‘Hello? Earth to Nadia?’ Nadia’s gaze refocused on Emma. ‘You’re supposed to be writing, remember?’
‘Yes. Sorry. I was watching those two people make out. They seem to like each other.’
Emma peered over her shoulder and said, ‘Jesus. I want what they’re having.’
‘Hey,’ Nadia said. ‘Are you seeing anyone? What happened with that Tinder guy? I feel out of the loop. I haven’t had an update in ages.’
‘Dead in the water,’ Emma said. ‘Why do all men want a mother and a therapist and a best friend and a cheerleader, all wrapped up in the body of a Kooples model, and at best what they bring to the table is, like, they’ve never killed anyone and maybe they know how to make chicken in mushroom sauce?’
‘Should I put that in my ad?’
‘Your guy seems romantic! Or at least minimally above average. He’s the one in fifty who are worth the effort, because he is making the effort. I think that’s the ratio. For every fifty men, one is worth the hassle.’
‘Okay, okay, I’m writing something back. What about:
I’m shy, and I’m often late, but I make great coffee and I think it’s me you wrote to, to call cute? I can’t figure out who you are on my train, but come talk to me! I won’t bite. At least not at first.’
Emma laughed. ‘That’s … kinda fun!’ she said.
‘I am not actually serious.’
‘You could be though! Or, what about:
Wine me, dine me, sixty-nine-me, train man: just let me know who you are by saying hello, first? Love, the devastatingly cute blonde with the amazing hair (you forgot to say about my amazing hair in your advert, but that’s okay. Just remember it next time.)’
‘You make me sound self-obsessed! OMG!’
Emma shrugged. ‘I mean, you are, a bit. At least with your hair.’
‘This hair costs me two hundred and ten pounds every twelve weeks. I think it would be a crime against hair if I wasn’t proud of it, don’t you?’
‘Very true.’
‘This is hard,’ complained Nadia. ‘What if I reply, and it’s shit, and he loses interest?’
‘Woah, woah, woah, friend – stop that before it starts! It is NOT your job to seduce him. It is his job to impress you. Whoever the next guy is, he has to break the cycle, okay? No more simpering, pliable Nadia. Date like the Nadia we know! And love! Literally your state of mind cannot be to impress him. He’d be lucky to have you. Okay?’
‘Okay.’
‘And if he is the one in fifty who is worth being bothered about, you’ll be lucky to have him too. And together, it will be lovely.’
‘Okay.’
‘Literally, one in fifty, okay? He has to prove he is one in fifty.’
‘It’s hilarious to think he’s probably looking for his one in million.’
‘It is. Nobody will ever win those odds. We’re all only human, after all.’
Within the hour, a third bottle of wine had been ordered.
‘Wassabout being flirt-y. FLIRT-Y,’ slurred Emma, just enough to let Nadia know that she was as pissed as she was. ‘I’m-the-best-flirt-y. I really am.’
Nadia nodded, sagely. ‘You are. You really, really, really are.’ She sank back in her chair, and smiled at her friend without showing her teeth – the smile of the drunk.
‘I gotta go home,’ she said. Picking up her phone from the table and hitting a button to make the time glow, she said, ‘It’s almost midnight! I-gotta-be-up in like …’ She went quiet and used her fingers to help count from midnight to 6 a.m. ‘Six hours!’
‘I like your new routine thing,’ said Emma. ‘I couldn’t do it, but I like you for doing it. Is proactive.’
Nadia nodded, her eyelids drooping. ‘Me too,’ she said. ‘I’m-no-very good every day but I try,’ she said.
Emma paid, getting a receipt so she could expense it, and they feigned a more sober demeanour as they walked the flight of stairs to the reception area, not speaking except to say a strident ‘Goodnight!’ to the two stern-faced women in short black dresses and sleek ponytails on the desk.
‘Uber,’ said Nadia outside. ‘I need an Uber.’ She figured she could justify the expense of it since she’d not spent anything all night, even though The New Routine to Change My Life limited silly mid-week expenses like taxis. She paid her mum a good chunk of money every month, almost like rent, so that eventually the flat would be in her name. But the chunks of money needed to be bigger if she was going to own the deeds before she was 75. She poked around on her phone and ordered a cab.
‘Three minutes, it says.’ She glanced up in time to see Emma looking further down the street at something, and instinctively followed her best friend’s gaze to see Gaby – work BFF Gaby – waving. Nadia looked back over from her to Emma, who looked slightly panicked, and then shouted, ‘Gaby! Is that you?’
Gaby walked towards them, looking fabulous in what Nadia knew, even with her wine goggles on, was a date outfit. Hadn’t she said she wasn’t dating?
‘Hey, guys!’ she said, brightly. ‘What are you two doing here?’
‘We just sent an advert to the paper … for Train Guy,’ said Emma, smiling brightly.
Nadia corrected her, ‘Well. Didn’t send it. Wrote it.’
Emma shifted her eyes from side to side, mischievously. ‘Yeah. What she said.’
Nadia suddenly felt nauseous, as well as a lot more sober. ‘Emma!’ she said, as if addressing a naughty puppy who had peed on the carpet.
‘No,’ said Emma, giving nothing away. ‘I mean yes. No. Maybe!’
A white Prius pulled up alongside the three women.
‘Nadia?’ said a guy through the driver’s window, and Nadia looked down at him, waiting for him to say something else before realizing he was telling her that he was her ride.
‘Oh, I – this is me,’ she said, offering her cheek to Gaby to kiss it, and then to Emma. ‘Tell me everything tomorrow?’ she said to Gaby, alluding to her date dress. ‘I knew you were seeing somebody!’
And then to Emma she said, ‘You had better be joking about that advert! I swear to god, Emma.’
Emma smiled as if butter wouldn’t melt, helping her into the car and closing the door behind her. ‘Of course I am,’ she said, as Nadia wound down her window to hear her. ‘I wouldn’t send it without permission.’
‘We love you!’ Gaby shouted through the open window, holding onto Emma’s waist as the pair waved her off.
‘I love you both too,’ Nadia slurred, before telling the driver, ‘Hey – can you put something nice on? Some music? Something romantic. Something about love.’
The cab driver switched on to a station that seemed to play love songs on repeat, and Nadia left Emma and Gaby in the middle of Soho, her head filled with thoughts of the man on the train lusting after her, arriving home just as the last chorus of ‘Endless Love’ finished. She went to bed without taking her make-up off, dreaming of trains and duets and newspapers. And, of course, totally forgot to set an alarm.