Around the World in 80 Dates

. . . a crappy ticket

‘You’ve got your passport, right? And your medical card, and the printouts of your ticket just in case your phone dies?’

‘Yep, got it all and then some. I am a full-blown adult, I promise you that I will be okay,’ I say.

Sara lets the snark go, features pinched as small as possible as she resists the urge not to ugly-cry.

We’re seconds away from disaster – if she cries then Dad will cry, and if Dad cries then I won’t be able to keep it together, and if all three of us cry then Paige will cry just on principle .

. . We’ll flood St Pancras with saltwater and my train will be stuck in England. I’ve got to nip this in the bud.

‘It’s only six months,’ I say to reassure her.

Her face grows tighter. It appears that reminding her of the timeframe has only made things worse.

‘I’ll text and FaceTime you like I never left!’ I try again.

‘And we can always come out and visit,’ Paige adds, picking up on the drama. ‘I’ve got some leave to use. Let me know when you end up in Italy. Although by then you might have some fancy new partner and you won’t want a visit from your darling sisters.’

‘God forbid!’ Dad bellows before looking my way and also resisting the urge to burst into tears.

‘Guys, it’ll be fine!’ I say. ‘I’ll be back in no time and I will be in constant contact, I promise.’

We spend another ten minutes rushing through tearful goodbyes and painstakingly rehashing my initial train times, then I eventually stress that the train will leave with or without me, and I still have to go through Security.

They walk me all the way to the boarding gate, the four of us weaving through the station in an annoying space-consuming blob.

Commuters swerve around us tutting and rolling their eyes, but we pay them no mind as we’re all too busy saying goodbye (again).

I wave them one last goodbye from behind the barriers, watching as Sara dramatically dabs her eye with a tissue.

Then I make my way through the queue, through Security, through Passport Control, and find myself sat on the Eurostar in no time at all.

I look out the window at the passing fields and factories, pressing my forehead against the glass.

This is it.

I’m on my own.

Deep breath in. Deep breath out.

I look at the sun over the fields and whip my phone out to capture the memory . . .

We hit a tunnel.

We don’t leave.

I put my phone back in my pocket.

With no more view, no real Wi-Fi and no one to talk to, I pull my laptop out of my bag and get to work.

Analeise contracted eighty-four articles – an intro, eighty dates and some general updates along the way.

It’s an insane load of work, but what else am I to do?

It’s not like I have hideous twelve-hour shifts at the café to keep me busy any more.

I open a blank document.

Around the World in 80 Dates

A chronically single girl’s six months to find ‘the one’

I hated the subtitle when I saw it on the marketing plan. I’m not searching for ‘the one’ and I stressed that to Paige vehemently. But she simply laughed back at me.

‘It needs stakes – something to work towards, otherwise it’s just a bit drab.’

‘And what happens if I don’t find “the one”?’ I asked.

I already knew that I wouldn’t. I won’t.

‘No one will care whether you do or don’t by the end. They just need to believe that you might. It’s all about the journey. We write for the reader, not for ourselves. Be true to you, obviously, but be true in a way that keeps them hooked.’

‘So . . . lie?’

She hesitated. ‘Stretch the truth. You’re not you as you write this. You’re . . . an edited persona. The version of you that the world gets to see should be bubblier, pithier, always on.’

It was harsh advice, but advice that stuck nonetheless. I keep it in mind as I write the first piece.

Around a month ago, I had a breakdown. A very public, online breakdown. You may have seen it grace your phone screen – it’s probably why you’re here.

I can’t even pretend to be ashamed of it. Of course I broke down – the world of online dating sucks. In fact, dating sucks. Romance is long dead, or at least it is with the people I’ve been (un)fortunate enough to encounter.

So I’ve bought a global pass, packed my laptop and a suitcase of clothes, and I’m checking out the dating scene far and wide. Join me for the next six months as I flit around Europe and date around in a quest to find my one true love.

Yep, you heard that right. I’m going around the world in eighty dates and I am, of course, sharing it all with you.

