The Number One Rule for Girls. Rachel McIntyre

thinks she’s found the man of her dreams.’ Ayesha put her hands on her hips, signalling the conversation was entering the bossy phase. ‘This means we, or more specifically you, need to start being more supportive and stop being mean about a guy you haven’t even met.’

      ‘Pah. If Shaney’s the man of her dreams, she’s set the bar so low it’s lying on the floor,’ I snorted. ‘No, in fact, the bar is actually subterranean.’

      Before Ayesha had a chance to respond, her mum rapped once on the door then walked in, looking remarkably glamorous for a woman who’d spent her day chopping bunions, it has to be said. Not an orthopaedic clog/nylon tunic in sight.

      ‘You look amazing, Mrs Stokes,’ I whistled. ‘I love that dress.’ Fit and flare black cat-print midi with one net underskirt by the look of it.

      She grinned and did a twirl. ‘Thanks.’

      ‘Guess who’s going on a date,’ said Ayesha, putting an arm round her mum.

      ‘It’s just a cup of coffee,’ she said, squeezing Ayesha into a quick hug. ‘I’ll only be an hour or so.’

      ‘Have fun!’ me and Ayesha chorused.

      ‘Will do!’ she shouted from the stairs.

      ‘Date, eh?’ I said when the front door had closed. ‘How do you feel about that, you know, after what happened last time?’

      Ayesha sat back on the bed. ‘I think it’s great she’s finally ready to get out there again.’

      ‘Has she heard from Dan at all?’

      ‘No, but that hasn’t stopped her stressing.’ Ayesha frowned, twisting the corner of the duvet in her hands. ‘Not just about herself either. She worries about him doing the same to someone else.’

      ‘Isn’t he on some kind of avoid this man register?’

      Ayesha shrugged. ‘Not sure there is one.’

      Of course not. Go too fast, get banned from driving. Shoplift, get banned from town. Beat a dog, get banned from owning animals. Abuse your partner, get a lifetime relationship ban? Er, no.

      So what was in place to stop He-devil Dan torturing the next woman unlucky enough to fall for him? Big fat zilch and zero, apparently.

      ‘A date’s a good sign though,’ I said, keeping my grim thoughts to myself. ‘First step type thing.’

      ‘Yeah,’ she smiled. ‘This guy works with her cousin. She only went cos he came with a personal recommendation. No way she’ll go internet man-shopping again.’

      ‘References,’ I agreed. ‘I get that. No more nasty surprises.’

      Of course, the real nasty surprise was that Dan had stayed Big Bad News for so long. Even though it had been over a year since they’d split, those few months had cast a massive shadow.

      I think what made it more of a shock was Ayesha’s mum being pretty much the last person you’d picture with an utter nutter. But I guess control freaks don’t advertise. Hi, I’m Dan, six feet two with eyes of blue. I like long walks on the beach, Thai green curry and terrorising women.

      That’s what I’ve learned. Doesn’t matter what age, gender, IQ, personality – there is no such thing as a typical situation. If it could happen to someone like Ayesha’s mum, it could happen to anyone.

      Which made Ayesha’s fence-sitting over Beth even more mystifying because if ever a man had a neon arrow over his head flashing AVOID AVOID AVOID it was Shaney, and yet she was telling me to be ‘more understanding’. I didn’t get it.

      On the walk home I rang Beth once, twice, three times with no answer. This suggested she was either de-grounded and out with her badly inked boy (unlikely) or in a humungous strop with me. Either way it didn’t matter. I knew as soon as Shaney joined Stinky Pete and Co. on the scrapheap, she’d be phoning me to say I’d been right all along.

      Mum was pulling on her boots in the hall as I let myself in.

      ‘River’s had his bath and he’s just got into bed. Me and Dad should be back around nine.’ She picked up her coat. ‘Thanks for doing this, love.’

      I crept upstairs and, after removing a fluffy T-rex, perched on the edge of River’s bed. I was tucking the duvet round his shoulders when he spoke, his voice slightly muffled, but the words clear. ‘Daisy, when is Matt coming back?’

      Ouch. It totally killed me that River missed Matt nearly as much as I did. If my heart wasn’t already broken, his sad little voice would’ve cracked it in two. ‘I don’t know, little man,’ I said steadily. ‘Now why don’t I read you a story?’

      It took several Gruffaloes and a Mr Tickle before he finally dropped off, Biohazard (aka Teddy) clutched in his arms. And as he drifted off to the Land of Nod, I drifted off to the sofa, planning a trash telly fest. But when I flicked through the property/cookery/travel show old-fartathon specials, I just couldn’t concentrate.

      In search of more effective distraction, I headed up to my room. If the real world held nothing of interest, maybe the virtual one would. I unearthed my pile o’crap laptop from under the pile o’crap on my desk.

      Pressed the button. Waited. Tidied the top layer of my desk. Waited some more. Aeons passed; dynasties crumbled; civilisations rose and fell before my home page shuddered to life. But even then leafing through other people’s happy updates and smiley photos did nothing to lift my mood.

      I suddenly felt very, very fed up.

      Fed up of wishing Matt’s mum hadn’t watched so many travel programmes. Fed up of pretending to be OK. Fed up of waiting to feel happy again.

      Mainly, though, I was just fed up of being fed up.

      There was nothing but spam in my home email and I was expecting the same of my college one when, as Flip-flop Phil had instructed, I logged in.

      And got the surprise of my life.

      Hidden deep among the dreary admin-crap was a shiny and unexpected gem:

      Subject: Stranger Danger

      Daisy,

      Didn’t your parents teach you not to take sweets from strangers?

      Toby x

      Eh? In some dusty corner of Heartbreak Hell, a drowsy memory opened one eye. God, what was it called again? That thing when someone waited for you after a lesson, gave you sweets, sent an email . . . Tip of my tongue . . . Fl-? Fli-? Flir-?

      Dun dun durrr! Was Toby Smith flirting with me?

      Wow. I sat back in my desk chair and reread the words on the screen, trying to assess the angle of his dangle: was it frisky or friendly? Impossible to tell.

      What I needed was a response that walked the tricky tightrope between frosty and fangirl. A witty, effortless email that made it clear I was off limits without sounding like a bitch, basically.

      Easy, right?

      Ha ha. I could’ve learned to write Japanese quicker.

      Subject: Re: Stranger Danger

      Toby,

      We’d already met, so technically you weren’t a stranger and Jelly Babies aren’t dangerous anyway. (Except when you bite their bottoms).

      Thank you though, they did cheer me up.

      Daisy x

      I agonised over the words and then over the kiss. Trialled a version with it in, a version with it out. Kissy hokey-cokey. Still, that little flirty email arrived just in the nick of time to resuscitate my dying self-esteem.

      I smiled. Perhaps college wouldn’t be a disaster after all.