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Plus, Daniel particularly respected how Romeo hadn’t brought the crying up since, and didn’t pry as to why he’d been in such a state that day. He just carried on minding the door and greeting everyone who walked by, and that was a classy move, to Daniel. A real classy move.
‘You know what …?’ Daniel started, and he trusted Romeo to tell him the whole sorry thing. That he’d seen this woman and thought it would be cute to do a Missed Connection, and that he felt pretty stupid that it hadn’t worked. He thought he’d wanted to forget, but he didn’t: he wanted to talk about it, to be sad out loud.
‘What! Well, that’s damned cool of you!’ Romeo exclaimed. ‘It’s here, in this newspaper?’ He reached behind the reception desk and rifled through a stack of papers – it looked like a collection of the past week’s. He flipped through them, looking for yesterday’s. ‘Ah – got it!’
‘Oh god …’ said Daniel, but Romeo was already flicking through the pages with lightning speed.
‘Well, I’ll be damned!’ Romeo said. ‘To the devastatingly cute—’
‘Don’t read it out loud!’ Daniel said. ‘Jesus!’ Daniel held up his palms, in surrender. He knew the thing off by heart: he’d laboured over it for three days before he finally hit ‘send’ on the submission email. He didn’t need the agony of having Romeo read the whole monologue out to him.
Romeo gave a hoot of laughter and read the rest under his breath, only muttering the odd word.
‘Smooth,’ he said in conclusion, closing the paper and putting it back where he’d found it. ‘Really smooth, bro.’
‘Well,’ said Daniel. ‘Not really, though. She was in my carriage and didn’t look up once. She’d not read it. She was texting!’
‘Coulda been texting about the ad,’ Romeo said.
‘No,’ Daniel replied. ‘I could just tell. She hadn’t seen it. She’d have at least looked around the carriage if she had.’ It then occurred to him: ‘Unless she did read it, but didn’t realize it was for her. Maybe I wasn’t specific enough?’ He threw up his hands, exasperated by himself. ‘I’ve been like this all week,’ he told Romeo. ‘Self-obsessed and neurotic. I hate it.’
Romeo stroked his chin, leaning back against the reception desk.
‘You know, I met a woman called Juliet on my first day of training for this job, and thought we were destined to be.’ Daniel watched his friend talk. Romeo met a Juliet? He wasn’t sure if this was true, or if Romeo was about to hit a punchline.
‘She’d give me the eyes across the table, hot as shit even under that fluoro lighting they have, you know. Every day for a week she’d catch my eye, and on the last day I thought, damn, I gotta make my move.’ Romeo was wistful as he spoke, and Daniel understood what he was saying was, as implausible as it sounded, genuine. ‘But on the last day, she didn’t come. I never saw her again. I think about her, you know? Because I think we could’ve been something.’
Daniel didn’t know what to say. ‘I’m … sorry?’ he settled on, making it a question. A near-miss in love was a special kind of disappointment.
‘I just mean,’ Romeo said, snapping out of his reverie, ‘at least you went for it. You don’t have to regret it, you know? Good for you, man. You said something.’
‘Yeah,’ said Daniel. ‘But to reiterate: she didn’t see it. Or doesn’t care. So.’
Romeo nodded. ‘She beautiful? Your woman?’
Daniel smiled. ‘Yeah.’
‘She kind?’
Daniel nodded. ‘I think so.’
‘She work around here?’
Daniel narrowed his eyes, wondering if there was some sort of security-person network that meant Romeo could track her down.
‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘No idea where, though. Something to do with artificial intelligence maybe? I heard her talking about it the day I first saw her.’
Romeo offered his hand to Daniel so that they could shake goodbye.
‘If she works around here, maybe she’ll surprise you yet. Not to sound woo-woo or whatever, but I think it’s not enough to love – you’ve got to have faith.’
‘Faith,’ Daniel repeated, appreciating that Romeo was taking his plight seriously. ‘Okay.’
‘I’ll keep everything crossed for you, bro. I think you did a cool-ass thing.’
Two mornings later, faith wavering but still intact, Daniel had read almost the whole paper by the time the train whizzed through Angel, and Moorgate, and then Bank. When he got to the Missed Connections section, right at the end, he wasn’t going to read it, because what would be the point? But two words jumped out at him: devastatingly cute. That’s what he’d called her – Nadia. He looked up and around the carriage, suddenly sheepish and exposed. His body knew what he was about to read before his mind did. The hairs on his arms prickled in excitement and he felt the back of his neck flush and redden.