I dive into more background about my dating life, what I’m looking for in a partner and just how I intend to get it on my travels. It’s all rubbish – I have no idea who or what I want. But I’ve read enough sizzly romance columns to know the kind of thing that sells.

By the time I’ve drafted, redrafted and read it through a couple of times, the train lulls to a stop and the tannoy announces that we’ve reached Brussels. I save the piece, slam my laptop shut and wiggle it back into my bag while I wait for the guy next to me to move from his aisle seat.

The gap between the train and the platform is larger than I expected, and wrestling my suitcase off the train takes more from me than I anticipated. I go to take a selfie for the article, take one look at my sweaty, dishevelled face and decide that it can wait.

But everything’s fine. I am fine. I am in a foreign country completely alone for the first time in my life, but it’s okay.

I am a grown adult who has been buzzing around London by herself for over four years of her life.

If I can navigate the District and Circle lines, I can navigate a different train system.

After a quick pep talk and some googling, I make it onto a train that will spit me out closer to my accommodation.

I revel in the cleaner seats and better leg room, and count out the stops, following each one closely on my phone.

When I get off the train, I exhale deeply.

I can finally breathe and relish the fact that I worked out Brussels’ train system all by myself.

I strut through the crowd with a new sense of confidence knowing that, without the suitcase, they would buy that I’m just one of them – a local, a Belgian, a woman of the town who takes these trains every day without a second thought.

I make my way to the gates, smiling at those around me as I, like them, shove my paper ticket in the slot . . .

Except it doesn’t work. No matter how hard I try.

My heart drops, confidence gone.

It’s not too busy a station – thank God this didn’t happen in Bruxelles-Midi – but you can tell it’s one of those that ebbs and flows with people as a train comes in.

And right now, I fear that I am the plug in the ebbing system.

A woman tuts aggressively. I make the mistake of looking back at her and am met with a newly formed queue of rolling eyes.

I try it one more time . . . jam that stub right in the slot, but it spits my ticket out just as aggressively as the last three times.

It’s time to admit defeat. I grab my suitcase handle and awkwardly manoeuvre through the grouchy crowd.

‘You all right?’ A voice sounds from the back of the bunch.

I turn my head to find a set of eyes that pierce through me instantly, knocking the words right out of my brain.

They’re so magnetic that it takes everything to pull away and survey the rest of this random stranger.

He’s tall with clipped curly hair and can’t be much older than me, sporting jeans, a T-shirt, a khaki bomber, and a look of intrigue that makes my stomach twist. He’s so serene, so relaxed .

. . I can only imagine what my flustered, sweaty being looks like in comparison.

No wonder he’s staring so hard. And he is staring. Hard. He won’t take his eyes off me.

‘My ticket. It’s not working,’ I manage to say, the words shaky. ‘And I can’t see any staff to ask about it.’

I glance around again and note that the crowd from the train has entirely dissipated. The place is empty enough again to remind me that I’m alone. Stuck on the wrong side of the barriers, on the first day of my trip, in a place I’ve never been before.

This couldn’t be going worse if I tried.

‘I swear I bought the right one!’ I say.

I don’t know if I’m trying to justify it more to him or me. It’s just so unfair – I did my research and I bought the right ticket, but here I am completely solo with no way out to civilisation.

‘I’m sure you did,’ he says calmly.

I note the curl in his lip as he looks me over from top to bottom. It gives me the chance to do the same. His face is sickeningly cute. It makes my heart patter. I look away before it grows.

‘Where are you headed?’ he asks.

This man is a stranger. An incredibly cute stranger, but a stranger nonetheless. I can’t tell him where I’m headed. I can’t tell him where I’ve come from. I can’t tell him anything about me.

‘Out the barriers,’ I say cagily.

‘Got it.’ He gives an understanding nod. ‘Come on, then.’

He ushers me forward, but I stay confused in my place. He looks back at me and smiles a deep and devious smile. ‘If you’re quick enough, you should be able to squeeze through the barriers with me.’

