by Zoë Folbigg
James sits at a small dining table, leaning against the wall in a room with little natural light. A large orange lampshade made of glass illuminates muesli and cornflakes, which James raises to his mouth slowly and rhythmically. The sound of James eating makes Kitty place her coffee cup on the table with an agitated bang. She scrunches her face semi-apologetically, mostly revealing surprise at her own force, but doesn’t say anything.
James stares into the space of the front room and the front door ahead of him, unfazed by the thump, then puts his hand over his mouth to stifle a springtime sneeze.
Kitty scowls.
‘How about a career change?’ James says, breaking the silence with a bombshell – to see if Kitty is listening, more than anything else.
Pale brows furrow.
‘I love my job.’
‘Not you, me.’
‘James, I’m late. I really need to get my train. What are you talking about – and why the bloody hell bring it up now?’
James shrugs and raises his breakfast to his lips with a lacklustre spoon.
Kitty ruffles her hair in exasperation before slicking it back down with a pang of guilt. ‘What do you want to do?’
‘I was thinking of retraining, becoming a photographer.’
‘What? Are you crazy? Be some diva photographer’s bitch like that guy you went to South Africa with? Work for peanuts for five years until you realise you gave up a good salary for nothing?’
‘I don’t care about the money, I’d rather do something I loved.’
‘Yes but little hobbies don’t pay the rent.’
‘Thanks for the vote of confidence.’
‘Get real, James.’
James watches as Kitty slings a large canvas bag bursting with folders and files, angles protruding, over her shoulder blade.
‘I have to go.’ She turns on a low heel and opens the front door.
James tries to finish his mouthful of breakfast to say goodbye but he’s not quick enough. The door slams.
‘Bye,’ James says, to no one.
*
Doors ding, lights illuminate, and the throng of commuters who gather at that spot on that platform every morning edge into the carriage. It’s an Inferior Train and James is worried that his day, which started badly, is going to continue in this vein. As he boards the train, he sees a man in a three-piece suit and remembers he has a 10 a.m. catch-up with Sebastian and Duncan from Fisher + Whyman, who have reverted to formal type since the sundowners and shorts of South Africa. For the second half of the meeting Sebastian and Duncan will bring in Cynthia and Mike from Fisher + Whyman’s beauty division to talk to MFDD about a pitch they want James and Dominic to give for a haircare brand. James curses himself for not remembering to dress a little smarter today than his raglan top, jeans and Converse.
The man with the red nose, who always gasps in the last of a John Player Special Blue on his approach to the station, turns right into the carriage and James follows him, despite the lingering smell of nicotine, tar and formaldehyde, because he knows that red nose is good at sniffing out hidden seats on an Inferior Train.
James lowers his backpack off his shoulders so as not to knock anyone, and follows the man towards three remaining seats in a set of five that are squashed together in the middle of the train.
Two seats face forward, three seats face backwards, no table between, just knees trying not to knock other knees. The man with the red nose sits facing forwards in the last seat of the pair. Two of the three seats facing backwards remain. The window seat is already taken by the large woman who chews her nails. James takes the worst of the remaining two, the one in the middle, and slumps in.
Why did I pick the middle seat?
The seat on James’s left is free, he weighs up whether it’s best to be squished in next to the woman who chews her nails or slide along to the aisle seat where he’ll be knocked into by the commuters who are forced to stand.
Before James can properly consider his options, a girl slumps into the last remaining seat next to him and for a second their outer thighs touch, before she quickly pulls her leg away. James tries not to look at her but he already knows that it is the girl with wavy hair and beautiful shoulders. He saw her asleep one time, which afforded him the chance to look up and notice that the curve of her collarbone looked so creamy, dappled with the tiniest sparkles of brown, that he wanted to run his finger along it, but he looked straight back down and carried on reading, hoping she hadn’t heard his thoughts.
James opens The Road and tries to find the page with the corner folded over neatly. He looks down. Green bows distract him from a reluctant rendezvous with a father and a son in hell. The train snakes slowly, sleepily, expectantly along the track for thirty tense minutes.
