‘Do this well, Vanessa, and it’s the start of a new career for you. And I don’t just mean while Daphne’s on maternity leave. People are falling in love with this story. They’re going to keep coming back to see how it pans out. When it ends, they’re going to want to read what you write next. This will be the start of great things for you here at Maîtresse. At your age, and with your lack of experience, you won’t get a better opportunity than this, so don’t mess it up, okay?’
She makes me feel like I’m ninety-four rather than thirty-four, but I know she’s right too. I was a temp before I started here. I have no experience of writing for magazines and that’s my dream job. I’m never going to get a better chance than this. ‘What about my job now? If I’m going to Pearlholme, I won’t be here.’ I excel at stating the obvious. ‘How much time do I get there?’
‘Take your laptop. You can do your usual work remotely. I’ll make sure every article is emailed to you, and as long as you can drag yourself away from gorgeous men and golden sands long enough to work from there …’ She thinks for a moment. ‘Take three weeks. Allow yourself to really feel something with this guy. Readers will see through it if you just make things up. You have to start with something real. You have to see if the connection on the real train really meant anything. Not just for yourself and Train Man, but for the thousands of readers following your story now.’
I gulp. No pressure then. I obviously don’t look grateful enough to Zinnia because she whisks her iPad back out of my hand and points the corner of it at me threateningly. ‘I’m doing you a huge favour here, and taking an enormous risk on someone who I’ve only ever seen one article from. The next parts had better be as good as the first. Not only do you get a chance to see if a flirtation means anything, but you also get a chance at the career you’ve always wanted in the process. Most people would be overjoyed to be given this chance. You can thank me for being an amazing, wonderful, understanding boss anytime now.’
She’s probably joking but the unnaturally smooth face doesn’t give me enough of a hint.
‘Thank you, Zinnia,’ I chorus dutifully, trying for my best overjoyed face. I probably look more like I’m about to sneeze.
‘This is amazing!’ Daphne squeaks. She’s still got Nathan’s phone in her hand and is going through it, bluetoothing his photos of carousel horses to her computer.
‘Forward those to both of us,’ Zinnia says. ‘And have a look through for anything else that can be used in the article – and, Vanessa? I’ll go over our publishing schedule and email you the deadlines for each part. Good luck.’ She salutes me as she glides out the door, leaving me wondering how much luck I’ll need. Zinnia doesn’t believe in luck, which makes me wonder about quite how bad an idea this might actually be.
‘This is a fantastic opportunity,’ Daphne says when she’s gone. ‘I often write about real-life couples who met in weird and wonderful ways, and now you’re one of them. It’s so exciting!’
It is exciting, but I’m terrified too. That phone call last night made me feel fluttery and excited, something that I’ve seen on TV but never thought could actually happen to real people … What if I get to Pearlholme and discover that it all meant nothing? What if Nathan’s nothing like I think he is?
‘I’m proud of you, Ness,’ Daphne says.
‘I haven’t written anything yet.’
‘Not about the article. That’ll be fab, no matter what you do with it. I meant about actually doing this – wanting to do this – you’re really putting yourself out there and taking a risk. I’m always saying that you need to do more of that—’
‘And I’m always telling you to shut up.’
She grins. ‘I know. And you’re about to prove that I was right all along. You will throw yourself into this, won’t you?’
I go to answer but she cuts me off.
‘Don’t find excuses not to do stuff. If he asks you out, go. What have you got to lose?’
I shake my head, because I know she’s right but she’ll probably explode if I admit it. I’ve not wanted another relationship since I broke up with ‘poor Andrew’, and I’ve had an excuse for every potential date Daphne has tried to find me even if they looked promising. I’ve hidden away and pretended to be happy when I’m sad. I’ve told people I enjoy my own company when I’m lonely. I work late every night so I have fewer hours to stare at the damp-stained walls in my flat.
But things felt different with Nathan. Even in one phone call, I didn’t feel the need to pretend to be something I wasn’t. I didn’t pretend to be okay. I even told him I was eating a microwave meal and I never tell anyone that in case my mother finds out and immediately starts marching down the M1 with a stack of Tupperware containers under each arm.
I can’t ignore the fizzle of excitement. And it’s not just because people have read my story and now I’ve got a chance to make a real career here. It’s because of Nathan. This is so out of character for me, but there’s something about him that makes me want to find out whether months of eye contact and smiles on the train really did mean anything, because for just a moment when I spoke to him last night, it felt like they did.
In London, the June weather is so muggy that every breath feels like hard work and the skies are overcast and dull, but as I sit in the window seat of a refreshingly empty carriage on a train that’s trundling north, the clouds outside the window turn from grey to white and the sky brightens until it’s blue.
I went to bed early last night because I knew I couldn’t miss getting the earlier train than usual, and I left Nathan’s phone on the kitchen unit overnight because if it was any nearer then I’d never be able to resist the temptation of constantly checking to see if he’d rung. When I got up this morning, there was a missed call from his pay-as-you-go number, followed by a text message.
I tried to call but either I missed you or I bored you silly last night and now you’re avoiding me – completely understandable! xx
Another two kisses. Daphne’s waters would probably break with excitement.
I want to reply because seeing that message this morning made the butterflies start doing bungee jumps again, but I still haven’t summoned the courage to, because I’m too nervous to tell him I’m on my way to Pearlholme. He must have been joking when he said it, but how can I tell him I’ve taken him seriously without sounding deranged?
The nearest station to Pearlholme is not like any train station I’ve seen before. It looks like a quaint little bungalow, but with sliding glass double doors and a railway sign outside. The air is clear and there’s a warm breeze that makes me inhale deeply and I don’t feel like I’m going to choke on exhaust fumes.
There’s a tiny car park outside the station and a couple of bus stops on the opposite side. I remember Nathan saying he got the bus so I wander across to them, dragging my suitcase behind me. I’m staring at the timetable, running a finger down the list of place names I don’t recognise, wondering if I’m even in the right place, when I spot a man selling newspapers standing on the corner of the car park.
‘Excuse me?’ I walk over to him, thinking of Nathan’s joke about asking strangers for directions.