Thank You, Next: A perfect, uplifting and funny romantic comedy

by Sophie Ranald

  I sat down on the bed next to Frazzle and took out my phone, flicking reflexively through to my astrology app.

  It’s okay to admit that you’re a bird who’d be happier in a cage than flying free, it told me.

  What? Surely no bird was happier caged?

  Today offers challenges in work and creativity, it went on. But let’s be honest, it’s love you’re struggling with right now, Aquarius.

  ‘You don’t say,’ I told it. Frazzle looked curiously at me.

  What would it be like, I wondered, having a man with me in this tiny space? Having someone’s warm body next to mine in the small double bed, someone cleaning his teeth while I had my morning shower? Although I knew the answer to that – it would mean my morning shower would be more of a morning trickle, the water pressure being what it was.

  What would it be like to share routines and private jokes with someone who didn’t have four legs and stripy orange fur? What would it be like to hear someone say he loved me?

  I flicked back to the app. Although I’d had it on my phone for months, I’d never fully investigated its functionality. The one-line daily readings it gave had been enough for me, up until now. I’d glanced at the push notification when it flashed up on my phone each day, laughed or tutted or wondered briefly what the hell that even meant, and moved on.

  But now it was like the pesky thing was getting inside my head, and I wanted to get inside its head, too. But I was a grown-up. I knew, rationally, that my personality and my life’s path hadn’t been determined twenty-seven years ago when I’d entered the world, or nine months before that, when my mum and dad had— Yuck, I wasn’t going to think about that.

  If I was going to accept Robbie’s challenge, though, I’d need to understand a bit more about how this whole astrology thing worked, and what the app could do to help me in my mission.

  I clicked on the tab that said ‘Love’.

  You’re fiercely independent, I read, and you think you can manage just fine on your own. And that’s true, up to a point. But no woman is an island, and sometimes you feel your soul crying out for its twin, its other half, your soulmate. But how do you find that person – and how on earth (or in the stars) are you supposed to know when you have?

  Bloody good point, I thought.

  Under that little chunk of text was a link that said ‘Find your love match in the stars’. I clicked it.

  Cerebral and intellectual, you can come across as emotionally detached. But still waters run deep, and that’s never truer than in your case, water carrier. You have reservoirs of love and passion waiting to be tapped.

  Okay, this was getting technical now. And me, cerebral? Come on. I was the woman who spent her days up to her elbows in mac and cheese and the last time I read a book was just before I dropped out of uni. And emotionally detached? That certainly hadn’t been the case earlier, when the sexy gym guy had seen my face fall as I realised it wasn’t me he fancied but Dani. Maybe that was those reservoirs the app was on about. I’d certainly cried enough to fill one – or maybe empty one that was already there inside me.

  ‘Okay, so air signs,’ I said to Frazzle, who’d finished his wash and curled up next to me, his head on my knee. ‘What do you reckon those are?’

  I tapped another link.

  Gemini, Libra and Aquarius are governed by the Air element, the app informed me. These most spiritual members of the zodiac are often blessed with highly attuned intuition, the ability to read others and even, in some cases, the skills to reach realms of the psyche beyond our own.

  This sounded kind of familiar. I remembered going to see a tarot-card reader when I was sixteen, and she’d told me I was highly spiritual, too. She’d also told me I’d have four children before my thirtieth birthday, which would be giving it some considering I was already twenty-seven. Maybe there were triplets in my future.

  ‘That litter tray of yours isn’t going to clean itself, is it?’ I said to Frazzle. Putting my phone aside, I got up off the bed and went through my night-time routine, scooping out Frazzle’s poo and topping up his water bowl, washing my face and brushing my teeth, slathering on some of the night cream I’d bought because it was organic and on special offer, but which smelled faintly of boiled cabbage.

  I put on my pyjamas and got into bed, and Frazz immediately wormed under the duvet to lie by my feet. But I wasn’t ready for sleep just yet, so I turned back to the app.

  If air signs were right for me, what did wrong look like?

  There was another link on the app that said ‘Seeking a challenge?’ I wasn’t; it was after midnight, I was in bed with my cat and I had to be up at six. But I clicked it anyway.