*
‘Can I give you this?’
The girl with the wavy hair and the smooth shoulders has risen from her seat and is standing awkwardly on the cusp of five blue faux-velveteen seats. Figures in the aisle wonder what the girl is doing, getting up prematurely to get out of the space she was fortunate to have had, and they stand firm huffily.
We’re not stopping yet.
She had a seat.
I’m not moving.
I can’t move.
James looks up. The sun shining through the window illuminates brown and orange eyes and he wonders why the girl with the wavy hair is standing looking at him.
What did I do?
‘Sorry?’ he says.
‘Can I just give you this?’ Maya says again, this time even more self-consciously; face reddening, pulse quickening, knowing more ears are pricking up this second time around.
James takes buds out of his ears. He thinks he caught what she said this time but is still confused as to why the girl who gets his train is standing over him. Smartly dressed in a green and white silk blouse tucked into grey culottes that stop below her knees, showing slender ankles anchored to the carriage floor by green bows.
‘Er, yeah sure,’ James says, taking the folded piece of white paper from Maya, hands not touching, not knowing that the paper is slightly less crisp and pristine than it was eleven days ago and that it now it has a horizontal fold cutting through her words.
Maya lets go of the note and turns awkwardly on a pressing heel. Without saying another word, she clutches her bag to her tummy and sees she is blockaded in. She says a few polite but firm ‘excuse me’s to people reluctant to move out of her way until they are ready to get off.
She had a seat, now she wants to get off before me.
The cheek!
I’ve got to get out of here.
James unfolds the note and reveals the dimple in his left cheek as he reads, although Maya has already gone, a heart hurting with relief and curiosity. Hoping three sentences and a friendly sign-off will change her life. Later today she will discover it won’t.
*
‘Bloody hell, Millsy, you’re a jammy bastard aren’t you?’
James blushes and laughs. ‘Why does that shit never happen to me?’ Dominic is sitting on James’s desk, scratching his chin, pudgy brown eyes re-reading the letter. ‘Is she fit?’
James thinks of the girl with the wavy hair – Maya Flowers – and the curve of her collarbone leading to her neck.
‘I dunno, I hadn’t really noticed.’
‘Bollocks. She gets your train every day and you hadn’t noticed her? So if you’re not gonna tell me, then she’s either really fit or really butters. And if she was butters you wouldn’t have shown me this.’ Dominic flaps the note in the air as if it’s the golden ticket.
James laughs, a slightly proud laugh, and changes the subject.
‘Come on, Duncan and Sebastian are in reception, let’s sort our strategy.’
‘What are you going to say to her?’
‘Who, Cynthia?’
‘Not Cynthia. Crazy Train Lady. What will you say to her?’
‘That I have a girlfriend of course.’
‘And will you tell Kitt
y?’
‘Of course I will, we have no secrets,’ James says as they head to meet the team from Fisher + Whyman, wondering when it would ever come up with Kitty, given they barely communicate at all.
Chapter Thirty-Six
It is the morning after, eleven days after Maya’s 28th birthday and she is sitting at her desk. On the other side of the two white rectangular computer screens that separate them sits Emma. When Cressida Blaise-Snellman joined FASH yesterday, she requested the window seat from Emma, and Emma’s not the sort of girl to say no. Besides, she thinks it will be OK sitting opposite Maya, even though she did like the light of the vast windows overlooking the bustle of Marylebone. Lucy has moved into her own shiny new corner office next to Rich and Rich’s offices, and there is a sense of New World Order about the place.
Emma has just finished her trend report for the morning – not much to report. A grumpy-looking cat has done a swimwear shoot and celebrities wearing latex are the only FASH-related talking points, and even those wouldn’t be worth a mention.
‘Want to grab a coffee?’ asks Emma hopefully, even though Maya has only just got into work and is switching on her machine.
Emma doesn’t normally suggest they go for a coffee. Emma always drinks and eats at her desk.
‘Sure,’ says Maya, suspecting Emma just wants to check that she’s OK after the double disaster of yesterday.