It’s creepy that you’re watching me when you could be saying hello, but maybe you’re trying to be romantic. I just want you to know that I won’t bite until at least the third date, so don’t be shy. If you think I’m devastatingly cute then be brave with it: kind, romantic and bold? That’s my love language. From the girl you wrote to with coffee on her dress, on the 7.30 at Angel x
Daniel smiled, and looked up and around the train again. Was she there? Was she watching him, like he had watched her? He couldn’t see her from where he always stood, by the doors. He was grinning like an idiot and couldn’t stop. He opened the paper again and reread what she had written. He liked that she’d called him out for being a bit creepy, because intellectually he knew it was borderline bizarre that he was being so dramatic, and making a joke out of it felt … intimate. Like, that was cool, that she could poke fun at him. You had to be comfortable with yourself to poke fun. And to say the thing about the biting and the third date – that was flirty, and cheeky. She’d complimented him, too, which was kind of key. He’d put himself out there, and she was telling him it was okay. It was good – it was an encouraging and funny and kind response. Just the right level of provocative. If he could see her, he’d march right up to her and tell her: drinks, tonight, 6.30.
But she wasn’t around. The train pulled into London Bridge and Daniel stuffed the paper into his bag. He searched the crowds for her face. He kept his eyes and mind alert as he walked through the station, all the way to his own office.
‘Daniel! My man! How’s it going today, brother?’
Daniel fished the paper out from his bag, and said to Romeo, ‘Dude. Check this out! Check it out!’ He opened the paper on the Missed Connections page and pointed at the response. ‘She wrote back, man! Can you believe it?!’
Romeo took the paper from Daniel and read the small section meant for him in silence, his eyes growing bigger and bigger in admiration.
‘Well, she’s a feisty one. Congratulations!’
Romeo held out a hand for Daniel to shake, and Daniel beamed at both the advert and his mate in front of him who knew this was a massive thing for him. He felt a funny sense of accomplishment. Accomplishment, and also slight dread because: what now?
‘You gotta figure out a way to get this newspaper connection off the page and into real life,’ Romeo said. ‘She’s asking you to!’
‘Yes, I do,’ said Daniel, nodding. ‘I mean. Surely I wait for her to be on the train and then just … go up to her and say hello, right?’
‘Sure,’ said Romeo. ‘Sure.’
‘Sure?’
‘Well. Or, you could amp it up a little, you know. Sounds like she’s a gutsy one. Maybe you could build the tension a little bit.’
‘Uh huh. Yeah. Totally.’ Daniel nodded. And then he shook his head because he actually didn’t know what Romeo meant. ‘I mean – like how?’
Romeo folded the paper and handed it back to him. ‘Write her back, man. Make this a thing. If you build up the anticipation, the climax will feel all the better – for both of you. Girls love that shit!’
Daniel nodded. ‘I’m not a girl, and I love that shit too! Romance is nice, right? The thrill of the chase and all that?’
‘You got this, man,’ said Romeo.
Daniel nodded, understanding. ‘So if I write back, it needs to be flirty, like she has been, but also – well, you know on the dating apps when people say “I don’t want a pen pal”? I don’t want it to seem like I’m playing a game where it’s more about the letters than actually getting to meet.’
‘That’s smart thinking, man,’ Romeo said. ‘You’re absolutely right. So maybe what you want is some kind of like, riddle, yeah? A clue that she has to solve. You said she’s clever, so I bet she’ll love that.’
‘A clue she has to solve, but nothing that makes her think she has to impress me.’ Daniel’s face darkened with a memory. ‘My mate Joel always did this thing at uni that he’d read about – do they call it negging? Where you like, make a woman want to impress you by making out that she hasn’t already?’
‘Negging, yeah,’ said Romeo, disapprovingly.
‘That’s some weird psychological crap,’ Daniel said. ‘I like her, and now I know she likes me …’ Then it occurred to him. ‘Oh. Well. Actually that’s not quite true. She likes the idea of me – we don’t know that she’s identified who I am. She hasn’t even been on the train since Monday, so …’
Romeo held up his hands. ‘Do NOT tell me that you’re doubting if she’ll fancy you,’ he said. ‘She will, man. I like girls and all, but I’m confident enough in my sexuality to tell you that you’re a handsome bastard.’
Daniel smiled, chuffed, already standing taller for Romeo’s compassionate words. ‘Cheers.’ His dad’s face flashed into his mind. His dad had always made him stand taller, always believed in him before he believed in himself.
Romeo held out a hand, and as Daniel met it he pulled him in for one of his half-hugs, half-shoulder-bump things.
‘You’re inspiring me to get a bit romantic myself, truth be told,’ he said. ‘I’ve had two dates with a woman I like, you know? Maybe I’ll text her and wish her a good morning, just because she’s on my mind. Nothing wrong with that, is there? If you feel it, say it, and all that.’
Daniel nodded. ‘That’s a nice thing to do for people we like,’ he agreed.
Romeo held out his fist so that Daniel could knock against it with his own, as a goodbye gesture.
