But there was no fooling my kitchen. Like the cranky old campervan I’d bought a few years back when I was travelling around Europe, it seemed to sense my moods and play up if my mind was in a state of anything other than zen calm. The oven, which normally had to be set at least ten degrees higher than its temperature dial claimed to be, put on a power surge and almost burned the breakfast muffins. The food mixer blew a fuse when I was halfway through blending a vat of spring vegetable soup, so I had to pretend it was supposed to be chunky, and hastily amend the description on the chalkboard in the bar. My knives, which weren’t due to be sharpened for another two weeks, all seemed to have gone dull overnight, and the blade of one of them slipped on a sweet potato and cut my thumb.
So, all in all, I was massively relieved when the lunchtime rush was over and it was time to take my break and go to the gym. There, at least, I could lose myself, burn off some of my misery, sweat out the creeping sense of shame I felt and reset my mind ready for the evening.
I cleared everything away, wiped the surfaces, told the kitchen to have a good long think about what it had done and decide it was better than this, quickly changed into my workout kit and headed out through the bar.
It was quiet, almost empty, as was usual in the afternoons. The dominoes players had left, the mums had taken their toddlers home for their naps, the estate agents who always came for lunch were back in their office across the road. Only Fat Don remained in his usual place on a stool by the bar, slowly making his way down his fourth pint of the day, which would extend to five or six more by closing time.
But he wasn’t our only customer. Alone at a table next to the shelf of board games was someone I’d never seen before, a man about my age, with a dark beard and glasses. He was drinking coffee and reading. Nothing new there – mostly, people who came into the pub in the mornings and afternoons had laptops with them and spent their time intently focused on those, but sometimes people read books or magazines or whatever.
But this guy was reading something different. My hand was already on the door when I noticed, and I paused. He was engrossed in one of the books that had come with the Dungeons & Dragons set – the thick, heavy one. The Dungeon Master’s manual. The box was open on the table in front of him and dice were scattered around.
I thought for a second. I needed to get to the gym; I only had a couple of hours before I was due back in the kitchen to get cracking on the evening meal. But I’d promised Alice to try and find someone to be the Ginger Cat’s Dungeon Master, and this bloke, with his fancy watch and his leather sandals and his T-shirt that had an algebra equation printed on it, certainly looked the part. He was right out of nerd central casting.
I turned and walked over to his table.
‘Hi,’ I said, wondering if I should add, ‘Live long and prosper,’ or something.
He started like I’d poked him with something. ‘Uh… hi.’
‘My name’s Zoë,’ I carried on. ‘I’m the chef here.’
I extended my hand, and he hesitated a second, like touching me was the last thing he wanted to do, then shook it briefly.
‘I’m Adam.’
I saw his eyes flicker back to the page he’d been reading, before turning back towards me.
‘I’m sorry to bother you,’ I said, because it was as clear as anything that I had, ‘but I couldn’t help noticing you were looking at our D&D set.’
‘It was right there on the shelf,’ he said defensively.
‘I know, it’s cool – people browse through the games all the time,’ I soothed. ‘But I was wondering – do you play at all?’
‘Only online.’
Again, there was that flicker of his eyes, that slight tightening of his face into a reluctant half-smile, which quite clearly said, ‘I wish this woman would leave me alone.’
‘Only we’re starting a group, here at the Ginger Cat,’ I burbled on. ‘We’re looking for someone to be our DM. Well, I’m meant to be looking, but I’ve got nowhere so far.’
Admittedly, that was because I hadn’t tried particularly hard. But I wasn’t going to admit that to him.
‘There are forums,’ he said. ‘Boards on Reddit where you could ask. Or you could try the Orcs Nest – you know, the shop in the West End?’
‘But you’re here,’ I persisted, with my best attempt at a winning smile. ‘And you know how to play.’
‘I might not be here long,’ he said. ‘I’m waiting to view a flat round the corner. I haven’t made up my mind. Mostly I’ve been looking in Hackney, where I live now.’
‘Oh, you should totally move here! The area’s so fun, there’s loads going on and the Ginger Cat is a real community hub.’
‘Why’s it called the Ginger Cat?’ Adam asked.
Finally – a question. Perhaps I was getting somewhere with this grumpy, frankly quite rude stranger.
‘It’s actually named after my cat,’ I said proudly. ‘He’s called Frazzle. He lives with me in the flat upstairs, but he hangs out in the pub sometimes, when it’s quiet.’
Right on cue, Frazzle came padding in through the door that led to the tiny beer garden outside. His tail was held high, and the breeze was ruffling his long fur. I was biased, obviously, but he did look utterly gorgeous. He strolled over to us and miaowed a greeting.
‘Hello,’ Adam said, with far more enthusiasm than he’d displayed when I approached him. ‘You’re a handsome boy.’
He bent down, and Frazz pushed his face into Adam’s hand for a fuss. Seconds later, he’d jumped up onto his lap, and I heard thunderous purring.
‘He likes you. He never normally does that until he gets to know people better.’
‘I like cats,’ Adam said unnecessarily. ‘He’s cool.’
‘He’s great,’ I agreed, and I found myself pouring out the story of how I’d come to adopt Frazzle – or rather, how he’d come to adopt me.
‘I used to have a cat,’ Adam said. ‘Well, I kind of had a share in one. He belonged to our neighbours, but they had a baby and needed to move to a bigger house. So he’s gone with them. His name’s Freezer.’
‘It sounds a bit like Frazzle, doesn’t it? Is he white? He must be, with that name.’
Adam nodded. ‘White with one blue eye and one green one.’
‘Adorable. But Frazz says ginger cats with yellow eyes are better.’
Frazzle rolled over on Adam’s lap so he was upside down, inviting him to rub his fluffy belly.
‘Okay,’ Adam said. ‘If I move here, if the flat I’m seeing isn’t a total dump, I’ll consider being your Dungeon Master. Just for a few games, to see how it goes.’
I sent up a silent prayer of gratitude for my cat’s unique charisma and charm.
‘Amazing! I’d be so grateful, I really would. Let me give you my number, text me and let me know how the viewing goes. And if there’s anything I can do to help set up the game, I will, obviously, although I don’t actually have a clue how to play or anything.’
Adam tapped my number into his phone. ‘We’ll see. I’d rather stay in Hackney, but if this place is decent and I take it, I’ll let you know.’