  Love moves in mysterious ways, the app told me. And sometimes, in the stars as in life, opposites attract. These matches might seem unlikely on the surface, but they could send astrological sparks flying.

  Pedantic, routine-loving Virgo might seem the worst possible partner for head-in-the-clouds Aquarius. But their stability and steadfastness could give you the security you crave.

  At my feet, I felt Frazzle curl up into a tighter ball, and I heard him let out a loud snore. Clearly, he’d had quite enough excitement for one day.

  But I’d made up my mind. I was going to get myself set up on a dating app, and I was going to find a Virgo. And if he was completely wrong for me, that wouldn’t be a problem. After all, I didn’t want to peak too soon.

  Four

  Today is a good day for decision-making. With the sun in Taurus, it’s time to take the bull by the horns. You might not be feeling confident, but that’s no excuse to set aside your dreams.

  I actually beat Robbie to the kitchen the next day, and I’d made a batch of granola and got eight sourdough loaves shaped and proving before he arrived for work. Even though I’d been busy, I’d been glancing at my watch every couple of minutes, muttering, ‘Where the hell is that boy?’ – not because he was late, but because I was itching to talk to him.

  ‘Morning, morning,’ he carolled, breezing through the door at twenty past seven. ‘I was all tucked up in my bed – alone, I hasten to add – by ten last night. I feel bloody marvellous. Is this how married people feel, like, every morning?’

  ‘Doubt it,’ I said. ‘I reckon they toss and turn for ages wondering about the mortgage, or the baby wakes them up at four a.m., or maybe they don’t get to sleep until late because they’re out having fun or in having sex.’

  ‘Imagine,’ Robbie said. ‘Just for a moment. Imagine only having sex with one person again, ever. For the whole rest of your life.’

  I imagined it. I couldn’t imagine the actual person, of course, but I was right behind the idea. I didn’t get a chance to say so to Robbie, though, because he carried on, in full flood.

  ‘Doesn’t bear thinking about it, does it? I mean, I know you could argue that once you’ve seen one penis you’ve seen them all, but I’m just not willing to accept that theory until I have in fact seen them all. Courgette and tahini muffins this morning, right, boss? Since it’s Thursday?’

  ‘That’s the one,’ I said. ‘And we got that load of chicken wings from the farm shop, so those are going to need putting in a marinade, if you don’t mind? Maybe two – one hot, one not so hot?’

  Although my job made it impossible for me to be as strictly vegan as I’d like – only a crap chef wouldn’t taste their food, and the Ginger Cat’s clientele wasn’t quite ready for a totally plant-based menu – it was still a massive relief that Robbie was on hand to help prep ingredients that had once had a face.

  While he busied himself feeding courgette after courgette into the grating blade of the food processor, I made coffee for us both.

  ‘So I’ve been thinking,’ I said, handing him a mug, ‘about this dating malarkey.’

  ‘You’re going to do it!’ he breathed. ‘Finally! After all this time! The only woman in the world not to have Tinder on her phone has come over to the dark side!’

  ‘Not yet,’ I admitted. ‘But I’m going
to. I’ve decided. And I’ve got a plan. Have you ever heard of an app called Stargazer?’

  ‘Is the pope Catholic? I’ve got it on my phone, I check it all the time. Oh, the burns it gives! Just this morning, right, it told me age might just be a number, but that doesn’t stop you getting older every day. So no more early nights for me. I’m back to living life to the full.’

  The problem with trying to have serious chats with Robbie, I’d discovered, was the challenge of keeping him on any kind of conversational track. If I wasn’t fast enough, he’d be telling me the story of how his grandpa once put his nan’s hair removal cream on their poodle by mistake. Again.

  ‘Yes, well,’ I said. ‘Me too. This morning Stargazer told me if I wanted love to find me, I wasn’t making it easier by hiding away.’

  ‘Ouch. You know, my mate Damian – he’s a physicist – reckons it’s all bullshit, but if the moon controls the tides, how come the position of the stars when we’re born can’t have some influence on our lives? I mean, it’s science, right? Literal science. I told Damian…’

  I half-listened, waiting for Robbie to run out of stuff to say. At last, his story concluded (with Damian admitting that there might be something in Robbie’s theories, although probably because he knew that was the only way to get some peace and quiet), and I was able to carry on.