‘We’re a right sort, aren’t we?’ Romeo said, and Daniel couldn’t help but agree. Love was in the air, and he was thrilled about it.
8 (#ulink_ee3b9149-56a9-5ade-9616-7f57b4ed5fb5)
Nadia
‘I am going to fucking kill you,’ Nadia said in a voice note to her best friend. ‘I can’t believe you sent that! You total …’ Words failed her. She could not believe that Emma had sent in an email to Missed Connections on her behalf. ‘This hangover cannot process this. You’ve made me sound … cheap! And like I’m some sort of sexy temptress! What the fuck is the thing about the biting? Nobody has made that joke since the nineties, and even then it was always someone’s pervy uncle. I said it ironically, but you’ve not bloody used it ironically. Oh god. If I get approached by some weirdo seventy-year-old who looks like Piers Morgan and has his hands down his pants, I will actually kill you. I just threatened to kill you, but I need you to know I will actually slaughter you.’
Nadia was an hour late for work, and in a foul mood. She’d been on time for work once this week, on Monday, but had forgotten to set her alarm twice after that. Last night she’d had a cocktail after work with her team, and then met her old colleague Naomi for dinner and they had talked so late that she was basically asleep by the time she fell into bed at midnight – again forgetting to set an alarm. That meant she’d woken up this Thursday morning with a start, had to rush to shower, and hadn’t had time to fully assess if her outfit actually looked like an outfit or was mismatched in a way she couldn’t pass off as cool. She’d have to start The New Routine to Change My Life again tomorrow. Or maybe on Monday.
‘Don’t act like you’re mad!’ said Emma, when she eventually called back in response to the scathing voice note. ‘It’s a cute advert. I did you a favour! And I promise I didn’t do it when we were drunk. I saved it in drafts and only sent it yesterday, when I was sure it was a good one.’
‘It’s not a good one! It’s awful!’ said Nadia, determined to give her a hard time for doing it without her permission. I don’t bite?! What was Emma thinking?
‘No! It is a good one! I 200 per cent know in my bones he will approach you. You’d be talking to him right now if you’d been on time for work! That’s how good it is!’
Nadia had a weird twinge in her tummy at the thought of it – that if she had gone into the office on time, on her regular train, she could be talking to her future right now. But her future could wait twenty-four hours. Couldn’t it? She could use today to build her courage. Suddenly she was less angry and more excited.
After talking to Emma, Nadia picked up the paper again, open on the page with Missed Connections on. She took a breath and reread it, carefully unpicking it sentence by sentence.
It’s creepy that you’re watching me when you could be saying hello, but maybe you’re trying to be romantic.
Okay, well. That bit was actually okay, if she was totally honest. It was a sort of warning that he had better not be an actual creep, stalking her or something. She could deal with that. The line between big romantic gesture from a stranger and weird stalking was, actually, pretty fine, and probably rested on how handsome and well-adjusted the author of the letters was. Nadia had once read a Twitter thread about a girl whose date had known to come to the back door of her house, not the front, and brought a bouquet of lilies for her, because he knew she liked lilies. The woman said she’d never told him to use the back door, and that her favourite flowers had never come up in conversation; and to some it might have seemed like she was overreacting, but this woman said she knew in her stomach something wasn’t right. Two weeks later, the guy was arrested for masturbating onto her car bonnet at three o’clock in the morning.
I just want you to know that I won’t bite until at least the third date, so don’t be shy. Bloody hell. That bit really was awful. Horrid, horrid, horrid. I won’t bite until at least the third date? Emma was insane for including that. It was provocative in all the wrong ways. If Nadia had written it, she would have said something like … well. She wasn’t actually sure, off the top of her head. That’s why she’d delayed writing her own response – it was tough to get the tone right! But just because she hadn’t got around to it herself didn’t mean she wouldn’t have done it in the end. Probably. Maybe.
Hmmm. Nadia started to acknowledge the edges of a feeling that maybe Emma had done her a favour. Would she have ever decided on the ‘perfect’ response? Maybe it was like Pilates: you could put off doing it, or you could just go and get it over with and admit the flood of endorphins felt incredible after.
If you think I’m devastatingly cute then be brave with it: kind, romantic and bold? That’s my love language.
Hmmm. That bit was nice. Nadia could deal with that. It sort of stated her values and she liked declaring out loud that kindness was key. Kindness without being wet. Kindness that meant he knew to let other people off the tube before he got on, and that if he came to the pub and Emma was there he’d let her rant on a bit and then tell her she was absolutely right, no matter what she was ranting about. That was something else her old boss Katherine had told her: that when her husband was still just her boyfriend, he’d been out with her friends and listened sympathetically to a break-up story that went on and on. Katherine had thanked him afterwards for listening, for being as good a friend to her BFF as Katherine tried to be.
