The Note: An uplifting, life-affirming romance about finding love in an unexpected place

by Zoë Folbigg

  ‘James?’ urges Dominic. ‘What do you think?’

  Dominic only ever calls James ‘James’ in front of clients, which snaps him back into the room.

  He had been lost in a daydream, looking at the effects of the light from the sinking sun over Charlotte Street. Wondering how Monet managed to capture sunset on the Thames when it was so fleeting. Wondering what the burritos taste like in the new cantina down the road. Wondering why Kitty hasn’t spoken to him for fifty-two hours.

  ‘I think we need to ask a woman,’ James replies, without looking away from the window. ‘What do we know about it?’

  Sebastian and Duncan are taken aback.

  ‘Well, you gave us the impression you knew a lot about what women think, how you see them connecting with Femme,’ says Duncan with one eye narrower than the other. A first crack appearing in the love-in.

  ‘Of course we do!’ says Dominic. ‘James just believes in authenticity. We need to consult the Femme woman at every step of the way, and that’s why we have this brilliant focus group on board.’ Dominic rubs his eyes to conceal his exasperation. ‘I tell you what, we’ll put it to them this evening and get back to you with next steps.’

  ‘This evening? It’s not your wives and mothers is it?’ winces Sebastian half-jokingly as he peels his suit jacket from the back of his chair to signal the end of the meeting.

  ‘Of course not!’ says Dominic, pulling his notebook towards him like a security blanket.

  ‘We have a focus group, a panel of experts: consumers, mothers, students, friends, journalists, who are always keen to feed back to us when we put it to the market. We’ll email the women tonight and will have feedback with you by 3 p.m. tomorrow. Sound good?’

  Sebastian and Duncan stand and shake Dominic’s thick hand. James, torn from an otherworldly gaze, stands and holds out his.

  ‘Sorry,’ James stumbles, pushing the bridge of his black rectangular glasses back up his nose. ‘Yes, we’ll put it to panel. Great to see you two again.’

  Dominic walks Sebastian and Duncan to the lifts by reception and heads back to the boardroom, where James is sitting in his chair, spinning around in it for no particular reason.

  ‘You all right, Millsy?’

  ‘Yep.’

  But James isn’t all right. The glass wall onto Charlotte Street feels unusually restrictive today. He doesn’t feel the passion for depilatory products that Dominic clearly does. He didn’t feel as excited as Dominic did when they collected their pet food campaign award in a buzzy auditorium in Cannes back in June. Despite the pool parties and the yachts and the forums and the fun, this year’s annual advertising awards frenzy just felt chaotic and exhausting and competitive and James wanted to be back in London, packing up the flat with Kitty. But Dominic is loyal to James and James is loyal to Dominic, so they both put on their tuxes and celebrated their achievement. They are a team.

  ‘Coming for a drink with the focus group?’ asks Dominic.

  ‘Who, Josie?’

  ‘Yeah!’ laughs Dominic, a pudgy smile lighting up drooping, bear-like eyes.

  James laughs. He almost believed in this panel of women, waiting for a call from Dominic to ask them whether hair-free armpits or a hair-free bikini line is more important to them.

  ‘No thanks. I’m going to head back to Hazelworth, got to pick up my camera on the way.’ James’s beloved SLR sits in a repair shop on Tottenham Court Road. It has been there, sad and unloved and lonely, since Kitty threw it down the stairs three weeks ago. She cried. She said she was sorry. She said she didn’t know why she had done it, but cement-grey eyes turned black at the point which she let go of it. ‘Give Josie my love.’

  Chapter Fourteen

  ‘Hands up who liiiiikes… elephants!’ shouts Nena, who has eight children sitting on the carpet in front of her, hanging on to her every word.

  ‘Meeeeee!’ shout eight big mouths as sixteen hands reach as high as the sky.

  ‘Well I heard that Arlo LOVES elephants, so as it’s his birthday, let’s make an elephant for Arlo, and then the rest of you can choose your favourite animal. Sound good? We might even have enough for a zoo!’

  ‘Hurraaaay!!!’ bellow the four boys and four girls.

  As quick as lightning, Nena twists a long blue tubular balloon into the shape of an elephant. Look closely and stars might shoot out of her fingers as she skilfully turns and ties. Separated parents stand separately on either side of an arch in a grandiose living room, united by wonder, over how this small woman with a clown’s face and flowers in her hair has tamed their birthday boy and his best friends.

  ‘Where did you get her?’ the father mouths.

  The mother smiles, bittersweetly. This has been a success.

  A little boy, with a shiny light brown bowl-cut, beams a proud smile as he clutches his special birthday balloon. His friends patiently wait in uncharacteristic silence for one of their own: a tiger for Ollie; a dog for William; a cat for Luca; a giraffe for Eva; a lion for Florence; a parrot for Tabitha and, well, Bella wanted an anteater but Nena fudges it by doing a second elephant and bending the trunk the other way.

  A pirate cake is brought in. Arlo’s mother’s face glows as three candles soften lines carved by lies and guilt, and her new boyfriend puts his hands on her shoulders, marking his place at this landmark moment. Nena watches as Arlo’s dad looks on, leaning against the arch, lost in mourning for a second before he sees Arlo’s face, and his in turn lights up.

