Chapter 4
4
TOM
I really cannot understand why Nadia assuring me that everything s going to be okay genuinely does make me believe it will be (I mean, how would she know?), but it does.
Maybe it s just because I very much want her reassurances to be true.
The conversation moves on from first dates to the guitar player above us and Spanish and Latin American music (Bea used to be a music teacher it turns out and her knowledge is fascinating), through food anecdotes, to how many pets we ve all had, and I realise that all four of the others are nice. Just very, very nice.
If you d told me a few hours ago that Lola wouldn t turn up and I d find myself at a restaurant table with this on-the-face-of-it mismatched assortment of women, I d have been astonished. But here I am. And, despite my burgeoning worry that I – like Nadia – have been stood up this evening, or – even worse – that something s happened to Lola, I m enjoying myself.
Eventually, with reluctance, we acknowledge that we are the last people in the restaurant and that we really ought to leave and let the staff finish tidying up and go home.
Carole s been looking a lot perkier, but suddenly she s drooping again.
Carole, you really can t go home on your own tonight, Bea says. You must come and stay with us.
Oh no. I can t intrude. You literally got engaged this evening.
No. We insist, Ruth says.
Yes, we do. Bea s voice has turned steely and suddenly I m imagining her having an unruly class of children with no interest in music under extremely firm control. Also, you must all three of you come to our wedding as guests of honour.
Oh, wow, thank you. Nadia beams. I d love to.
Carole and I smile too and thank them.
Carole capitulates on the staying-over on condition that she treat them to a taxi back to Ruth s North London home. An empty black cab passes us very soon, and once the three of them are inside it, Nadia and I head off back to Waterloo together, as fast as we can, heads down, because the heavens opened while we were inside and the rain s immense.
Where do you live? I ask as we reach the shelter of the station.
In a shoebox in Wimbledon. What about you?
Near Clapham Junction, also in a shoebox. Same train line.
Look. Nadia points up at the big departures board. There s one in three minutes. We should run.
We make a dash for the platform and hurl ourselves into the first carriage.
Oh my goodness. She puts her bag down on the seat next to her and gives herself a little shake. That rain was unbelievable. As was everything else that happened this evening.
What, you don t usually get locked down at Waterloo in a false alarm and then wind up at a restaurant with four strangers, two of whom have just got engaged five decades after they first met and one of whom has just split up with her husband on their wedding anniversary?
She eye-rolls me. Well, obviously I do that all the time. But only on work nights, not at the weekend.
Oh I see . Seriously, though, yes, it has indeed been a very unusual evening.
It s an odd contrast, Nadia muses. Between Bea and Ruth s gorgeous love story – thank goodness they have finally got together – and Carole s nightmare.
Yeah. I look through the grimy windows as the train gathers speed and the illuminated station platforms disappear behind us.
It kind of makes you think.
Yeah, I repeat. Selfishly thinking about myself first, I m really hoping to go down the gorgeous love story path rather than the nightmare one. And I hope the same for Nadia, obviously.
It s inspirational, really. Both their stories.
That is true. I feel like I can t say Yeah a third time. Also, it is true. Yes. Makes you think doesn t it. Like – we should take some life lessons from it. I do not want to wait until I m in my seventies like Bea and Ruth to get together with Lola. Maybe I should just send her a message right now telling her how much I love her – how much I always have. I haven t used the L-word since she got back in touch three days ago; I wanted to wait until I saw her. Usually it isn t a word I d use easily, but it s ten years since we first met; that s a long time, long enough to know.
Nadia s nodding. Yep. Almost like we should make some resolutions on the back of it.
I nod, because weirdly (I am not a resolution person), I agree.
I love a resolution, she says. But they ve got to be for a good reason, and also you have to start them on a memorable date. Calendar date, not got-stood-up-yet-again kind of date. Today s a good date.
Is it? I m confused if I m honest. A random twenty-something date in June?
The longest day of the year?
Oh, right. We re interrupted by both our phones vibrating at once.
I obviously look immediately at mine.
It isn t Lola, it s Ruth – posting in the chat ( The Waterloo Five ) she set up for the five of us before we left the restaurant – that she hopes we re both dry and safely on trains. We assure her that we are and then we all gush about our evening together (quite a long chat even though Nadia and I are sitting next to each other and the three others are in the same cab), before Nadia finishes it with a three-heart-emoji message.
I think back to what we were talking about and then ask, So… the longest day of the year?
Yes. Normally I just go for New Year s and birthday resolutions. And occasionally the first of the month. But I m thinking the longest day of the year and also the date of Bea and Ruth s engagement is a great place to start.
Do your resolutions usually work?
She screws up her face, which makes me laugh. Sometimes they do. Sometimes they spectacularly do not. But I think I m better off with them. My life disintegrates fast into total chaos if I don t make lists and plans.
Fair enough. So what s your resolution going to be now?
To stop making so many mistakes.
I raise my eyebrows.
In my love life, she elaborates.
How, though? Don t you want a resolution to be more specific than that?
Yes, I m going to have to think about that. I need some rules. Like don t go on any blind dates at all going forward.
