The barman put a glass down in front of him – not one of those small wine glasses the French use, or worse, a tumbler like in some of the hipster places in Hackney. It was a tall, elegant, white wine glass, with thick globs of condensation already forming around the base. Beside it, a small shot glass of yellow tequila. Daniel reached for it, throwing it down his neck before he could question himself, letting the thick liquid burn at the back of his throat and warm his chest as it went down. That was better. It took the edge off almost immediately.
‘Daniel,’ his mother said. ‘I … I don’t know what’s wrong. I can’t stop.’
Daniel took the wine glass between his fingers and held it.
‘Can’t stop what, Mum?’ He didn’t understand, yet, just how badly she needed him. He still thought her call was an inconvenience. His tone was sharp, frustrated. He really didn’t want to be on the phone when Nadia arrived. I should never have picked up, he thought. Surely she’s fine. She’s always fine.
‘Cr-cr—,’ the line broke quiet for a minute. In a very measured voice that sounded as if his mother was using every ounce of willpower in her body, she continued. ‘Crying. Daniel, I cannot stop … crying. I don’t think I am okay.’
She said it so matter-of-fact, and suddenly so stoically, that the irony of what she was saying and how she said it broke Daniel’s heart clean in two. He understood, implicitly, that the façade of being strong had finally cracked. His therapist had said it would. In a way, he was relieved.
‘It’s okay, Mum. You can cry. I’m here for you. I love you.’
On the other end of the line his mother broke down into big, guttural sobs, and for a horrible minute Daniel couldn’t do anything but listen. He was impotent. She cried, and she cried, and she cried, barely forming words, let alone coherent sentences. He stared at the cold glass of wine in his hand. He looked up to the door. He listened to his mother cry. Slowly he pinched the bridge of his nose, his brain whirring, his shoulders tensing. He didn’t want to leave. He at least wanted to wait for Nadia to arrive, to tell her he had to go.
‘I can’t …’ his mum said down the phone. ‘What’s the point without him, darling? I miss him. I miss him so, so much.’
It struck Daniel that it hadn’t been easy for his mother to ask for help. She had cried in the days after his father’s death, and on the day of the funeral, and then just … stopped. Held herself together. And for months Daniel had waited for her to crack – god knows, he had. That’s why he was in therapy. But his mother never had. She had been almost dogged in her determination to push forward with her life, and Daniel knew that if her crash down to earth was anything like his had been, there was no way she could be alone tonight. She had been strong for him, when he had needed it. He knew that now it was his turn to be strong for her.
Daniel found himself saying, ‘I’m coming, Mum, okay? I’ll be half an hour. I’m coming. You are not alone. Do you hear me?’
‘Okay. Yes.’ And then, bursting into tears once more, ‘Thank you.’ Her words were barely audible.
Daniel leaped off the bar stool and looked around, willing – hoping – that Nadia would appear at the door before he had to go. It shattered his soul to think he’d have to leave before she got there, but it broke his heart even more to leave his mother for even one second longer than he had to. She’d never told him she needed him, but she was telling him now. And if he had to choose between Nadia and his mother. Well. He just had to trust that Nadia would understand. That she wouldn’t have it any differently.
‘You all right, mate?’ the barman asked.
Daniel turned and looked at him.
‘No. No, I’m really not.’ He had to think fast. ‘Listen. Can you do me a favour? I’m about to meet a girl. A woman.’ Daniel didn’t know where it came from, this sudden burst of verbose passion, but he continued: ‘The most exquisite, beautiful, devastatingly charming and kind and … fit woman. God, she’s fit. And clever. But I’ve got to go. She’s got blonde hair, to here –’ Daniel held up a hand to his shoulder, his words tumbling out over each other to this man, this stranger, who admirably took Daniel’s eruption of lust in his stride ‘– and she sort of pouts, like she’s just discovered a new thought. And, and … she’ll come in, and she’ll be on her own, and can you ask her if her name is Nadia and if she says yes, tell her I’m sorry to miss her tonight, but I’ll find her. I’ll find her on the train tomorrow and I’ll explain. Can you tell her that?’