  ‘Happy birthday to youuuuu…’ The dad starts boldly before Arlo’s mum and her boyfriend and Nena all join in. Seven lispy bumbling versions follow suit. Everyone claps, a doorbell rings, and parents start to climb the steps of this impressive townhouse, a home Arlo’s dad loved, saved for, decorated and now can’t live in. He can’t smell Arlo’s morning breath or read him a bedtime story, or help him pull up his pants when he proudly does a wee all by ‘hiththelf’. Despite his breaking heart, Arlo’s dad stands tall, smiling, convivial and welcoming, to answer the front door, his old front door, to the mums and dads coming to see how their little darlings have behaved. Impeccably under Nena’s watch. One mum walks over to say hi.

  ‘Ah Kate said she was going to book you, you did such a good job at Ollie’s party!’

  ‘Well Ollie’s had fun again today,’ Nena motions to a tired blond boy clutching a balloon tiger. ‘I am wondering if I’ll get a bit passé for them and they’ll say “not you again!” next time I rock up at a party.’ Spoken with the confidence of a woman who knows she will be booked again.

  At two hundred pounds for two hours’ work, the Islington mummies and daddies are Nena’s bread and butter. In the West End you never know how long your run will last. Shows open and close, the chorus line can be replaced at the drop of a top hat, but there is a constant conveyor belt of preschoolers whose parents want good old-fashioned balloon modelling, dancing and face painting, and Nincompoop Nena is the best clown in town.

  Nena starts packing up her things. Arlo’s mum comes over.

  ‘Thanks so much, Nena, you were every bit as brilliant as Elaine said and it was JUST what Arlo needed.’ She squeezes Nena’s arm and gives her an envelope full of cash.

  ‘No problem, Kate, Arlo is adorable, it’s been a pleasure.’ Nena always says the kids are adorable, even the less than adorable ones, but in this case the child was sweeter than many of Nena’s birthday boys and girls.

  Arlo runs over to give Nena a cuddle and little cupid’s bow lips kiss the white paint on her brown skin as she scoops him up.

  ‘Ahhhh happy birthday, Arlo! I hope you have your best year yet,’ Nena says with a big warm hug, before he slides the short distance down her body to the floor and runs back to his elephant.

  Nena heads to the toilet with some baby wipes – she can walk from Canonbury to Camden but she doesn’t want to do it dressed as a clown.

  Eight minutes later, as she’s leaving the house with a heavy Ikea bag full of tricks, Arlo’s dad comes rushing to the door
.

  ‘Wait!’ he says.

  Nena turns around, colourful fake flowers still in her hair, blue Ikea bag hauled over her shoulder, and looks up the steps towards the tall man standing at the top. His head is mostly bald, the remaining hair shaved short. He is handsome and has deep-set but piercing eyes and a huge smile. Nena can imagine why Arlo’s mum fell for him, and wonders why she’s now with the awkward-looking guy wearing a bad jumper inside the house.

  ‘Oh, do you need a hand with that?’ Arlo’s dad says, seeing the bag must weigh as much as Nena does.

  ‘No I’m fine thanks, you go back to Arlo,’ Nena smiles. She can tell this is a precious moment and she doesn’t want him to waste it outside with her.

  ‘I just wanted to give you this.’

  He hands her a card.

  Tom Vernon, Commissioner, Children’s. The BBC logo shines brightly in monogrammed raised letters on reassuringly thick paper stock. Nena is confused, bag weighing heavy on her cold bare shoulder, but makes light of it with her usual sparkle.

  ‘Wow. “Tom Vernon, Commissioner” is way more impressive than “Nincompoop Nena, clown” on my business card.’ They both laugh and stop.

  Tom sees the whites of Nena’s eyes as she looks up and takes a deep breath.

  ‘I thought you were brilliant and I can so see you working in my field, if you’re interested.’

  ‘I don’t know anything about television, I’m afraid, although I am good at watching it.’ This time neither laugh.

  ‘Just have a think. I’m looking for a vibrant, camera-friendly, kid-friendly face and you’re… you’re perfect,’ he says, eyes gleaming.

  ‘I’ll call you,’ Nena purrs, as she swings the bag onto her other, covered shoulder, and slopes off into the teatime tussle, gliding like a panther in black off-duty-dancer attire.

  Chapter Fifteen

  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 le
arn 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.

  Chapter Sixteen

  An alarmingly fast intercity train brings autumn rushing behind it, and as leaves rise in a tornado, Maya decides to be uncharacteristically pushy today.

  Inflatable Arms is not going to sit closer to Train Man than me.

  Mind you, if there was a seat available next to him, Maya probably wouldn’t take it. She’d be too scared of giving herself away. Maya won’t admit that she’s too much of a coward to sit next to him but quietly feels hard done by when other people do.

  Today she stands firm at the spot next to the second set of double doors from the front. Train Man stands a few people back. This morning Maya wants to sit near him, not next to him. Near him. Facing him preferably. She doesn’t mind if she has to sit backwards.

  If he sees my face, actually sees it, he might recognise me from the TV and know that I have Excellent General Knowledge skills.

  The train pulls in. A Superior Train with green and red seats and carpet on the floor, and Maya is more assertive than usual, puffing out small shoulders so her collarbone protrudes a smidge. She sits down on a seat in a set of four, next to the man with the red nose, and wills Train Man to sit opposite her. Two seats remain, Train Man must take one. Inflatable Arms looks irked but she collapses into another, sitting down breathlessly. The final seat remains vacant and Train Man sees it, gently edging up the carriage, holding the straps of his backpack to his chest like a protective embrace. It is the seat opposite Maya and her eyes widen encouragingly, shards glowing in the morning sun. Excitement floods Maya because, finally, Train Man is going to sit opposite her and she will have an excuse to look at him directly, although discreetly of course, and to get closer to him than she’s ever been.