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

by Zoë Folbigg

Same almond shaped eyes with long straight lashes. Same chestnut brown hair, shiny and poker straight. Same straight nose and small round lips. They didn’t know then, as the sweet smells flowed through the kitchen, that, some twenty years later, heartbreak would make Maya’s hair go wavy, distancing them physically but bringing mother and daughter closer than they had ever been. Now Velma is sitting in Maya’s sitting room, intrigued by the creation in front of her.

  ‘So tell me news of Train Man. Have you seen him this week?’

  Velma always raises the subject of Train Man. She likes how Maya’s serious resting face lights up when she talks about him. But Velma knows that talking to Train Man is something only Maya can do. Maya told Velma about the ticket drop and was surprised when Velma said she thought pretending to drop her ticket was a bit duplicitous.

  ‘You’re wonderful enough to just be yourself, Maya, to smile and say hi.’

  Maya accepted the wisdom, but she’s still not sure how to strike up a conversation in a silent carriage.

  Today Maya’s face creases. It doesn’t light up.

  ‘I haven’t seen him, Velma, and I’m worried he’s moved away or changed jobs and got a different train.’

  ‘Vacation?’

  ‘I hope so. He wasn’t on the train all this week, and I’m shocked by how much I miss him. How can I miss someone I don’t know?’

  ‘It’s a pure emotion, it’s how you feel, sweetie. Let’s hope he’s back on the train tomorrow and you haven’t let the opportunity pass.’

  Maya doesn’t have much of an appetite as she lowers a knife through a silky tower of caramel sponge.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Simon runs his fingers through obedient hair and lifts his bag up and across his body. Commuters stand, eager to get off, all noticing that it is lighter than it has been when they’ve got off this same train recently. A little fog of optimism wafts through the carriage. Catherine presses her pelvis into Simon’s bottom as she stands in the line behind him. The urgency of commuters, the urgency of lovers. Simon moves forward, away from her, in case he reveals himself. The fingertips of her right hand tickle the fingertips of his right hand, hidden low in the melee. They can’t get off the train together since Simon spotted his triathlon clubmate on it a few weeks ago, whose wife is a great friend of Laura’s. If they were to talk in front of anyone else they would give themselves away immediately. Too silent and it’s obvious they are comfortable and intimate; polite chat would feel strange to two people in love.

  Catherine texted Simon halfway through the journey, suggesting he gets off the train and goes to her house. Hope no one sees. Find an excuse to stay the night. Finally sleep together, in a home. Her home.

  Too risky he thought. And didn’t reply.

  Doors ding, buttons are pressed, and a sea of commuters step out of the fug and into the brighter evening, keen to get home to wives, husbands, children, Champions League. Catherine knows they won’t have time alone in the alleyway tonight, having got off such a packed train.

  Too risky.

  She feels spurned.

  She wants two minutes alone with Simon, to look him in the eye, press into him and tell him she will make it so worth his while if he goes to her house and not back to Laura, his dowdy wife, and their three children. Catherine can offer him a warm bed, peace, love all night, and if he’s really good she will fix them a cooked breakfast before they both head off to the station together in the morning, just so he knows how much greener the grass is.

  ‘Please,’ she says to him quietly in the alleyway, through gritted teeth.

  ‘I so want to but people have seen me now. Lee from Kettlebells was at the station. If I say I’m stuck in Cambridge, I can’t see anyone who knows me here. Tomorrow. Let’s do it tomorrow. I’ll find a way.’

  Catherine ups her pace and peels away without saying another word. She is not used to feeling second best. All her life she has been treated like a queen, her preferences came first, she got her way, and even though she knows Simon is married and has a depth and connection with Laura and their children that she cannot yet understand, so sure is she of her power in this relationship she knows she can make Simon take bigger risks.

  He watches her from behind. A black blazer over a pencil skirt. Her frame, her walk, her beautiful neck, and as the gap between them in the alleyway widens, he knows that he can’t go on not waking up next to her.