The barman nodded. ‘Sure thing,’ he said, coolly. ‘Nadia. Got it.’
‘Thank you. Thank you!’
And with that, Daniel left, not knowing that if he’d waited even just ninety seconds more, he could have told her himself.
26
Nadia
Nadia took a seat at the bar, pushing a full glass of white wine to one side – it didn’t look like it belonged to anybody, weirdly – and put down her bag. She caught her own eye in the mirror behind the bottles. She’d had a blow-dry at lunchtime so her somewhat frizzy blonde bob was a smoother, wavier blonde bob, and the Ruby MAC lipstick she’d chosen lifted her face. She looked like the best version of herself. She didn’t want to toot her own horn but the possibility of unfolding romance made her face look brighter, somehow. She pulled her phone from her bag, hooked the bag under the bar so it was out of the way but constantly pressed against her knees so it couldn’t get nicked, and surveyed the place.
There were people spilling out onto the pavement, people having drinks with colleagues after work, and one or two couples spread around inside, quite obviously on dates. Nadia couldn’t see any men alone, lingering outside or sat off in a corner. She didn’t know what Daniel looked like, so she had no choice but to sit and wait for him to approach. Nobody was behind the bar, and so she picked up her phone – it was only supposed to be on hand for an absolute emergency – and unlocked it whilst she waited. It was weird how sure she could be that this was it, this was the moment love would envelop her, whilst also needing to know that there was a Plan B. It was a push-pull of both believing and self-preservation. She’d read a quote on Pinterest that said, YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED TO BE A COWARD AND IN LOVE; YOU MUST CHOOSE ONE. The writer of that must have never been on a blind date, Nadia thought, knowing that the best part of having a Plan B was assuring yourself you’d never need it.
She opened up Twitter, half thinking she’d read the news so that if conversation lulled she’d have something to say about Syria or The Lust Villa, and waited for the barman to come and take her order. Every time she sensed somebody walk through the door she looked up. Not him. That wasn’t him either. Humph.
She had a text from Emma that said, Have you seen this?! It was a link to Twitter. Nadia looked up again, just in case he’d come in, and then pressed the URL. It was a link to a hashtag, #OurStop
i’m so invested in the #OurStop couple. what a romantic way to meet somebody! said @EmmaEmma
and
anyone else think it’s creepy that this guy has been eyeing her up and she’s got no idea who he is? #OurStop from @girlstolevintage
and
I can’t even get a man to text me back, and here are the #OurStop couple leaving love notes in the newspaper for each other like an Austen romance, if Jane had Twitter said @notyourgirl
Nadia scrolled, marvelling at what she was seeing. People were following her story. Their story! And had opinions! And a hashtag! #OURSTOP!
That was so bizarre to her – although, she thought, if she herself wasn’t the subject of the exchange she’d definitely be texting Emma about it. This was London at its best: the London where everyone was in on the same thing, the same joke or movement or idea. She supposed that’s why Missed Connections worked in the first place: it wasn’t just about two people seeking each other out. It was about how we all search for love, whether we admit it or not, and are voyeurs for the love lives of other people. She couldn’t wait to show Train Guy. They were trending! It was the most auspicious of starts. It felt like g
ood luck. Oh, this was all so perfect!
‘Nadia?’
Nadia looked up from her phone, where the barman was staring at her.
‘Yes?’ she said.
Nadia was confused. Her guy worked here? And she was meeting him … as he worked? The man was tall and about her age, with dark stubble and good teeth and –
‘I’ve got a message for you, from your … There was a man here who said to ask for Nadia.’
Nadia didn’t understand what the barman was saying. She looked around, as if somebody was about to jump out and say, ‘Just kidding!’
‘He said he had to go, and he was really sorry, and … oh god, I’m going to get this all wrong now. You’re clever? Basically that he fancies you. He had to go and he fancies you.’
Nadia blinked, blood rushing to her cheeks. Her body registered the news before her mind processed it. ‘What?’