‘If she’s important to you, then I want her to be important to me,’ he’d explained to her.
Katherine said that was when she knew she wanted to marry him. Nadia had loved hearing that story. She loved knowing when men had been good and caring. She carried around a mental storybook of all the tales the women in her life had told her, that she opened in her mind when she felt herself begin to go down the all-men-are-the-same path. They weren’t. The good ones existed. Maybe not all of them were good, but perhaps Emma had been right when she said one in fifty was good. Katherine and Naomi had both won in those odds. Nadia forced herself to believe that she could too.
If she had to score the ad out of ten she’d begrudgingly give it an eight and a half. Emma lost a point for the biting thing – Nadia wouldn’t ever forgive that. But. Maybe, possibly, potentially it could have taken Nadia weeks to do it herself, and so at least something was out there.
She allowed herself a little smile.
He could be reading it right now, she thought to herself. He could be thinking of me as I am thinking of him.
The idea of it wasn’t unpleasant. In fact, it felt oddly comforting.
What would he say in return?
9 (#ulink_aa7f2207-bfdc-5a15-9bc1-c89398587b70)
Daniel
‘I really am going to have to ask you to piss off,’ Daniel said to Lorenzo as he poured boiling water into his favourite Arsenal mug. ‘I am not reading a dating guide. Absolutely not.’
He manoeuvred around his flatmate to the fridge, pulling out the plastic carton of milk and doing a double take as he realized that it was weirdly light. He looked at it, pointedly, sighing dramatically.
‘Lorenzo, did you put an empty milk carton back into the fridge?’
Lorenzo looked from the carton to Daniel’s raised eyebrows.
‘It’s an emergency stash day,’ Lorenzo said with a shrug, opening the drawer where they kept the single-portion pots of UHT milk that they made a game of stealing from hotels and buffet breakfasts. Daniel wasn’t sure how it had begun, but there was now a specific drawer for them, for these long-life UHT milks, which had more recently come to involve UHT milk sachets too.
‘There’s a trend for them,’ Lorenzo had acknowledged knowingly once, as he returned from a weekend wedding in Edinburgh with ten sachets. ‘The sachets are much easier to open. More environmentally friendly too.’
Some weeks they didn’t buy proper milk at all, living off the UHT drawer. What was weirder was that Daniel and Lorenzo didn’t even really talk about it. It was just a thing that they did. No milk in the fridge? Time for the milk drawer, then. It normally happened at the end of the week, on a Friday, so at least today they were consistent with their milk-buying inconsistencies.
By way of a mild apology it was an easy-open sachet that Lorenzo handed over now. Daniel took it, shaking his head. It felt like there was a ‘Joey and Chandler’ dynamic between them sometimes – and that probably wasn’t a good thing.
‘I’m just saying, have a glance at it,’ Lorenzo said, taking a milk sachet for himself and ripping it open with his teeth. He drank it down, on its own, in one gulp.
‘It’s for girls!’ Daniel said. ‘Presumably girls who want to pick up boys! I don’t want to pick up boys!’ He held his tea by the rim of the mug, deciding it was too hot and switching it to the other hand to hold by the handle. ‘If I was a girl picking up boys it looks like a mighty fine book, but as I am not, I shall proceed on my own, book-free,’ he said, adding defensively, ‘I don’t need a book to tell me how to chat a woman up.’
Lorenzo picked up the copy of Get Your Guys! from the table where he’d left it out for Daniel the night before.
‘All I’m saying,’ Lorenzo intoned, ‘is that everyone at work was equally as sceptical as you, except the woman who commissioned it. And one by one, she passed it out to the 5 girls on the staff and, one by one, they all had stories about trying what –’ he glanced down at the front cover to remind himself of the author’s name ‘– Grant Garby says, and now most of them are engaged.’
‘But,’ Daniel said, closing his eyes as if very, very tired. ‘They are women. Hitting on men.’
Lorenzo shook his head. ‘Well, you see, I thought I should take a look at it, you know, as research, and it is my job to PR books, even if I wasn’t PR-ing this one. Know the market and all that. And he’s fucking genius. Grant Garby. He has this whole YouTube series and everything. It’s been a slow grower, but since it came out and word has spread, he’s sold like, one hundred thousand copies. Chicks swear by him, but he reckons blokes should be reading his stuff too.’
Daniel finished his tea and put the empty mug in the sink, where it would live for two days until he’d finally cave in over his dishwasher stand-off with Lorenzo and empty it himself, thus making room for a kitchen full of dirty crockery and the whole cycle could start over again.
‘Why do you need help hitting on women? It’s literally the only thing you’re good at.’
‘Rude,’ said Lorenzo, only half insulted. ‘And, my friend, this is what makes me so clever: continual practice.’
‘Continual practice.’
