Nadia was astonished.
‘Ohmygod. Worst thing I ever did was introduce you two to each other,’ she replied, laughing, before saying to the guy behind the counter, ‘double-shot espresso topped up with hot water, please.’
Gaby pulled a face. ‘What happened to a full-fat cappuccino as a political statement?’
‘I’m pivoting. I did one of those bulletproof coffees this morning, to see if it keeps my blood sugar regulated and also, have you seen this acne on my jawline? It’s a menace. I think it might be too much milk – like, apparently milk is just cow hormones not meant for people – so I’m giving up for a bit. These little fuckers hurt, you know.
Nadia craned to see her own reflection in the glass of the skyscraper they worked in. Having acne made her really self-conscious. When she was in the middle of a flare-up she tended to dress in darker colours, as if she didn’t want to be noticed. She needed a permanent filter to follow her around – it didn’t look half as bad when she was on Instagram Stories and could use the crown filter to smooth everything out. She’d try anything to get rid of the angry red boils under the skin of her jaw, including sacrificing her daily cappuccinos.
‘So,’ she went on, ‘I’m experimenting.’
Nadia thanked the barista and the pair walked from the lobby coffee stand to the lifts of RAINFOREST, home to two thousand Research and Development employees for a worldwide delivery service for everything from books to toilet cleaner to marble-top tables. This was where Nadia did her artificial intelligence work. Gaby was her work BFF. They’d met at the summer party two years ago and hit it off talking about AI and its role in a Good Future or Bad Future: what if they accidentally developed technology that turned on them, like in a horror movie? Gaby worked on what was called ‘cloud computing’ for the company, their biggest revenue-generator, selling pay-as-you-go data storage to everyone from start-ups to MI6. Nadia didn’t really understand it, but she knew Gaby was about thirty times cleverer than her, and scared half the people in her part of the office.
‘And, anyway – can I tell you about The New Routine to Change My Life?’ Nadia hit the lift button. ‘Because, I dunno. I guess I feel finally purged of Awful Ben and want to switch my energy up or something. I feel like I just came out of mourning. Like literally, this weekend I got my mojo back.’ The lift arrived. ‘And today I’m trying to be deliberate about keeping it. I’m taking my wellbeing and mental health seriously, beginning now.’
‘That’s great!’
‘Thanks!’ The lift button flashed ‘0’ and the doors opened. The pair got in and Nadia hit the buttons for their respective floors.
‘You know, if you want to get some endorphins going to keep your high, what about coming to spin before work tomorrow?’
Nadia rolled her eyes.
‘No!’ Gaby continued. ‘Don’t pull that face! It’s so good. It’s really dark in there and the instructor says positive affirmations and you get to scream because the music is so loud nobody can hear you.’
Nadia shook her head, watching the lights of the different floors ping brightly as they passed through. Spinning was her worst nightmare. She’d done exactly one SoulCycle class when she went to LA for work and spent forty-five minutes on a bike next to Emily Ratajkowski, wondering how a woman so tiny could peddle so fast. She’d hated it.
‘Absolutely not. I don’t do morning workouts. I’m happy with my evening body pump class, back row, two left feet but doing my best. Only psychopaths work out before noon.’
‘Urgh. Fine. Also – we’re getting sidetracked.’
‘I’d hoped you hadn’t noticed.’
‘It really does sound like you, you know.’
Nadia raised her eyebrows, partly amused, partly sarcastic.
‘It does! Literally you are cute and blonde and chronically late and you spill stuff. And –’ Gaby suddenly seemed to connect some mental dots ‘– and today is the beginning of your New Routine to Change Your Life! So, energetically speaking, the exact day something like this would happen. It’s like the stars have aligned. Today would be a great day to fall in love.’
‘I can’t tell if you’re being earnest or teasing me.’
‘Both,’ Gaby deadpanned.
Nadia rolled her eyes good-naturedly again, afraid to give herself away.
‘Emma says you might write an advert in response.’
‘I’m toying with it, yes. If I decide the advert is really meant for me. Which … I’m not sure. I half want it to be. And I half think I’m insane for giving this more than two seconds’ thought.’
‘Do you have any idea who he could be? If it is for you? Is there a cute man on your train every day?’
Nadia looked at her friend. ‘This is London! There are hundreds of cute men, everywhere, all the time. And then they open their mouths and become 200 per cent less cute because … men.’
‘Ever the optimist, I see.’
‘I’m just being realistic.’
‘Never met a woman protecting her heart who didn’t claim the same,’ said Gaby, smirking.
Nadia said nothing, knowing full well that Gaby was right. She found herself doing that a lot: making sweeping statements that damned men to their lowest denominator, acting as if she didn’t need or want one. She was protecting herself, she supposed, at least out loud. Of course, her friend could see right through that. Because Nadia was, in the same breath as saying all men were pigs, hoping that this one, the Train Guy, wasn’t. Or, at the very least, that one guy, somewhere out there, wasn’t. All morning she’d been having little fantasies about the advert being for her, and seeing him on the train, and falling in lust and love somewhere on the Northern line between home and work. She wanted that for herself. She wanted it for herself so hungrily that it scared her a bit, truth be told.
The lift arrived at Gaby’s floor, and like they did whenever they rode the lift together, Nadia stepped off with her to finish the conversation.
‘There is this one thing, though,’ Nadia said. Gaby turned and looked at her, willing her to go on. ‘Well. The thing my brain can’t understand is that if a guy sees me on the train every morning, why wouldn’t he just say hello?’
Becky from admin walked by on her way to the photocopier, and Nadia interrupted herself to throw up a small wave and say, ‘Hey, Becky!’
‘Nice shoes!’ Becky said, as way of reply, disappearing around a corner.
Nadia continued: ‘Why concoct some elaborate plot that involves a newspaper and relying on me – or, whoever, because it might not be me, like we’ve established – actually seeing it?’
‘It’s fun!’ Gaby said. ‘Cute!’ She thought about it some more and then added, ‘Plus, if some rando came up to you on your commute, would you honestly even give him the time of day?’
Nadia smiled. ‘No. I’d think he was a creep.’
‘Me too.’
‘Urgh!’ Nadia exhaled. ‘I’m just trying to manage my romantic expectations, you know? I don’t even know if I could stand another first date …’
Nadia made a noise that was like a gag of repulsion, summing up the many emotions of a serial dater in as succinct a way as any. But, even as she did that, her heart skipped a little beat. When a first date went right, it was the most magical, hopeful feeling in the world. A feeling of the gods smiling on her, of recognizing herself in somebody else. She once heard that love shouldn’t be called ‘falling’, because the best love roots you, and makes you grow upwards, taller and stronger. She’d seen that happen with her mum and step-dad, after her biological father