‘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’tneeda 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 notrejectpossible 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’msure. But also I won’t swear off men. I’ll be wise basically. I’ll do it the old-fashioned way. And I willnotlet myself panic if I haven’t met anyone soon.’
‘Very wise.’
‘I mean.’ She twinkles at me. ‘Obviously Iwillpanic because if I’m honest it’s been kind of athingrecently. 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 isweirdthat 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 Idolook at it.
And oh my God itisa 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.