  *

  Nena is in a small studio with a camera pointing towards her face as she reads birthday cards for broadcast tomorrow, which feels strange given it’s her own birthday today. Yesterday she started filming her own-fronted Nena’s Tiny Dancers show that will go on air in autumn, and she is glowing under the studio lights.

  ‘Louis is three today, happy birthday from Mummy, Daddy, Alfie and your pet rabbit Tweak… Bea it’s your birthday! You’re two today, and here’s a picture of you with your brother Elijah at the zoo. We hope you and your animal friends have a wonderful day, all our love Mummy, Daddy and Jah-Jah…’

  Tom is watching from the gallery. He studies Nena’s face up close. Anticipation makes his safe hands sweat. He waits for the next card. Nena opens it.

  ‘Nena, you’re twenty-eight today…’

  She reads the rest of the card in silence, and looks up at the gallery with tears in her eyes.

  ‘Yes, yes I will!’ she cries softly into her mic while a giant inflatable robot reads over her shoulder. Nena brings two palms to her glistening face. ‘Sorry everyone, we’ll have to reshoot the birthday cards.’

  Cameramen clap. The floor manager cheers so vigorously her head set slips off her ears and down her back. Tom runs down the stairs from the gallery and takes Nena in his arms. Nena Oliveira, who couldn’t commit to one man just three months ago, is committing to Tom Vernon for the rest of her life.

  ‘Will Arlo be OK with this?’ she whispers.

  ‘Oh yeah. He almost asked you himself this morning.’

  *

  Five bikini-clad models line up in front of James on the white sand of a beach 6,000 miles from Maya. Twelve Apostles watch him work, but even the spectacular sight of lush green mountains jutting out of the ground like a windbreak can’t make this an easy day at the office. Everyone on the trip is going to James with their gripes, their complaints and their demands. And today, even patient James has had enough of it. Melody fell out with Tara because they both wanted to wear the coral bikini; India refused to wear anything other than the halter-neck because halter-necks make her boobs look ‘real perky’; and Kim has been sniping at Anja because, last night, Anja slept with Pez the photographer and Kim said it was unprofessional and gives models a bad name. James is just shocked that Anja would want to sleep with Pez.

  Pez is a stringy Mancunian with a beard as long as his straggly brown hair and he has been the biggest diva of the trip. At first his hotel room wasn’t tall enough, so James arranged for him to be moved to a different hotel with rooms with higher ceilings, further down the strip. Then Pez was overheard telling his assistant Joe that he thought Tara was ‘a bit fat’, and when Tara was told this (helpfully by Melody), she came running to James in tears and said she wouldn’t take her robe off unless Pez said sorry. Pez refused, but said Joe would say sorry for him – and did that count? Tara accepted. Pez and Dominic almost came to blows when Pez told Dominic to get out of shot and called Dominic ‘a hairy fucking meatball’. James was almost punched in the face by his best friend as he jumped between Dominic and Pez to break up the fight. Fortunately, Pez’s assistant, Joe, seems to be the thickest-skinned assistant on the planet and Lisa and Yoshie, the brilliant hair and make-up girls, said even Terry Richardson was less of a diva.

  But given that Sebastian and Duncan from Fisher + Whyman have liked Pez’s work and put his lack of charm down to him being a creative genius, Dominic and James are having to smile politely and give Pez what he wants, which right now is a tequila sunrise.

  ‘What a cunt, I can’t wait for this to wrap,’ sa
ys Dominic, who can’t bring himself to look at Pez since meatball-gate. ‘We’re not taking him to Jamaica.’

  ‘We have to, he’s signed,’ says James, who after five days of art-directing the How Femme Are You? shoot is completely drained. ‘Plus the kill fee is almost as much as his fee. I’m afraid we have to go through all this again in September.’

  Dominic looks like an exhausted child, brown eyes melting down his face like chocolate buttons.