They get up to weave out, past Cressida as she’s coming through the glass doors to head to her new desk – the best-lit desk in the office.
‘Morning!’ Cressida smiles. A smile that rises no further than her razor-sharp cheekbones as she looks Emma and Maya up and down. Tall, willowy, awkward angles wrapped in a fur gilet and black leather skinnies.
‘Morning!’ Emma and Maya say in unison as they continue to the canteen.
‘Oh ladies,’ Cressida turns back over her shoulder. ‘New rule: conference at 0930. Without fail. To discuss the fashion talking points of the day and how we translate them to FASH. Should only take a couple of hours.’ She looks at her Rado watch. ‘See you in five. Meeting room 1.1.’
The door closes.
‘Two hours every day? I rarely have two minutes to pee.’
‘Oh Emma!’ Maya consoles. Emma really does have the hardest job at FASH. Social media is twenty-four hours, trends update every minute. There is never any downtime and she is a team of one. ‘We’d better make this quick eh?’ says Maya, still touched by the fact Emma is checking up on her.
Emma grabs a herbal tea and a croissant, Maya gets a hot chocolate, and they sit at a wooden table for two next to the glass balustrade that overlooks the silver staircase and the reception atrium below.
‘So did you see Train Man this morning?’
Maya nods. ‘It was so weird, Emma. I thought about getting an earlier train, or a later one…’
‘You can’t get a later one, Cressida’s new regime remember!’
They laugh. Emma peels layers of pastry off her croissant with shaky fingers.
‘Well I thought it would be even more embarrassing if I were to get another train and Train Man was hiding on it too, so I just got the same one. I have to face him at some point, don’t I?’
‘Good for you Maya, you’re so brave.’
‘I feel stupid, not brave. And I only did it out of duty to Velma. I’m not nearly as brave as she was.’
Emma squeezes Maya’s arm. ‘You’re not stupid! You did a brilliant thing.’
Maya shrugs and takes a sip of hot chocolate for comfort.
‘So did you say anything to each other?’
Maya thinks back to an hour ago. Train Man. James Miller. Walked up the platform and came to the same set of doors. Apple green polo shirt with a little penguin on his chest. Strong, lean brown arms bearing the weight of his backpack. Blue jeans and now off-white Converse. An awkward but kind smile revealing a dimple in his left cheek. Maya smiled back and blushed. Embarrassed, defeated, unloved. She didn’t avoid him and he didn’t avoid her. A small triumph really.
‘He said a quiet “hello” and smiled; I said “hi” back. Then it was back to normal. I’m so embarrassed, Emma, so gutted.’
‘Oh Maya. I’m so sorry. At least you know now. You can move on.’
I don’t want to move on.
Emma decides not to mention the job situation, that Maya isn’t the new site editor, it’s irrelevant now, so she tries to put the image of Cressida gleefully sweeping her breakfast pot and belongings across the desk, away from the window seat with a careless arm, to the back of her mind. It won’t help Maya to moan about it.
‘Girls! Conference!’ Cressida barks through the door before disappearing in a flash.
‘Erm, are we at school?’ Maya frowns. ‘And is that fur she’s wearing? FASH has an anti-fur policy – I’m not sure Rich and Rich would like that.’ Not that Maya cares what Rich and Rich think right now. She doesn’t want to be a sore loser, but appointing Cressida over her is only cementing her growing sense of foreboding about the direction FASH is heading.
‘Yuck,’ says Emma, fairy features frowning.
‘That gilet looks like a baby bear clinging onto her for dear life,’ says Maya, glancing back at the space from where Cressida hollered. ‘It’s gross.’
Blue eyes brighten.
‘Oh Maya, before we’re called back again, I want to tell you before I tell Lucy.’
‘What?’
‘Well speaking of baby bears…’
Maya looks blank.
‘I’m getting one of my own.’
‘You’d wear that?’ Maya is horrified.
‘No Maya. I’m pregnant!’
