On the other end of the line his mother broke down into big, guttural sobs, and for a horrible minute Daniel couldn’t do anything but listen. He was impotent. She cried, and she cried, and she cried, barely forming words, let alone coherent sentences. He stared at the cold glass of wine in his hand. He looked up to the door. He listened to his mother cry. Slowly he pinched the bridge of his nose, his brain whirring, his shoulders tensing. He didn’t want to leave. He at least wanted to wait for Nadia to arrive, to tell her he had to go.
‘I can’t …’ his mum said down the phone. ‘What’s the point without him, darling? I miss him. I miss him so, so much.’
It struck Daniel that it hadn’t been easy for his mother to ask for help. She had cried in the days after his father’s death, and on the day of the funeral, and then just … stopped. Held herself together. And for months Daniel had waited for her to crack – god knows, he had. That’s why he was in therapy. But his mother never had. She had been almost dogged in her determination to push forward with her life, and Daniel knew that if her crash down to earth was anything like his had been, there was no way she could be alone tonight. She had been strong for him, when he had needed it. He knew that now it was his turn to be strong for her.
Daniel found himself saying, ‘I’m coming, Mum, okay? I’ll be half an hour. I’m coming. You are not alone. Do you hear me?’
‘Okay. Yes.’ And then, bursting into tears once more, ‘Thank you.’ Her words were barely audible.
Daniel leaped off the bar stool and looked around, willing – hoping – that Nadia would appear at the door before he had to go. It shattered his soul to think he’d have to leave before she got there, but it broke his heart even more to leave his mother for even one second longer than he had to. She’d never told him she needed him, but she was telling him now. And if he had to choose between Nadia and his mother. Well. He just had to trust that Nadia would understand. That she wouldn’t have it any differently.
‘You all right, mate?’ the barman asked.
Daniel turned and looked at him.
‘No. No, I’m really not.’ He had to think fast. ‘Listen. Can you do me a favour? I’m about to meet a girl. A woman.’ Daniel didn’t know where it came from, this sudden burst of verbose passion, but he continued: ‘The most exquisite, beautiful, devastatingly charming and kind and … fit woman. God, she’s fit. And clever. But I’ve got to go. She’s got blonde hair, to here –’ Daniel held up a hand to his shoulder, his words tumbling out over each other to this man, this stranger, who admirably took Daniel’s eruption of lust in his stride ‘– and she sort of pouts, like she’s just discovered a new thought. And, and … she’ll come in, and she’ll be on her own, and can you ask her if her name is Nadia and if she says yes, tell her I’m sorry to miss her tonight, but I’ll find her. I’ll find her on the train tomorrow and I’ll explain. Can you tell her that?’
The barman nodded. ‘Sure thing,’ he said, coolly. ‘Nadia. Got it.’
‘Thank you. Thank you!’
And with that, Daniel left, not knowing that if he’d waited even just ninety seconds more, he could have told her himself.
26
Nadia
Nadia took a seat at the bar, pushing a full glass of white wine to one side – it didn’t look like it belonged to anybody, weirdly – and put down her bag. She caught her own eye in the mirror behind the bottles. She’d had a blow-dry at lunchtime so her somewhat frizzy blonde bob was a smoother, wavier blonde bob, and the Ruby MAC lipstick she’d chosen lifted her face. She looked like the best version of herself. She didn’t want to toot her own horn but the possibility of unfolding romance made her face look brighter, somehow. She pulled her phone from her bag, hooked the bag under the bar so it was out of the way but constantly pressed against her knees so it couldn’t get nicked, and surveyed the place.
There were people spilling out onto the pavement, people having drinks