Maybe not a blanket no-blind-date rule, though? What if someone who knows you really well and has your best interests at heart thinks they know the perfect person for you? And they re right? You don t want to miss out. Although obviously you don t need a partner. No-one needs a partner.
I kind of do want a partner, though. But that does make sense; obviously having no partner is far better than being with the wrong person. Nadia folds her arms across her chest and tilts her head to one side, before unfolding her arms. Almost like she was thinking and wanted to block the world out while she did it. Maybe I ve been trying too hard. Maybe I just need to be open-minded full stop, as in not reject possible dates, but also not seek them out actively. No more dating sites or blind dates, or accepting people who ask me out just because I want to believe that once I ve got to know them a bit better I ll actually find them attractive.
So how will that work in practice? I ask.
I think I m just going to let it happen. Or not. Like I m not going to go on any more dating apps. And I m not going to accept dates unless I m sure . But also I won t swear off men. I ll be wise basically. I ll do it the old-fashioned way. And I will not let myself panic if I haven t met anyone soon.
Very wise.
I mean. She twinkles at me. Obviously I will panic because if I m honest it s been kind of a thing recently. Looking for someone. I m thirty-three and a lot of my friends have settled down, and at the beginning of this year I just started trying really hard to meet someone. Which, I now realise, is a very bad idea.
Maybe , I suggest, set a timeline during which you are not allowed to panic about it.
That s a very good idea, she approves. I m going to go six months. I ll re-evaluate in the New Year. A proper swearing-off men dating detox for the next six months until the first of January, and after that it will have to happen organically, I won t be going out looking for love.
Nice.
She grins at me and then says, Okay, you. What s your resolution?
Lola. I m going to find her and check she s okay and I m going to tell her I love her. It is weird that I m telling Nadia this because it s deeply personal. But at the same time, it seems entirely natural to talk about it with her, I suppose because of the evening we ve just shared. I feel like she might have had second thoughts about meeting up again after such a long time and maybe if I d put all my cards on the table it might have made a difference. I don t want to have any regrets.
Yes, regrets are awful. I think that s a very good plan.
We exchange smiles and then I glance outside and see that we re going through Queenstown Road, Battersea, and that the next station will be Clapham Junction.
As I say, Next stop s me, my phone vibrates yet again. You really don t realise how often you get some kind of message or notification until you re anxiously waiting to hear from someone, and I almost don t pick it up because I m just feeling pathetic now every time I flip it over and see that, no, obviously it is not from Lola because time has established that I will not be hearing from her this evening.
And then I do look at it.
And oh my God it is a message from Lola.
It takes me way longer than usual to open the message, and the whole time I m fumbling with my phone my heart s thudding so loudly inside my ribcage that I m surprised Nadia doesn t comment in concern.
From Lola, I tell Nadia as I focus on my phone.
Finally I have the message open. It s a short one:
I m so sorry.
I want to tell Nadia. It would feel weird not to. It s like she, Bea, Ruth and Carole have all lived with me through this evening s hope and anticipation morphing to misery and resignation. But I can t actually get the words out, so instead I show her the screen.
Oh, Tom. Oh, no. Nadia s eyes are suddenly glistening.
Yeah. I m almost tearful myself, and I can t remember the last time I actually cried. Should I reply?
The doors beep and we both look over.
I ll stay on. I don t want to get off until I ve worked out what to say to Lola. I can turn round at Wimbledon and come back.
Nadia nods. I feel like you should reply. In the same way that you regret not having told her you love her, you d regret not answering.
Very true. I m already typing.
Is everything okay?
Her reply comes through immediately.
Not really but also yes. So… kind of.
I show the screen to Nadia and then stare at it.
I really don t know what to say to that.
That s kind of confusing and I m guessing you aren t sure what to say but I feel like you should reply quickly, Nadia says, in case she goes offline again and you re left wondering.
Good point. I begin to type quickly. I just write my immediate thoughts out because I m panicking, and then I send the message as fast as I can.
I hope that means that overall you re more okay than not… Could we maybe rearrange our meeting?
I wish I could have asked why she didn t turn up but I couldn t think of a good way of wording it.
Her reply comes equally quickly.
Maybe…
I suddenly panic more. I need to say it. So I do.
I love you.
I have no shame; I show it to Nadia straight after sending it.
We both sit and stare at the screen. Lola s read it. She begins to write. And then she stops. And starts again. And then stops.
And stays stopped.
The doors beep and Nadia says, This is my stop.
Oh, okay. I stand up too and we both get off. It s still pissing it down – it s one of those evenings where you re quite surprised there s any rain left in the sky – and we both get fairly drenched in the smallish gap between the train and the awning that extends along the platform.
Once we re back in the dry, I look at my phone again.
And there s nothing. And Lola is no longer online.
So to summarise the situation, she stood me up, then told me that she was more or less okay and might meet me, and in that moment I lost my mind (hindsight is a beautiful thing that has kicked in pretty quickly) and told her I loved her, and she… has ghosted me.
Stunning.