Maya shakes her head and widens her eyes. ‘Oh my GOD, Emma, come here!’ Maya wraps her arms around taller shoulders. ‘I’m so so happy for you. And Paul. Congratulations!’
‘Well we kind of have you to thank for it.’
‘Ladies!’ calls Cressida again, not caring that the last of the breakfast meetings are still taking place in the canteen and she’s shouting over every one of them.
‘What is she like? We’re trying to have a buddy hug here!’ grimaces Maya into Emma’s embrace. ‘Anyway, what did I have to do with it – you know how the birds and bees work right, Emma?’
‘That spa weekend you gave us? Well it seemed to do the magic after a lot of false starts. We were getting worried.’
‘Wow, well I’m even happier I didn’t waste the weekend on me. Amazing news Emma, I’m so pleased for you. When are you due?’
‘November.’ A cautious smile flutters across Emma’s cheeks.
Cressida’s impatient angles make a face of disbelief and a hand beckons through the glass door. Emma and Maya release their embrace and hurry to the meeting room, but still all Maya can think is I have a girlfriend.
Part Three
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Maya didn’t think she could ever fall in love with someone who didn’t know the difference between your and you’re, but she did, almost seven years before she first laid eyes on Train Man. It was the first time she’d ever been in love, other than with Leonardo DiCaprio. Maya had battled with Clara over the Romeo+Juliet poster for so long, that when she finally took custody of it from Clara’s bedroom at the top of Flowers Towers, and triumphantly flew down three flights of stairs to her bedroom on the ground floor, she chose to ignore the fact that it was torn in the top right-hand corner. Maya was the proud owner of the poster and kissed it goodnight. Every night. Leonardo was Maya’s first love.
When love hit Maya for real, it occurred to her that it hadn’t happened at first sight like it had when she saw Leo on Verona Beach. It wasn’t like that with Jon. Maya’s love for Jon grew more steadily.
It started in the university library on the south coast. Maya couldn’t concentrate because the tall guy with shaved blond hair, a soft round head like a tennis ball, was parading around the library talking loudly to his friends, Being Charming. It was confidence Maya hadn’t seen before, and alth
ough her default setting would have been to be annoyed by the distraction, it was an intriguing enough distraction to keep her from Picasso’s Women. Jon had a cheeky look in his glacial eyes.
Jon enjoyed Being Charming. Charming male friends, charming female friends, charming strangers. Charming the woman who stamped that day’s date (3 February, if you must know) wonkily into Jon’s books.
Jon walked past Maya and smiled. Later, when Jon told Maya that he fell in love with strangers every day from just a passing look, Maya thought back to their first encounter in the library. She hadn’t fallen in love at first sight, not like she had with Leo, not like she would later, on a drizzly train platform. But she wondered whether Jon had fallen for her at that moment, if it was love at first sight for him, or whether he was just Being Charming.
Maya next saw Jon when he turned out to be a friend of her friend, as people are in the small community of a small university, studying Drama & Performance – and oh what a performance. Sitting opposite each other in a curry house, Jon held court with an anecdote about how he had outsmarted a lecturer, earlier in the day, on the language of Christopher Marlowe.
By Easter Maya had fallen in love. Jon would walk through the library, falling in love with strangers but leaving little notes of declaration only on Maya’s desk. It was terribly romantic among the ISBN numbers. They were each other’s first love and Maya wanted Jon to be her last as he stroked her shiny straight hair in his student digs at night, sombrely reciting Doctor Faustus as she fell asleep against his torso.
When they graduated and Maya walked straight into the editorial assistant job at Walk In Wardrobe, she couldn’t help but feel the prickle of Jon’s reaction. Maya had run the entire kilometre from the tube station to their Finsbury Park flat-share in heels to tell Jon face to face that she’d just been offered her first proper job – and when Jon’s steely smile dropped she couldn’t help but notice.
‘What’s wrong, baby? I thought you’d be pleased.’
‘I am,’ he said, releasing Maya’s arms from around his neck. ‘I’m just worried about the audition tomorrow, I can’t think of anything else right now.’
