‘And he’s super cute,’ Gaby said, over a quick burrito lunch in Borough Market. ‘He has this sort of dopey English gent vibe about him, all very Ben Whishaw – you know, the one who builds the cars in James Bond – but he’s … nice. He’s really nice.’
Nadia rolled her eyes as she stuffed her extra order of avocado into the second half of her meal. ‘Just because I dated an arsehole last doesn’t mean I now want “nice”,’ Nadia complained. ‘I know what nice means.’
Gaby shook her head as if to say, what?
‘Nice means … wet.’
‘Nooooo!’ said Gaby. ‘That’s the 2012 definition of nice. Today’s definition of nice is like, woke. And kind.’
‘As opposed to woke and …?’
‘Woke and using it to get into your knickers. I appreciate that there is no man to be trusted less than the one who has feminist in his Twitter bio.’
‘This is true,’ said Nadia, giggling. ‘The man with feminist in his bio is the one who tells you how much he likes women, at the same time as telling you he doesn’t have the gag-reflex to go down on you.’
Gaby hooted with laughter. ‘Ha! Yes. The man with feminist in his bio doesn’t mansplain, he passionately defends.’
Nadia nodded in agreement. ‘The man who has feminist in his bio reads a bell hooks book and then lets YOU know the ways in which YOU’RE oppressed!’
‘He pushes the men in his life away in disgust, leaving the women in his life to do his emotional labour!’
‘He asks permission before sending a dick pic!’
‘This is a fun game,’ Gaby said.
‘Yeah,’ said Nadia. ‘Hashtag not-all-men.’ That was enough to make them both burst out laughing again. They expected any man to be a feminist in the same way they expected any man to like oxygen and breathing. Of course they did. They just didn’t need to wang on about it, was all. Feminism was an ongoing act, not a chat-up line.
‘But seriously, I’m giving you a head’s up that cutie patootie from reception this morning is coming to the summer party, and I’d like to introduce you to him. I just … I have a feeling.’
‘A feeling.’
‘Does a realm of possibility exist in which you can trust me?’
Nadia narrowed her eyes. ‘Fine. Yes. I will come, and I will meet him.’ She popped the last chunk of her lunch in her mouth and thought about it.
‘Although I did actually feel like I’d seen him somewhere before. Maybe on Bumble? Or Tinder or Hinge?’
Nadia tried to conjure up an image of him in her mind, but she’d only seen him in profile before the lift doors closed. It had been a millisecond of recognition. On the other hand, Nadia absolutely had a type, and several times a day she could find herself having her head turned by yet another dark-haired, tall, suit-wearing bloke with stubble. She was unimaginative that way. She liked to stick to the classics.
‘Hey,’ she said, thinking how much her best friend would like the opportunity to meet the men at her company too. ‘Shall we invite Emma?’
Gaby flushed pink and said, ‘Actually, um, I already did.’
‘Oh,’ said Nadia. ‘Well … that’s cool.’ Her tone implied that, actually, it was anything but cool.
It bothered her that Gaby had gone over her head to ask Emma to come. Emma had never been to a RAINFOREST work event before, so it’s not like it was a given that Nadia would’ve asked her. Nadia only had the idea because she’d need a wingwoman as much as anything, and Emma was an excellent person to be stood beside when chatting up men. She knew exactly when to stick around, and exactly when to excuse herself to go to the bathroom and not return.
‘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 is not a 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 met my guy. 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 of Get 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 for Missed Connections and 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.