  ‘So I was thinking,’ I said. ‘What if I accept your dare, but start with the signs that are meant to be least compatible with me. That way I can manage both of our expectations, and also test out how accurate the app is.’

  Robbie put his head on one side, half looking at me and half watching the muffin batter he was carefully spooning into compostable paper cases.

  ‘Which sign would that be, then?’

  ‘Virgo.’

  ‘So, like, if your Virgo dude turns out to be totally fugly or have bad breath or hate Ariana Grande or whatever, then you bin him off and you won’t be disappointed?’

  ‘That’s right. I mean, imagine if I had a first date with a Gemini, my ideal match, and he was awful? What would happen to my blind faith in the power of the stars to reveal our destiny?’

  ‘But what if Mr Virgo is hot as fuck, and you click right away?’

  ‘Well, that doesn’t necessarily prove anything, does it? I mean, the app says that there are always exceptions and sometimes the stars align in surprising ways. But I’d have a hot boyfriend, so I wouldn’t care, would I?’

  ‘Sounds like a win–win situation,’ Robbie agreed. ‘So now what we need to do is get you a killer profile set up. No duck face. No filters. And no pics of your cat.’

  ‘What? But Frazzle’s gorgeous.’

  ‘Not bad for a cat, I suppose. But still. Photos of pets are a no-no.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘They scream crazy cat lady, Zoë. Come on. No bloke wants to think if he dates you he’s going to have to play second fiddle to a bloody cat.’

  ‘But I am a crazy cat lady,’ I said. I didn’t add that any guy I dated would have to accept that Frazzle was my first priority, and if they didn’t like that they’d be out on their ear.

  ‘Tell me about it.’ Robbie rolled his eyes. ‘Okay, one pic with the cat. But only one. And he’d better not be making that face he does.’

  ‘What face?’

  ‘The one that’s like, “I see you. I know you forgot to send your mum a card for Mothering Sunday and told her it must have got lost in the post. I know you washed your hair with Fairy Liquid once for a whole week because you were too skint to buy shampoo. I can tell you eat Pot Noodle sandwiches when you’re hungover.” You know what I mean. That face.’

  ‘But all cats look like that.’

  ‘God. How do you ever manage to have sex with him watching you?’

  I wasn’t going to tell Robbie that since Frazzle had come into my life I’d had sex precisely zero times, so I kept schtum.

  ‘Right, it’s almost eight thirty,’ I said instead. ‘We’d better get our skates on.’

  ‘Not so fast, young lady,’ Robbie countered. ‘We’re going to get that Tinder profile of yours set up right now, before you chicken out.’

  ‘But I should prep the mango for the smoothies.’

  ‘Did it last night; it’s in the fridge.’

  ‘How about the celeriac soup for lunch?’

  ‘The veg is already done, and it’ll take half an hour to cook. Come on, Zoë, if you don’t crack on I’ll take your phone off you and do it myself. “Flame-haired temptress seeks Jared Leto lookalike for nights of passion. Must be hung like a moose.” And I’ll set the password so you can’t change it.’

  When I’d taken Robbie on as my sous-chef, I’d been very clear that I believed in a collaborative working environment, and there’d be no hierarchical management structure in my kitchen. But now, the urge to pull rank on him was stronger than it had ever been.

  I resisted it, though. ‘Okay, okay, I’ll do it.’

  I tapped my phone, creating a new account in record time before I could change my mind, using Frazzle’s name as a password even though I knew it wasn’t particularly secure. If some random wanted to hack into my online dating, they were most welcome – a Russian bot would probably do less damage than my colleague, who was hanging over my shoulder offering advice.

  ‘Your profile needs to stand out, Zoë. Be funny but not try-hard. And don’t say you like nights out and nights in.’

  ‘I can’t remember what a night out even is any more. How about this?’