  ‘At least they’re happy.’ James nods towards Sebastian and Duncan, as smartly dressed as they can be at the beach in 30-degree sunshine, wearing tailored shorts and polo shirts, beers awkwardly in hand, smitten by long legs, Amazonian shoulders and perky boobs. Everyone else looks altogether more casual.

  ‘Guys, guys, what a job! This is going to look awesome!’ Toothy English tumbles from Sebastian’s mouth.

  ‘We think so,’ says James in his denim Bermudas and Breton striped tee, forcing his 4,000th smile of the trip. James wasn’t feeling the Femme campaign before they all boarded a plane from Heathrow to Cape Town to shoot it, but given how stressful the trip has been, and how Dominic is quicker to fly off the handle than he is, going into firefighting mode has made James forget how bored he is by the entire advertising world he inhabits.

  ‘What time’s Joze arriving?’ asks Sebastian, intoxicated by hops and beauty and now overly familiar.

  ‘Joze?’ snarls Dominic, forgetting Sebastian isn’t Pez.

  James speaks for his friend, extinguishing another fire. ‘Josie. She’ll be here at five. Dominic, why don’t you head out to the airport now and meet her, I can finish up here.’ James gives Dominic a knowing nod. Olive skin a little darker than a week ago, a freckle or two might even have come out on his nose.

  The light is about to hit the golden hour, just before the sun goes down. Pez takes a sip from his tequila sunrise, hands it to Joe, and finally stops whining so he can make the most of the light. The last chance to get The Shot before the trip is over, before the bikinis and beauty products are packed into silver flight cases, before everyone will go back to their hotel for one last chance to let loose before the obligatory post-party fallout.

  James and Sebastian stand on the sand, beer in hand, and look at the models working the camera while Pez shoots. James feels a first hint of calm as his mind flits to a more relaxing week ahead. He, Dominic and Josie will take a road trip along the coast, they’ll visit sun-drenched vineyards and will eat the best seafood they’ve ever had. Josie will ask James why Kitty didn’t want to come out too and tag a holiday onto the boys’ work trip as they have done before, and James will answer, ‘I don’t know.’

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  It’s the first day of the year when the words ‘unseasonably’ and ‘mild’ are bandied around. That day in spring when you can just about get away with wearing flip-flops even though only last week it was biker boots and cable tights weather. Although the stylish little worker bees at FASH already know that this summer will be all about the pool slider, some people will always wear flip-flops. And the most faithful exponent is swinging into FASH towers.

  ‘Morning Sam, good weekend?’ says Emma as Sam skips through the double glass doors and slides straight into his low seat. Emma is always there early, catching up on what’s been trending across the globe overnight. Wondering which of those trends can translate into something relevant to their customers. Always eating her muesli and berries, as bursting with goodness as she is, although this morning she can’t stomach breakfast.

  ‘Emma,’ Sam salutes.

  Lucy races through the glass doors, plonks her coffee on her desk and doesn’t even sit down on her chair, next to Emma’s, before sending a quick email to Maya – who isn’t there yet – to confirm the date for her to present to the executive team. Lucy doesn’t have a clue Maya might have doubts about going for the site editor job, and Maya the people-pleaser would never want to tell her, through fear of letting her down.

  *

  Maya sits down and plugs in her earphones. She is facing backwards on an Inferior Train. Matted gum sits on matted blue faux-velveteen upholstery with white chevrons all over it, but Maya accepts that it is just one of those days. Maya wears a white Bardot top tucked into a lilac circle skirt. She has dressed up in the hope that Train Man will come back to her this morning, but she didn’t see him race into the station from the other side of the sweeping approach where buses, bikes and cars pull up with brakes squeaking. She didn’t see him hurry through the ticket barrier and under the subway where the train tracks rattle overhead and shake the tunnel roof. And she didn’t see him walk with purpose up the platform. Maya hasn’t seen Train Man for over two weeks and she feels empty. The possibility that Train Man might have moved away is something Maya doesn’t want to accept.

