1
NADIA
In hindsight, Waterloo station wasn’t the best place to choose to meet my blind date this evening.
I’m not sure why I didn’t realise how rammed it would be; it’s famously a very busy station, and a lot of people like to go out in town on sunny summer Saturdays. I hope Dougie (my date) and I are going to manage to spot each other amidst all the people swarming around.
My phone’s buzzing away like nobody’s business as I make my way over to our agreed meeting place – under the big station clock – at what I hope is the perfect speed to impress Dougie if he’s watching. I don’t want to be walking too fast (I don’t want to look overkeen) or too slowly (I don’t want to look nervous, although Iama bit nervous because I do not have the best track record with first dates). Maybe I should have worn a less bright dress and not told him what I’d be wearing, so I could have arrived a bit more anonymously; it feels weird going across the concourse like I’m on display.
Okay, no, it isn’t weird. I am just walking across Waterloo station, like I often do, no biggie. I just happen to be on my seventh first date of the year (and it’s still June) and the others have beenspectaculardisasters, but it’s going to be absolutely fine.
My phone buzzes again, for what must be at least the twentieth time in the past ten minutes, and I stop for a moment to take it out of my bag, suddenly worried that it’s Dougie himself, calling the date off.
No, it’s fine, it’s two chats: my work girlfriends about a mid-week cinema trip; and my best friend, Gina. Gina, who is not an anxious person, has sent me eleven messages in the past fifteen minutes, all to the effect of:Do not forget I can emergency-call you or call the police (not to be too OTT) if things get tricky – just message me.
Hmm. I am now feeling a tiny bit anxious myself if I’m honest.
But, no, itwillbe fine. We’re meeting in the middle of a busy station concourse and going for a drink at a busy local bar. All very safe. And I’m sure Dougie will be lovely. He’s a friend of an acquaintance; of course he won’t try anything dodgy. And if he isn’t lovely, I can easily leave.
Also, I’m dressed for success, which is not to be sneezed at; it does actually work. I’m wearing my most flattering fit-and-flare dress, in a coral shade of red that I love, my favourite (incredibly comfortable) wedge heels and my swear-by scarlet lipstick.
Seventh time lucky. It’s bound to be. Definitely.
* * *
As I get closer to the clock, I (obviously) begin to study the men already standing under it and those approaching it.
Dougie is Sammy-from-IT’s flatmate. According to Sammy, Dougie is ‘tall, average-build, blond and not bad-looking’ and ‘the perfect match’ for me. I’m nottotallyconvinced because Sammy does not actually really know me, and my initial reaction to his suggestion was no, certainly not. But then my colleague and very good friend Marisa pointed out that five out of my last six first dates have been via online dating (the other one was from an in-person speed-dating thing; I willneverdo that again) and persuaded me that maybe being set up by a mutual friend is the way forward (I’d definitely call Sammy more of an acquaintance than a friend but never mind).
I can’t see any men of Dougie’s description in the vicinity. There’s a shorter blond man. There’s a shorter man with very dark hair. And there’s a tall man with mid-brown hair with his back to me. Hmm. I don’t think any of these men are Dougie.
It’s okay, though; it’s still only two minutes past seven. He’s probably just slightly late. Well, almost exactly on time, in fact, if he arrives soon. Sammy catches the Northern line to work, so I’m guessing that’s how Dougie will be getting here, and no-one can ever predict exactly how long a Tube journey’s going to take. He’s probably just been delayed. Or maybe he’s one of those people who’salwaysslightly late. There’s every chance that he’s truly perfect for me and is in fact the future father of my adorable twin children and is rushing here now and we will reminisce in years to come about his cute-and-hardly-ever-annoying innate slight-lateness. Or alternatively… he’s…
Oh! A woman right underneath the clock, a few feet ahead of me, has just screamed, ‘You bastard,’ at the man next to her. And now she’s in floods of tears. He’s shaking his head and looking pretty tearful himself. I’d guess they’re a few years younger than my parents and they both lookstricken.
It’s horrible seeing two people so visibly upset and I whip my head away from them, hoping that I haven’t been staring.
My eyes alight on two elderly women standing facing each other, holding hands. They’ve both got moist eyes too, except their tears are accompanied by smiles and what sound like endearments. I’m smiling too, I realise, just looking at them. And possibly staring again.
Okay. I don’t want to be voyeuristic; I don’t want to intrude into either the sadness or the happiness of the personal moments of complete strangers. I’m going to stay here, a few feet away from the clock, so I’m not too close to either couple, and I’m going to look at the floor. Or maybe over at the Boots or the M&S food store I can see. Or maybe up towards the clock.
Hmm. The clock tells me that it is now eight minutes past seven.
I look around. There are no tall, blond men anywhere in sight.
The tall man with mid-brown hair who still has his back to mecouldperhaps at a push be described as vaguely blond, except his stance tells me that he’s looking into the distance, so I’m guessing he’s waiting for someone coming from one of the platforms in the opposite direction from where I came. Plus, he did do a slow three-sixty as I was approaching and if he’d been looking out for red he’d definitely have seen me. It really doesn’t seem likely that he’s Dougie.
I haven’t yet been stood up on any of my dates but I do not have a good feeling about this.
I wonder how long I should wait. Also, given that Dougie is a friend of a friend, I feel that, if I leave on the assumption that he isn’t going to turn up, it would be polite to let him know that I’ve gone. Just in case he does eventually make it.
But how should I word it?
Hi, it seems pretty obvious you’ve stood me up but I’m just letting you know that I’m going now, just on the off chance that you in fact got legitimately held up?No.
Hello, you arse, thanks a lot for standing me up?No.
Hi Dougie, I’m sure you had an excellent reason for not coming and I totally understand that, but I’m a busy woman so I’m off?Still no.
