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 good 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.