style="font-size:15px;"> When he did catch her, she always had her phone in her hand, but unlike a lot of other commuters, she didn’t wear headphones to listen to music as she travelled. Daniel knew if he spoke to her one day, out of the blue, at least she’d be able to hear him. But then, he didn’t want to screw up his one shot at getting to know her. He worried that simply striking up conversation on a crowded tube – a place notorious for how anti-conversation it could be, where even a smile could make you seem demented because it just isn’t the done thing – he’d seem slimy and pervy. A woman had every right to get to work without fending off advances from men who thought she was hot. He knew that. He wanted to give her a nod of encouragement so she could let him know if she was interested as well. It was Lorenzo who had joked that Missed Connections was the place to do it. Lorenzo was kidding around, but as soon as he’d suggested it, Daniel knew that was how he wanted to get this woman’s attention. He’d seen her reading the paper before. It could be just the ticket.
‘But why this woman?’ asked Lorenzo. ‘I don’t get it. You don’t know her!’
How could Daniel explain to Lorenzo that, above all else, he just had this feeling?
Nadia
‘Am I being crazy?’ Nadia asked. ‘I feel like I can’t put a message in as a response because it might not even be me. Can you imagine? He’s expecting bloody Daisy Lowe to respond, and he ends up with bloody ME?’
Emma was pushing a grilled peach around her plate, loading toasted hazelnuts and creamy goat’s curd onto her fork. She had summoned Nadia to In Bocca al Lupo because, yes, she had to review it imminently after an RnB star and her Saudi boyfriend were spotted eating at the bar two nights earlier and it had immediately become The Place to Be and her editor wanted it in Saturday’s paper, but also because, as she’d said in her text, In Bocca al Lupo means good luck! In Italian! And your grandmother was Italian and you need some good luck! It will be a good luck meal for love! It was a bizarre logic that suited only Emma’s mental gymnastics, especially because the restaurant itself wasn’t actually Italian, but Nadia couldn’t be bothered to go home and cook and, truly, if a singer with twelve Grammys and a sold-out arena tour was going to chow down on the wood-fired Torbay sole on a Friday evening, Nadia could sure as hell do the same thing the following Monday. Plus, Emma would be expensing it. It was something of a personal rule of Nadia’s to never turn down a free meal. In The New Routine to Change My Life she should, technically, have been at home with a face mask on, eating a salad and meditating, but that didn’t matter. She could do that tomorrow, and Monday had already been mostly a success.
‘Listen,’ Emma said, using her fork to gesticulate. ‘Awful Ben. What a bastard, yes?’
Nadia scowled at the mention of his name. ‘Yes,’ she said, slowly.
‘You deserve love, and happiness, and everything your heart desires. Yes?’
‘… Yes.’
‘Right then. You’ve got to make that happen for yourself. You’ve got to put yourself in the way of your own fate. You’ve got to write back – of course the advert was for you!’
They were interrupted by the delivery of a garlic, parsley and bone-marrow flatbread, from a waiter with dancing eyes and plucked eyebrows.
‘Compliments of the chef,’ he said, and Emma replied, ‘Thank you, darling.’
She only ever called service people darling, sort of as a way to ingratiate herself into their favour and because in the reviewing industry nobody wanted a reputation as a miserable or rude customer. But also, Nadia thought, you could tell a lot about a person by how they treated service people: waiters and cleaners and doormen. Emma’s manners were always impeccable, whatever the motivation, and it made Nadia like her friend even more.
‘Uh oh,’ Emma said. ‘You seem grumpy. Why are you grumpy?’ She used her hands to tear up the bread, and licked welts of seasoned oil off her fingers and wrists once she was done.
‘I’m not grumpy!’ said Nadia, too brightly. Emma raised her eyebrows, knowing the minor changes in her friend’s moods better than she knew her own.
‘I’m not grumpy! I just …’ Nadia took a big gulp of white wine. ‘Just don’t bring up Awful Ben that way, okay? I can. You can’t.’
Emma nodded. ‘Fair enough.’
‘And also, don’t talk to Gaby about me. It feels like you’re ganging up on me. I’m excited and I’m scared and I need to feel like you’re on my team, not a team together.’
‘Right,’ said Emma, wide-eyed. ‘I hear you. Though, let the record show we are all on a team together. Team Nadia.’
Nadia suddenly felt guilty that she’d said anything. That hadn’t been the right moment to bring up Emma and Gaby talking about her. The two women finished the flatbread and emptied their glasses in silence. Hats off to Emma, she knew when to shut up and let Nadia have a bit of a wobble. And, at some point – not now, but at some point – Nadia would probably have to mention to one of them that sometimes how close Gaby and Emma had become bothered her.
It had been cool that the first time Emma came to after-work drinks she’d taken to Gaby so well. Emma was typically the jealous one, wanting Nadia all to herself. A typical only child, unpractised at sharing. But it was like the phrase ‘house on fire’ had been designed especially for Gaby and Emma. Nadia had sat there more or less mute as the two swapped outrageous dating stories and entered into a flirting competition with the wait staff. They’d never graduated to hanging out without her, but every time Nadia invited one out, the first question would always be if the other one was coming. Nadia knew it was childish to feel envious over how they’d clicked, but … well. She was envious at how they’d clicked. She’d been trying to see them separately just lately. Not that she’d made that clear out loud or anything. She didn’t want to seem immature.
Nadia let her temper calm down so that by the time their starter plates had been cleared and Emma said, ‘I still think you should put an advert up in response,’ Nadia was able to relax into herself and smile. She knew her friend only wanted what was best for her.
‘No!’ Nadia said, laughing. ‘Oh god! I just don’t think I can!’
Emma was impatient. ‘How are we going to find him then?’
‘I don’t know! Maybe I don’t even want to find him!’
‘Well, that’s bollocks,’ said Emma. ‘You’re a shit liar and I can tell that’s a lie.’ She poured them both more wine. ‘I can tell you’re gagging for it to be you. Look at you! Texting all maybe it is me! all day and then being moody tonight. You’re afraid to be excited. I see you.’
‘Oh shut up,’ Nadia said light-heartedly.
‘You’re going to have to be on the lookout. Like, on that 7.30 train every morning, the end near the escalators. That’s where you should start. Stake the joint out a bit. If it is for you, surely there will be a guy hopefully looking at you, all “Notice me! Notice me!”’
Nadia giggled. ‘Well, yes. That I can do.’
She twisted
