I say? I’m an optimist.”

They chuckled. Michael waved for a waiter and they ordered wine.

“So how do you know Julie?” he asked, once their orders had been taken.

“She was my flatmate in college. I spent three years listening to her and Brendan having sex through the walls.”

Michael laughed. “Oh God.”

“Yeaaaah,” said Belinda, sucking a satirical breath through her teeth, “But don’t tell her I said that, she’d be mortified.”

“Scout’s honour.”

“Thank you. They were always asking me if I could hear anything, and the walls were thick enough for everyone else, so I just went with it. What’s the harm, right? Let a girl have her fun.” Her tone turned slightly more serious. “But no, she’s great. Helped me out a lot. We’ve kept in touch. How do you know her?”

“She works on the floor above me,” Michael explained, “We kept running into each other in the lift. Got to chatting. She’s lovely.”

“Isn’t she?”

“Yeah. This whole idea is completely her though.”

“Oh completely,” Belinda agreed. She took an audible sip of her wine. “Even in college, she loved playing matchmaker. Like a little girl pairing up her dollies. ‘You look lonely Barbie’; ‘Hold hands Ken’.”

Michael laughed again. “Is that what we are? Playthings?”

“You betcha,” the woman across from him replied, smacking her lips. “Toys in the palm of a five-foot Asian superwoman.”

“Could be worse,” shrugged Michael.

“Yeah, she could be here watching.”

“How do we know she isn’t?”

“Good point.”

Their entrees arrived. The oyster shells were rough underneath Michael’s fingers, and he traced their edges delicately so as not to cut himself.

“So you’re an actuary?” Belinda asked.

“Yes,” he replied, with only the slightest sigh, “I mean I studied as a seal trainer, but no one will hire me.”

“Sounds like discrimination.”

“I was going to say it smelt fishy.”

Belinda snorted. “Oh my God, that’s terrible.”

“Sorry.”

“You should be.” She slurped another oyster. “So what’s being an actuary like?”

He shrugged. “It’s fine. Just numbers mainly. A few deadlines. Everyone’s very nice, very considerate. They’ve got a couple of good computer programs. There’s a lot of dictation, like you’d expect.” His hand found the wine glass. “And you do-?”

“Physio. For a couple of years now.”

“How’s that?”

“Oh you know, pretty standard. Poking, prodding, stretching, does it hurt when I do this. Shocks some people at first, but I know what I’m doing. You handle enough bodies and it’s easy to feel when something’s out of place.”

“You must have excellent fingers.”

“You have no idea.” Her grin was audible.

Their mains arrived. The smell of sizzling bacon and parmesan rose up from his spaghetti carbonara and he drew in a deep satisfied breath. They said the first bite was with the eyes, but the nose had to come a close second.

They enjoyed their first few bites before resuming the conversation.

“How’s the spaghetti?” Her steak-knife clicked as it made its way through her meat.

“Great, actually.” The silky, creamy blend of fat and salt saturated his mouth like dye sinking into thread. “I know you’re never supposed to order it on the first date but…”

She chuckled. “One of the perks.”

“Exactly.”

They lapsed into momentary silence, Belinda’s fork scraping between her salad.

“Can I ask you a real question?” she said after a moment.

“Sure.”

“Why are you single?” It didn’t sound like a mean question to Michael – simply curious. He twisted another forkful of spaghetti and pondered.

“I think it’s just the obvious,” he admitted finally, still turning the pasta, “It’s a big hurdle. People have got other choices. That’s just the truth.”

“Yeah.” She sounded a little disheartened. “I know what you mean. Although I think you might have it worse – a lot of guys want to look after me.”

“Is that good?”

“Sometimes good,” she answered, “Sometimes frustrating. I think I get sick of talking about it, you know? Repeating myself on boundaries. Having to explain.”

“I get you.”

She paused. “So no ex-wives? No long-term girlfriend?”

Michael chuckled. “Well I got a sympathy date to prom in high school, but apart from that, no, not really.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t sympathy.”

“I didn’t mind,” he said kindly, “Beggars can’t be choosy.”

They switched through topics for a while, then the waiter bought round dessert, him crème brûlée and her ice cream. There was no attempt to share.

Finally, the meal was at an end.

“Well this has been lovely,” said Michael.

“It has,” replied Belinda, then added with a fake growl, “Damn Julie and her meddling.”

“It’d be less annoying if she was worse at it,” he chuckled. A pause. “So can I walk you home?”

Belinda laughed out loud. “Now that would be a sight. Truly the blind leading the blind.”

Michael grinned. “That’s not a no.”

“Well of course it’s not,” she huffed, almost indignant, “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

They rose from their chairs. One hand on the table, Michael slowly made his way around towards Belinda. She rustled her handbag to the other side and his hand found her shoulder, and then in a movement so smooth it could’ve been coordinated, they unfurled their canes and began steadily tapping their way out of the restaurant.