At FASH HQ, Train Man has become a regular fixture in office banter, along with which celeb is wearing what, last night’s TV and tonight’s dinner.
‘Did you see Train Man today?’ Emma tends to ask first, hoping so.
Maya does see Train Man most days, getting onto the train with his grey backpack. Lean legs that perfectly fill slim jeans. Train Man is her reliable morning ray. Always on the 8.21 a.m. Always in the front carriage.
‘What banal thing did Train Man do to light up the Home Counties this morning?’ mocks Sam with his crinkly eyes and acerbic tongue. Sam doesn’t realise how biting he can sound – or how seriously Maya feels about Train Man. It makes Maya feel small, stupid and that perhaps she should be more professional at work and stop talking about him. But she can’t.
Even Lucy knows about Train Man now, and as editorial director, she’s far too important to discuss the minutiae of Maya’s crush: what he’s wearing, whether his black Converse suit him more than the white ones, or deciphering from the books he reads whether he is single or in a relationship, with a woman or a man. But despite her seriousness, Lucy thinks the whole notion of falling in love with a stranger on a train is wonderful.
Today a different aspect of Maya’s life has the office on tenterhooks. The team can’t wait for 5.15 p.m. and have been talking about it for most of the day. At 5.10 p.m. Lucy cracks open a bottle of Prosecco taken from the tall crammed fridge in the communal kitchen and asks Liz to go and get some plastic cups while her colleagues start live streaming television on their Macs. Maya looks up and sees a wall of the same thing, on Olivia’s desk to her right, Liz and Alex’s desks on the next island in front, and in the reflection of Lucy and Emma’s eyes facing her. Sam swings round to watch it on Maya’s screen.
‘Put it on then!’
Maya wants to hide in the canteen but is intrigued to see how the game show turned out versus the memory of that peculiar day in her head. Sam leans in, eyes widening a little; mouth gaping open like the face of a child who is captivated by a cartoon.
Maya is embarrassed. Her freckles are matted under studio make-up and her hair is straightened to within an inch of its life.
Cosmetic cringes are overriding Maya’s brilliance as she takes out her opponents one by one. Knowledge so general she’s both proud and embarrassed.
Straightened hair makes me look old.
‘I look awful!’
‘You look great,’ says Sam quietly, seriously.
‘Does my voice really sound like that?’
Perhaps a silent carriage is best in the morning.
‘Oh my god that’s the douche you went on a date with!’ cackles Olivia.
‘It wasn’t a date, it was drinks.’
Texts roll in to Maya’s phone, a buzz of friends and family lining up to say they’re watching, or how proud they are, or to ask about how the hell she came up with Norman Mailer out of thin air.
‘Maya, you’re brilliant!’ says Lucy as she walks around to Maya’s desk. ‘It’s so tense, even though I already know you won.’
Maya feels comforted by Lucy’s sinewy maternal embrace, and wonders what are the chances of Train Man watching BBC2 right now.
*
James weaves carefully so as not to spill a drop, back to a tiny window table in a cafe packed with people and their coats. Beyond it, Shaftesbury Avenue is lit by billboards, buses and the orange lights of the black cabs, pinging on and off with every drop-off and pick-up they make in the heart of Theatreland. An artery of excitement being observed by indifferent grey eyes.
‘Sorry, took bloody ages, too many decisions.’
‘I only wanted a flat white,’ mumbles Kitty, flatly.
‘Yeah, but did you want soy milk or skinny? A half shot or a whole one? What about a muffin? How about I ask you so many questions you miss your film? Would you like to miss the last train home too? Jeez…’ James gives a sardonic smile and places the cups on the table carefully, pushing his glasses up his nose as he squeezes into the corner.
Kitty draws away from people watching and looks at her cup. Her passive gaze flickers to aggressive. ‘I didn’t want a big one. I said a small one.’
James takes off his coat. The first time he’s needed it in months.
He widens his eyes in quiet disbelief. ‘Really? Can’t you just leave what you don’t want? I’ll finish it.’
‘I said tall.’ Kitty sweeps her short platinum hair to the side with long fingers.
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t know what “tall” meant. It sounded big.’ James feels the uncomfortable wrench of tension rising. ‘Want me to change it?’
Arms fold, pale eyes gaze back out of the window in sullen, silent resentment.
‘I’ll change it,’ James says, standing.
‘It doesn’t matter now, we’ll miss the film, I’ll drink it.’
Kitty strokes the ends of her hair at the nape of her neck like a sleepy child looking for comfort. She doesn’t touch her drink.
James takes a sip of espresso and nods to the electric blue lights on the façade of the cinema opposite. ‘I’m so pleased we’re finally getting to see it,’ he says, trying to lift the mood.
Thin lips feign a smile while the rest of a face stays static. Kitty says nothing.
‘Maybe next time I see one of his films I won’t have to read the subtitles.’
Arms unfold to raise a heavy cup reluctantly, in defeat. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I’ve signed up to learn Spanish.’
A tiny nose, so pale it is almost blue, creases.
‘Spanish? Why?!’ Kitty scorns.
‘Why not? There’s a really cool college on that little road off the town square. Run by volunteers. I went in at the weekend when you were having your eyebrows done. They had an open day.’
Kitty runs her forefinger along a thin white-blonde brow.
‘They teach Spanish, Polish, Swedish, cake decoration. Raqs sharqi…’
‘James what the fuck is racks sharkee?’
‘Belly dancing apparently. I thought Spanish might be more useful. And it’s free.’
‘Why would you want to learn Spanish now?’ Kitty asks, with dismay and pity.
‘Why wouldn’t I want to learn Spanish? Think of all those amazing holidays we could go on to South America without me sounding like a bumbling idiot. Remember how embarrassing it was when I took you to Venice? At least Spanish covers more countries.’
Kitty remembers, and for the first time in months James sees her totally crumble into laughter. Sharp shoulders soften. She lays her forearm low across a jutting pelvis to control herself and regain composure from a laugh stained with malice. ‘Oh god that was so funny! Please don’t try to speak another language. I think you have to accept that languages aren’t your thing.’
Wide, lovely eyes stop laughing along.