Romance is precarious at the best of the times. Will they look like their picture or will it be from ten years ago? Are they interesting or did they use Chat GPT to write their bio because they don’t actually have any hobbies and a diminishing mental capacity for basic human communication? What if they have halitosis? What if it turns out that they used to date your sister? Can you change their mind about pineapple on pizza? Do you even care about pineapple on pizza? Why is that even a thing on people’s profiles? What if they spend the whole time treating you like a therapist they want to sleep with as they rambling on about their ex leaving them to find themselves in Bali while they have your hand on your knee? What if they’re catfishing you and a completely different person turns up? What if they bring their mother along so she can vet you? Even worse, what if she approves and pulls out fabric swatches for the wedding dress she’s immediately going to start making for you? Or in the case of my latest novel, A Fatal Legacy, what if your date is there to murder you?
For me, as with many women, the promise of love is stalked by the fear of violence. We had to invent a whole genre of fiction where the most unbelievable part is not the elves or dragons, the rugged cowboys with hearts of gold or the jet-setting billionaires without the rabid 5”7’ energy, but the existence of men that actually like women and treat them as human beings. We are all aware of real life examples of killers using dating apps to hunt for victims, of charming men trying to lure women in at the bar with a shot as bait but a knot in their stomach told them to bale lest they end up in a pieces in bin bag dumped off the M4, and of the guy who’s politely declined after a first date who goes on terrorise their desired paramour for the next four years while the police do precisely nothing about it. In this respect, fear is a gift and politeness is a curse. The voice in the back of your head saying ‘don’t get in the lift with them’, ‘don’t give them your number’, ‘don’t engage with them at all’ isn’t being rude, it’s trying to keep you alive. Offend them and live. As a woman, especially one whose imagination naturally runs to the theatrical extremes of the crime genre, there are certain precautions I take for first dates.
1. Don’t go for a hike in the countryside.
‘Alpine divorces’ have been in the press a lot recently. It’s the term used to describe the potentially devastating collapse of relationships following an outdoor activity where the man abandons their partner in the wilderness. This deplorable practice has resulted in deaths. Do I like going for long countryside walks that end up at the pub? Yes, I love them. Am I going with a guy I’ve exchanged four rounds of witty repartee on Hinge? Absolutely not, I’m going to the Lake District with my gal pals who pack phenomenal snacks and will sing showtunes with me at the top of their lungs as we go.
2. Meet somewhere public.
Are their witnesses? Cameras? A bartender who takes no nonsense and will knock a drink that’s been spiked out of your hand? A bald security guard at the door who gave you a swift curt nod as you entered but who is the last true bastion of chivalry? I don’t know why they’re bald, but the best bouncers always are. If yes, then you’re good to go.
3. Don’t tell them exactly where you live.
For some reason the 1980s tried to tell us that standing outside your house with a boom box was romantic. I for one cannot imagine anything worse than a bloke I spent a tiresome two hours with as I nursed a solitary fruity cider waiting for them to ask you a question standing outside my flat blaring Radiohead’s Creep (sorry Thom…) from his Spotify on a little wireless speaker that is unfathomable tinny.
4. Don’t wear heels.
A stiletto is handy if you need to stab someone in the eye during a fight for your life but I’d advise against them on balance. Unless you’re Bryce Dallas Howard in Jurassic World they’re far too hard to sprint away from an apex predator in.
5. Don’t let them pick you up in their car.
Feels obvious, but if you are dumb enough to climb into passenger seat, make sure to touch random hard to clean part of the car, leave a hair or two on the headset or lick something weird like the bit where the seat belt meets the roof of the car so your mother will at least see him convicted due to the overwhelming forensic evidence you’ve left behind as the only physical trace of you before she dies.
6. Don’t go if they refuse to ever meet you in the daytime.
Girl, that is a vampire. Get a grip.
7. No billionaires,
They’re all evil. Duh.
8. Don’t respond to a lonely heart ad in the back of the LRB and then invite your dream girl around to a candlelit dinner at the ‘atmospheric’ museum your family runs as a shrine to a Victorian adventurer ancestor of dubious morals.
Self-explanatory really…
Charlotte Vassell
A Fatal Legacy is out now from Faber Books.