  I passed him my phone and he read aloud from the screen. ‘“Me: Aquarian, vegan, feminist. I care about the planet and creating a more equal society. Looking for a like-minded Virgo.” You can’t say that.’

  ‘Can’t say what?’

  ‘That stuff about being a feminazi social justice warrior.’

  ‘Why not? I’m allowed to want to date someone who cares about the same stuff I do, right? And don’t say feminazi – it’s highly offensive on all sorts of levels.’

  ‘Sorry. But seriously, you’ll scare ninety-nine per cent of blokes off before you’ve even started. And given you’re already ruling out the ninety-one per cent of them who are the wrong star sign, you can’t afford to do that, can you?’

  ‘But it’s only temporary. I’m going to work my way through the whole zodiac until I find the right person.’

  ‘Even so. Come on, I know what I’m doing here. Trust me.’

  ‘Okay… Do your thing.’

  Five minutes later, Zoë, 27, London’s profile was live. It described her as a fiery redhead with abs of steel and killer knife skills, and quite frankly she sounded absolutely terrifying. Robbie and I had been through my photos and selected three: one of me cuddling Frazzle (in which he, too, looked kind of terrifying, even I had to admit, making Robbie tell me darkly not to say he hadn’t warned me); one of me in the gym (in which some trick of the light did actually manage to make me look like my abs were half decent); and one of me taken when I was working in Paris, with the Eiffel Tower in the background. (I’d objected to that on the grounds that my hair was all frizzy and I had a spot right next to my nose, but Robbie insisted it made me look well travelled and sophisticated, and I had to relent because he’d let me have the abs one.)

  ‘Good to go,’ he said. ‘Look, someone’s swiped right on you already. Strong work.’

  ‘Oh my God, my first match! Give me my phone, let me look.’

  ‘Hold on. Tom, 28, loves Star Wars and pepperoni pizza. Sounds promising. I’m liking him back.’

  He held my phone up high over his head so I couldn’t reach it, and I cursed being only five foot three inches tall, for about the millionth time in my life.

  ‘Robbie! Give me my phone!’

  We had a brief tussle, which I eventually won, mostly because the oven beeped and Robbie whipped round to take out the muffins before they burned. Before I could check out Tom’s profile in more detail, though, a red dot flashed up next to the messages tab at the top of my screen.

&n
bsp; ‘Shit. He’s messaged me. What do I do?’

  Robbie laughed. ‘You read it, obviously. Come on, it’s not brain surgery.’

  My finger was literally trembling as I hovered over the tab, then tapped it.

  There were no words in the message, just a picture. It was kind of blurry and the lighting wasn’t the best, but I could still more or less make out what it was.

  It looked like a penis, only smaller.

  Five

  Others will be drawn to you today, Aquarius. Make the most of your attractions while you can.

  That might have been my first dick pic – the breaking of my dick-pic virginity, so to speak – but it wasn’t the last. Over the next few days, wang after wang popped up in my inbox. If I’d been concerned that my period of celibacy had gone on for so long I’d forgotten what a cock looked like, Tinder would have put me right in no time at all. At the rate this was going, it wouldn’t be long before the number of penises that had landed in my inbox would exceed the number that had landed in me, which was a somewhat depressing thought.

  ‘What’s wrong with these people?’ I complained to Robbie. ‘Seriously, what do they actually think they’ll achieve by doing this? Do they do it to blokes, too?’

  ‘Hardly ever,’ Robbie said wistfully. ‘And I wouldn’t mind too much if they did. I like having a good look at a nice hard-on. But it’s just rude, isn’t it? Block the fuckers.’

  ‘It’s about control, right?’ Dani said later in the gym, once we’d recovered our breath enough after our workout to talk at all. ‘It’s like, I want to show you my junk and I don’t care about what you want.’

  I rolled over on the mat, leaving the sweaty imprint of my body behind. ‘What do they think is going to happen? Like, does any woman ever receive a dick pic and immediately be like, “Oh yes, bring that right here and let me see if it’s that good in the flesh”?’

  ‘Maybe they do,’ Dani mused. ‘I mean, maybe if you were on Tinder for booty calls, it would work. Like a try-before-you-buy kind of thing.’