Page 23 of Our Stop

‘I just, I figured you’d ask her anyway, and we were chatting on Instagram this morning, so …’

‘Yeah, totally,’ said Nadia. ‘When this guy ends up being a dud, at least I’ll have my dancing partners.’

‘He isnota dud,’ said Gaby, emphatically. ‘I am willing to stake my full-price Gucci belt on it.’

‘God, I love that belt,’ Nadia said. She’d long wanted one herself. ‘Well, in the meantime … I’m going to write back to Train Guy again. Then I’m not putting all my eggs in one basket. I’m going to meet your guy, and that takes the pressure off Train Guy, who, let’s face it, could still be Quasimodo. Or worse, a Tory. So. That’s sensible, I think.’

‘Babe, there’s no pressure anywhere, at all. This is supposed to be fun! Just have fun with it! And anyway, you’re not even going to want to send an advert to Train Guy once you’ve metmyguy. I have a sixth sense about these things. He is absolutely the man for you.’

Gaby glanced at the time on her phone.

‘Okay, shoot, I gotta go. I’m in another meeting in five.’ She gave Nadia a kiss on each cheek. ‘You can name your first child after me, yeah? You and Daniel?’

Nadia rolled her eyes. She loved her friend’s thoughtfulness – and enthusiasm – but she felt a small stab of guilt for the man on the train she’d spent all this time thinking about. It was the right thing to do, though. That’s what they say, isn’t it? Not to put too much weight on the idea of one man too soon? That’s what Emma used to say when she had the dating column, anyway. And not that she would say as much to Gaby, but Gaby really did have a weird ability to nail people’s characters. If she said Mr Cute Bum was also Mr Cute Personality, Nadia should at least put on some lipstick and go meet him. And to increase her odds, she really would reply to Train Guy’s advert as well. She’d read in Emma’s copy ofGet Your Guys!that it was wise to spread your hope, so that you felt less pressure and could enjoy each interaction for what it was, instead of what it was in your head.

Back at her desk, then, she pulled up the submissions page forMissed Connectionsand typed in:

Thanks for leaving me high and dry, Train Guy: I basically proposed marriage and a shared mortgage to a man who would be handsome if he shaved, and it wasn’t you! I wanted it to be you. Don’t tell anyone, but you’re right: I love a grand romantic gesture. Ball is in your court now, friend. Make yourself known. Love, Coffee Spill Girl.

13

Daniel

‘Mate, come on – you’re going to need back-up. I’m a great wingman! You know I’m a great wingman!’

Lorenzo was wafting his buttered toast around as he stood in the kitchen wearing nothing but boxer shorts. He was uninhibited about being half-naked. He was uninhibited about being fully naked, actually. When Daniel had first moved in, he’d found Lorenzo sat stark bollock nude in front of the telly one Saturday afternoon, without even the smallest hint of embarrassment when Daniel passed through to the kitchen. Daniel had put his foot down on having bare skin on any of the furniture after that, which Lorenzo had protested against but ultimately conceded to. If Daniel had ever found a rogue pube on the coffee table he’d have happily strangled his flatmate, quite sure the law would be on his side. How could it not? Shared spaces were not for bare arses.

‘But I’m not going because I actually want to be set up,’ Daniel explained, for the seventh time, as he reached for his keys. ‘I’m going because this woman, this Gaby, was very persuasive, and I don’t want to reflect badly on Michael by being rude. In fact, Michael himself might actually still be able to make it in time, so I already have a wingman.’

He walked towards the front door, checking his reflection in the mirror on his way. Lorenzo followed him. Daniel tried not to think of the crumbs he was making.

‘Isn’t it ruder to go and blow off this girl than to not go at all?’ Lorenzo said, with a full mouth.

‘Don’t say girl. She’s a grown-up. She’s a woman.’

‘Shut up. Girls are … girls. And I’m coming. I’ll come pick you up from work at about six? Okay?’

‘I’ll text you,’ shouted Daniel, as he closed the door behind him. ‘Let me think about it.’

He had no intention of thinking about it.

It was the day of the party, and Daniel felt weirdly anxious. He was committed to seducing his rush hour crush, not this woman at the party. Whenever he felt sad about his dad he tried to imagine what he would tell him about her, about Nadia, this woman on the train, and their notes to each other – and he’d sort of have a conversation with him in his head, one that was nice and positive, rather than feeling miserable that he was gone.

And he couldn’t wait to tell his mum something nice, something a bit exciting and hopeful, rather than all of their conversations being about something neither of them could control. Daniel often wished he had a brother, a dude to figure out this family stuff with. But he didn’t. The closest thing he had to a brother was his cousin Darren, who was fed up with what he called ‘rainy and fucking miserable’ England and had gone to Australia on an under-thirties visa and met a bloke that he went on to marry. They lived in Sydney and posted pictures on Facebook of weekend cookouts where they were both muscly and bronzed and had matching sunglasses which suited one of them (Darren’s husband) but not the other (Darren’s head was a bit narrow for sunglasses like that).

It was a funny day, and on the walk to the underground station and then as the tube sped through to Angel, Daniel found himself thinking that he’d only be able to get out of the party if she was there, on the train. He decided that would be the sign to gather his courage and at least make eye contact, and if he could do that, then he could simply not turn up to the party. But then he didn’t see her on the platform, and she certainly didn’t get into his carriage, and so by the time he got off, ready for work and certain he hadn’t got his nudge from the universe or some larger being, he messaged Lorenzo to say,Okay fine, meet me at six.

Lorenzo texted back immediately, with the two beers emoji and a smiley face.

Romeo wasn’t on the door this morning, so Daniel didn’t have an excuse to slow down and sound out his love life with the man who increasingly was the only person who talked sense to him about … well, anything, really. The pang of disappointment he felt reminded him that he hadn’t seen his mates from university – the ones he used to have a beer at the weekend or get dinner with – for a while either. He was thirty, almost thirty-one, and everyone he knew apart from Lorenzo had left the immediate area of London to start a family – or at least start thinking about maybe thinking about starting a family.

He’d stopped going to weddings every weekend – that had tapered off about two years ago, when he’d had his last serious relationship, with Sarah, who’d left him for a guy at work who wore a waistcoat unironically – and now spent a lot of time at christenings and first birthdays in the Cotswolds or Kent or, for his friends Jeremy and Sabrina, Milton Keynes. But never just at the pub, after work.

His group had, in a lot of ways, moved on without him.

For ten years, they’d called each other brothers and swore it was ‘bros before hoes’. Daniel reflected that it might have been poor taste to call the women they dated hoes, but nothing rhymed with ‘young women with dreams, hopes, aspiration and quite a good sense of humour’. In his twenties, his group of mates swore to one another they were family, but in the space of a few years, maybe even less, everyone except Daniel had peeled off and built actual families, recognized by the state. Sam’s wife had even taken his name, which had caused a weird rift between her and the other WAGS of the group. They’d all said it wasn’t feminist, but then Rashida had screamed at them that her feminism was about choice, and they needed to take a look in the mirror if they were going to tell her what she should and shouldn’t do. Daniel wasn’t sure what to think. He didn’t have a wife to worry about.

On his way up to the office, he took out his phone to text the lads’ WhatsApp group, saying,All right, guys, we’ve gotta get together soon, man. London, one Saturday afternoon? Or maybe even an Airbnb somewhere?

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