Our Stop - Laura Jane Williams Page 0,7
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