‘The guy you were supposed to meet? Your date, I guess? He got a phone call, and then said he had to go, and he wanted me to tell you.’
Nadia looked from one end of the bar to the other, as if this really was a joke, perhaps a way for Train Guy to test if she was truly interested. There wasn’t anybody else around.
‘He left?’ Nadia could feel tears pricking at her eyes. Do not cry, she willed herself. Don’t you dare bloody cry. She was mortified.
‘He left.’ The barman seemed to suddenly sense how upset she was. ‘He said loads of really nice things before, though. He … he came in, and he was looking at himself in the mirror like he was self-conscious and nervous.’ The barman assessed Nadia’s reaction, to see if this was helping. ‘He ordered a glass of wine, and then his phone rang and, well, it’s not like I was eavesdropping or anything, but to be honest I think it was his mum? He was trying to calm her down. And then he waited for a minute and then told me to tell you—’ The barman stopped polishing his glass and set it down. ‘Hold on, let me get this right. He basically gave you a load of compliments. He told me to look out for a beautiful blonde on her own, called Nadia, who was kind and clever and really hot and I think maybe he said charming?’
Nadia didn’t know what to think.
‘Oh,’ was all she could manage, her brain already on a downward spiral of reasons why he’d really left.
You’re ugly, she told herself.
No man would ever truly want to seduce you, a voice in her head said.
He must have had a better offer.
Nobody likes you anyway.
You’re unloveable.
Disgusting.
Sad.
Pathetic.
‘Let me get you a drink,’ the barman said, trying to sound upbeat. ‘On the house.’ He could sense her dejection, and seemed to feel desperately sorry for her.
‘Thank you,’ said Nadia, emotionless, feeling rooted to the spot. The words stuck in her throat. How could she have been so stupid? Of course there was no guy, no date. Of course she was sat there alone. Of course! Did she truly think that she was so irresistible that a handsome man would worship her from afar and write her letters and be everything she had ever dared hope for? Who was she kidding? Life wasn’t a fairytale. Life was barely even a coherent story. Shit happened and people sometimes fell in love, but a whole lot more people didn’t, and obviously she was one of the ones who wasn’t going to. It wasn’t going to happen for her and she’d had her hair done and worn a new dress and shown off to Emma and Gaby, all for nothing. A rogue tear escaped from her left eye, and she blinked hurriedly after wiping it away, determined that she wasn’t going to show herself up.
It crossed her mind that he could still be watching, that maybe it was a test, and she wanted to conduct herself with decorum and class. She was half tempted to call her mother, but didn’t think she had it in her to explain everything that had happened. Her phone buzzed in her hand – she hadn’t realized she’d still been holding it. It was Gaby – the pre-arranged emergency call.
If Nadia answered it, she could get her to come to the bar, to hug her and drink with her and tell her it was all going to be okay. But as Nadia let the list of options run through her mind, the call rang out, and all that flashed on her screen was ‘Missed Call (1) GABY WORK’.
She’d have her glass of free wine and decide what to do. That would be it. She didn’t know how to talk about it or who to tell, but she didn’t have to make any choices just now. She could just sit, and let the icy smoothness of a cold white wine run down her throat, and she could breathe deep, and then go home.
‘What can I get you?’ the barman said. ‘Anything you like.’
Nadia looked at him. His eyes were kind. This was a kind man, bearing witness to her humiliation. ‘Do you have anything mineraly? Like a—’
‘Albariño? That’s what your friend had.’
Nadia nodded. Her ‘friend’. Huh. ‘That would be great, thank you.’
The barman pulled down a glass and got the bottle from the fridge. As he poured it, he said, ‘You can finish off the bottle,’ and slid over the half-full glass and the dribble leftover. Then he slinked off to serve somebody else, leaving her to lick her wounds.
