‘The only thing I can think,’ Nadia said, pouring the bottle of Albariño into the three glasses evenly, ‘is that he means The Old Barn Cat. The day I convinced Jared to believe in my non-profit idea, we went to the courtyard there. I just … I don’t understand how this guy knows about it?’
‘Unless the guy … is Jared!’ said Gaby, holding up a glass to signal that they should cheers.
Nadia was horrified. ‘Don’t say that! No!’ Gaby knew Jared because she often worked closely with the board of directors at work. Even joking about a man like him was a step too far. ‘Jared genuinely had tickets to Fyre Festival. Absolutely not.’
Gaby snorted. ‘I can believe that,’ she said, sadly.
‘Gang! Hello? We’re celebrating?’ Emma lifted her glass to knock it lightly against Gaby’s. ‘Here’s to love, lust and romance,’ she said.
‘To love, lust and romance,’ said Gaby, coyly.
Nadia scowled. ‘You two are laughing at me! Don’t laugh at me.’ She took a huge gulp from her glass, refusing to join them in a cheers. Was it just her, or were they mocking her slightly?
Gaby looked away and directly to Nadia. ‘Oh no, sweetie. No, no, no. No we’re not. We’re—’
No. They weren’t mocking her.
Nadia sighed. ‘Oh stop it,’ she cut Gaby off. ‘I’d be laughing too. It’s all so ridiculous.’ She was actually in a playful mood tonight, daring to get excited about her forthcoming date. She couldn’t help but think that everything she’d been through, everything she’d endured and every doubt she’d ever tortured herself with, it was all in service of this. Of course it had never worked out with anybody else, because she was always supposed to meet this guy. Right? That was how it worked, wasn’t it? That’s what all the couples she knew said – that in the end, the path was always leading to the one they ended up with. Katherine had once said, ‘You only have to get it right once, Nadia,’ and Nadia understood that now. There was no such thing as a past relationship failing when relationship success was still to play for. When the right man came along, nothing about her past could be a failure. It was all working towards the one big success that would matter. Nadia didn’t believe in soulmates so much as she believed that some people were simply worth making the effort for, and it was about finding the one willing to work as hard as she would to have something special. That one (or one in fifty, if Emma’s maths was to be believed) who truly wanted an equal – that’s what excited Nadia. From everything Train Guy had said – that she was clever and funny and that they’d have good chat together – Nadia could just tell that he had his head screwed on. That he was clever and funny too. And most of all, kind.
Emma took big gulps of her wine, almost polishing the glass off in one inhale. ‘It’s lovely,’ she said, setting down her glass and already looking for their waiter to order more. ‘All totally lovely.’
‘And just a bit scary,’ supplied Gaby. This was the version of Gaby that Nadia knew best: the slightly cynical, romantically careful one.
‘Well, if I meet him at seven, I’ll expect your phone call at … seven fifteen?’
‘When there will be a horrible emergency.’
‘And I’ll have to come right away.’
‘You’ll be terribly sorry.’
‘Devastated!’
‘And scarper so quick that you’ll forget to leave a number.’
The three of them laughed, articulating a blind date plan they’d all had for years now. In theory, it was easy enough to realize it wasn’t going to work with somebody almost right away, but amongst them only Emma would really announce, fifteen minutes into a date, that it wasn’t going to work and so they had better call it a night already. As a dating columnist she’d had a lot of practice, Nadia supposed, and when she dated like it was her job – because for a while it had actually been her job – it was easier to be businesslike about the whole thing. Meanwhile, Nadia had spent evening upon evening trying not to hurt the man across from her’s feelings, willing herself to find the thing they were compatible on, or in agreement about. That was the downside to being a romantic: by being so committed to seeing the best in her dates she’d had several that should never have happened at all.
Emma widened her eyes. ‘Oh my gosh – are you going to tell him your real name?’
‘Why … wouldn’t I?’
‘I don’t know. Safety? You don’t want him knowing who you really are, do you?’
Nadia thought about it. ‘That doesn’t seem like the best start to a relationship,’ she said. ‘I don’t think there’s any harm in telling him my name is Nadia. Right?’ She looked to Gaby for reassurance.
‘No,’ Gaby said. ‘But also, listen: I still resolutely believe that you should meet Sky Garden Guy. I promise you – he is your man. I know Train Guy is witty and fun and whatever, but Sky Garden Guy is all of those things too.’