‘Seems . . . illegal,’ I say, feet still glued to the floor.

I’m not the biggest rule follower, but I know that you probably shouldn’t break the law on your first day in a foreign country. He, however, rolls his eyes.

‘You did buy a ticket. The right one, so you say. And you tried to look for help, but they gave you no option. You deserve to go through.’

He’s right. After all, I did try to do the right thing. And if there’s no staff here to help, then there’s no staff to catch me. I dip my eyes as I run through the pros and cons in my head. I need to think them through without his face distracting me.

When I look up, he’s still staring unabashedly and it makes my stomach flip over on itself.

‘You coming?’ he asks, waving his travel card in the air.

‘What happens if we get caught?’ I ask cautiously.

He laughs again. ‘I’ll bail you out.’

‘You’ll be behind bars with me.’

‘Then we’ll have the best time. You’d be incredibly lucky.’

His lip curls at the sentiment, luring me in.

‘It’s now or never,’ he says, gesturing me closer once more.

I have no other choice. I nod briskly and follow him to the barriers.

He works methodically, shuffling carefully and stealing quick glances over his shoulder.

Then he waits until I’m practically pressed into his back before tapping his bright-blue card on the reader.

It flashes green. The doors swing open and he marches through as I scurry on behind him, dragging my suitcase with haste.

We’ve made it. I let out a strained yet relieved sigh.

‘Thank you . . . ?’ I trail off, waiting for a name.

‘Noah.’

‘Right, thanks, Noah.’ I smile softly. ‘I’m Amorie.’

I stretch out a hand before immediately regretting it when I see the far-too-amused look on his face. He takes it anyway, delighting in the over-formality as we engage in an incredibly out-of-place handshake.

‘Pleasure doing business with you.’ He leans into the farce. ‘You should get one of these travel cards. Those paper tickets are crap. I learnt that pretty quickly when I got here.’

‘How long have you been here?’ I ask.

I clocked his English accent straight away, but I didn’t want to assume.

‘Six days so far, but I’ve been making the most of travelling round the city. What about you – when d’you get here?’

I hesitate for a moment and consider lying, but I don’t.

‘Today.’

It sounds so naive in comparison, but I shake it off and straighten my posture. If I’m going to sound like a newbie, I need to at least act like I’m not.

‘I’m interrailing. For the next six months, actually,’ I add.

‘No way, me too!’ he says. ‘Is this your first stop?’

I nod. So much for sounding more experienced.

‘How exciting! I only started a couple of weeks ago. Good luck.’

He follows this with a mock-salute of support. I salute back. He smiles wider, before turning on his heel and heading for the exit. But as he walks away, I feel my stomach start to plummet. He can’t leave now. Not while I’m standing alone in the station.

If I told Sara or Paige that I felt so drawn to a stranger I met fifteen minutes previously, they’d patronise me with a lecture about stranger danger.

But they’re not here. I’m alone. All alone in a country where I know no one and have no one, and can’t speak the language.

And here is this man – this super-friendly man with a smile like butter and eyes that soothed my worries in seconds.

And he’s walking away for ever. I’ll never find him again or see him again unless I do something – say something, right this moment.

‘Noah?’

His name echoes across the walls, bouncing off the steel and stopping him dead in his tracks. He turns towards me.

‘You wanna go get coffee?’ I ask meekly.

I regret it instantly as I start to view the interaction through his eyes.

The poor guy did one favour for a stranger and now suddenly she’s trying to follow him around the city.

He must be terrified. Horrified. It’s giving low-level stalking; a stepping stone to going full-on Joe Goldberg.

I need to take it back – fake a phone call, pretend there’s another Noah in the distance .

. . Maybe drop to the floor and fake a fainting spell.

Anything that gives him the chance to politely excuse himself from the weirdo hanger-on he’s accidentally just pulled.

He looks at his watch and my heart drops again as I run through all the possible time-related excuses I’ve forced him to formulate. But then he smiles, his eyes twinkling.

‘It’s past five o’clock. Let’s make that coffee a pint.’