Nadia didn’t know what to think. It occurred to her that Train Guy knew her name, because he’d told the barman to ask for a Nadia. How? She wondered if he’d ever had any intention to meet her – did he plan to string her along? That made no sense, though. There would be no reason why a stranger would do that. Unless it wasn’t a stranger – what if it was somebody who knew her, and that’s why they knew her name and which train she got on and about the investor? She wondered if it was Awful Ben. God, she thought, surely not. Surely not Awful Ben? That would be too cruel, even for him – plus, he had that new girlfriend now. Nadia locked eyes with herself in the mirror again and watched herself drink. She finished the glass of wine in two big gulps. Her ego was bruised and her heart dented. She felt so stupid for hoping. She’d really thought this was it.
As the alcohol coursed through her veins she let herself feel it. She was devastated.
She poured the last of the bottle into the glass.
Will I ever be loved? she wondered. I didn’t know it would ever be this hard.
27
Daniel
‘Henry’s gone,’ she said, opening the door to him, tears streaming down her face, leaving dark tracks of mascara that faded as they reached her chin.
‘Mum,’ said Daniel, ‘who is Henry? What’s happened? Come on. I’m here now.’
Daniel wiped his shoes on the mat and slipped them off. With his hand on the small of his mother’s back he steered her through the hallway, with its flowered wallpaper and everything with either a polka dot or a love heart on it. He’d never understood how his father could bear it. It was like Dunelm had had sickness and diarrhoea, and his parents’ semi was the result. He sat beside her on the sofa that sagged a little in ‘her’ part, worn from a nightly place in front of the TV, next to the armchair that had been, until recently, his dad’s. Maybe it always will be dad’s, he thought, realizing how he hadn’t wanted to sit there because it ‘belonged’ to somebody else.
He put his hand on his mum’s arm. ‘Who is Henry?’
‘Henry! The hoover!’ his mum said, shaking her head as if he was stupid for not understanding right away. How could he have not immediately understood that his mother was crying over the vacuum cleaner? Is that why he’d left his date – the thing that he had wanted more than almost anything else in the world? For a missing hoover? ‘He’s gone!’
Daniel searched her eyes as a way to try and understand what she was getting at. She’d been doing really well: hadn’t endlessly cried to him weeks now. She’d been a pillar of strength, which was good, because whilst Daniel knew his mother’s emotions weren’t his responsibility (his therapist told him that at every session), it was a lot easier to keep his own head above water when she was doing well. Maybe now, though, it was his turn to be strong for her.
His mother sighed, frustrated.
‘Henry.
The hoover. We’ve had him almost as long as you’ve been alive. And he’s been good – you know – he’s lasted a long time. Things did last a long time back then. It’s not like now, where they build stuff to automatically break down in two years so you have to replace it. You know. What do they call it? When they make things break after two years?’
‘Planned obsolescence.’
‘Yes. Planned adolescence.’
‘Planned obsolescence. Or built-in obsolescence – the policy of planning or designing a product with an artificially limited useful—’
‘Oh shut up,’ she snapped lightheartedly, through tears. ‘You sound just like your father. Knowing everything.’ She sounded as if she wasn’t sorry that her son sounded like his dad at all. Daniel noticed that her mascara had run to the inner corner of her eyes, so each one had a little black dot in the corner.
‘Well. That. Your father wouldn’t let me replace Henry because even though he’s started to smell a bit, and isn’t sucking up as well as he used to, he’s still in good shape. And you know, it can be hundreds of pounds for a new one! That’s a holiday!’
Daniel really didn’t understand where this was going.
‘And you’re upset about …?’ he said, while thinking to himself, I’ll bet she’s there, now. I’ll bet she waited and I never came and she thinks I don’t care. That I’m an asshole.
‘He’s gone!’ She was talking quite calmly, now. ‘I put him outside, under the car port, thinking how I must clean the car out. It’s a mess, and I took Tracey from darts home the other night and was suddenly so embarrassed by the state of it. I bet she thought I was a right pig – there were wrappers and it was dusty, and I suppose after your father … well. I spring-cleaned the house today too, because I realized I’d not really been looking after the place.’
Maybe she doesn’t care anyway. Maybe she never showed. Maybe she’s there, and already being chatted up by the barman, or one of the guys from the corner table out with his fancy City-boy friends.
Our Stop Page 14