‘Well, if Train Guy is a dud, yes, I accept your offer. That’s even if he’d still like to meet after I stood him up.’
‘I’m sure he would,’ Gaby said.
‘What are you going to wear?’ Emma asked.
Nadia thought about it. ‘I know this sounds weird,’ she said, ‘but I feel like I want to look as close as I do for work as possible. Like, that’s how he knows me. If I turned up in platforms and sequins with a full face of make-up, I’d be mortified if he didn’t recognize me!’
‘Oh my god,’ Emma said, ‘I didn’t think of that – he knows what you look like, but you have no idea what he looks like …’
Nadia nodded. ‘I know. Every morning I get on that train and I think, “Is it you? Is it you? Or you?” And honestly, he could be any of them. But that’s part of the excitement. And, you know. How bad could he end up being?’
Gaby shuddered. ‘That would give me the creeps, knowing that I’m being watched.’
Emma hit her shoulder. ‘She isn’t being watched! Don’t say that! Some commuter has noticed her a few times and thought she was cute. That’s all.’
‘Devastatingly cute,’ interjected Nadia.
‘Devastatingly cute. Fine. It’s not like he’s following her to work or back home and spying at her from the bushes.’
Nadia’s eyes widened. ‘Oh my god – do we think that could happen?’
Gaby gave a pointed silence.
‘Absolutely not,’ said Emma, shooting her daggers. ‘And look. You are so smart, and so aware. You can get a read on people’s energy like that.’ She clicked her fingers as she said ‘that’. ‘And we’ll call you so you have an out if you need it, which you won’t, but if you do, then … well. You can leave and then move house and jobs and start wearing a wig and you’ll never have to see him again!’
Gaby laughed in spite of herself, and the waiter came over with more wine. He asked if he could get them anything else.
‘Yes,’ Nadia said. ‘Some new best friends, please.’
The waiter smiled and walked away.
‘You’re going to be fine,’ Emma said. ‘Isn’t she, Gaby?’
Gaby smiled, not quite enthusiastically. ‘Sure you are,’ she said. ‘And if you’re not, I’m at the MoD on Friday. I can arrange to have him killed.’
Emma poured more wine into their glasses, even though she was the only one who had emptied hers. The three of them cheersed again.
At home, Nadia sat down with a blank piece of paper, a pen, and another glass of wine. At the top of the paper she wrote ‘Pros and Cons’. On the left side, she wrote, ‘Everything That Could Go Wrong If I Meet The Guy From Missed Connections’. Under it, she put:
Potentially all a big catfish.
Potentially he thinks he is writing to somebody who Is Not Me, and will be totally devastated and insulted when I turn up, and won’t be able to hide the look of disappointment on his face. Will be like when food comes out of the kitchen at a restaurant and you’re starving and you think the waiter is coming over to you and so you sit up straighter and bite your bottom lip in anticipation, but then it goes to the table next to you and you look like an arse.
I will think we are getting on, and when I go to the bathroom he will pull out his phone and play on Tinder and I will see over his shoulder when I come back and be too polite to say anything. (Thus wasting a further two and a half hours of my life when I could be at boxercise, or with Emma – who says she is much better, but I am still worried about her.)
My picture will end up in the paper, because I will go missing on the way home from the date, and he will be the prime suspect. Picture will be from my twenty-eighth birthday when I tried to save money beforehand by waxing my own eyebrows and had to draw them back on, and everyone will think any woman who looks as mad as I do probably brought it all on herself.
I will find him dizzyingly charming and the chemistry will be undeniable and I will go home with him and won’t realize he’s put Rohypnol in my drink and I wake up to see he has covered the whole bedroom in cling film and has a very sharp knife and I only just manage to escape before he starts carving me up into pieces to fry up and eat for breakfast each morning.
I actually won’t wake up from the Rohypnol and so will get carved up and nobody will ever find me and my mum will be really upset and won’t know I’m dead – she’ll just think I’m being selfish and have skipped the country for a laugh.
He won’t show up after all, and I’ll have write to the newspaper to shout at him. (NB if I do that, I will do it very calmly and sensibly, in the manner of that nineteen-year-old on The Lust Villa who got dumped and gave a very rousing speech about loyalty, and not like when Sharon Osbourne stormed off The X Factor that time, ripping off her fake eyelashes and screaming at everyone uncontrollably.)
In the other column, she wrote: ‘Things That Could Go Right If I Meet The Guy From Missed Connections’. Underneath it she wrote:
I could meet the love of my life.