  Music starts. Maya closes her eyes and on the inside of her eyelids she sees dappled sunshine poking through the trees from yesterday’s run. Worry and absence and yearning took her further into the woods beyond Hazelworth than she had gone in a long time. Music gets louder, a crescendo builds, and through closed eyes Maya remembers how tired her legs felt when she got home and started baking for another Velma visit.

  As the train gathers pace, Maya is distracted by the uncomfortable feeling of an Inflatable Arm nudging into her waist, as it was a few minutes ago. Maya ignores the sensation and hugs the pale green leather bag on her lap for comfort as she is pulled back into a rhythmic doze. The quickening beat and the rising whir of the track beneath fades as PJ Harvey starts to roar.

  Time and space muddle and a befuddled Maya awakens and opens her eyes after a jolt on the line. The jolt all regular commuters know, but still, every day, it catches them out. Eyes open. The man she doesn’t know but loves is there sitting opposite, looking down, lost in a book. Darker skinned. His face more thoughtful looking than ever. Sad eyes. The crescendo of PJ Harvey makes Maya well up. One day… we’ll float. Take life as it comes.

  *

  ‘Do you have time to grab a quick drink after class?’ Maya asks, as she files her papers away into a lever arch file.

  ‘Sure thing, honey, what’s up?’

  Maya pauses and waits for Gareth and Cecily to leave before she says any more. They are the last of the remaining classmates and are bickering about who’s going to drive home. Cecily passed her driving test last week but had a near-miss with a post in the supermarket car park as they arrived tonight. They nod farewell mid argument and Maya and Velma smile at them.

  ‘I have to give a presentation in the morning at work.’

  ‘Wow, big deal, tell me more,’ says Velma as she shuffles towards the door.

  ‘Well it’s more like an interview, I’ve been asked to go for the site editor job. And I’ve prepared a presentation for it.’ Last month, Lucy finally got sign-off to replace herself so she can focus on being a senior strategist at FASH, and Maya has been nervously putting together her pitch. Trouble is, she’s not very good at selling herself.

  ‘Amazing. Wanna do a run-through with me?’

  ‘God no, I’d be too embarrassed.’ Maya hasn’t told Velma much about what she does for a living. When they meet they tend to talk about matters of the heart or family or their adventures overseas, and Maya feels that FASH is too trivial for a woman who answers every single one of the thousands of letters she receives a year, each with candour and kindness.

  ‘Well how can I help?’ Velma asks cheerfully, happy to extend her day and for company on a balmy evening.

  *

  Thirty minutes later they are sitting in the pizzeria beneath Velma’s apartment. Bustling and busy despite it being 10 p.m. on a Tuesday in March.

  ‘I’m just not great at standing up in front of a crowd as it is, but all of FASH’s big guns will be there.’ Maya takes a sip of her limoncello and smooths down the arm of her floral bomber jacket.

  Velma tilts her head contemplatively. ‘You stand up in front of us every week. I think you’ll be just dandy. Practise tonight one m
ore time at home straight through, then just go there. Be who you are. Make eye contact and engage.’ Maya drinks in Velma’s advice and nods. ‘But that’s you all over, Maya. You’re not showy or overwhelming. You are warm, you are interesting, you look interested, and you listen.’ Velma turns the stem of her red wine glass as she talks. Maya looks her in the eye. ‘Don’t forget that even when you’re presenting you need to listen. Listen to their questions and give thoughtful answers.’

  Maya nods again.

  ‘But really, being yourself is enough,’ Velma says with the brush of a hand.

  Maya’s heard that from Velma before and still not acted on it. She wishes she had Velma’s confidence.

  Maya takes the last sip of zingy limoncello and changes the subject.

  ‘How’s Madison getting along?’

  ‘Oh she’s doing fine, thirty-five weeks now, still working like a donkey, but you know those New York women, they’re tough.’ Velma laughs. ‘In fact take some advice from a New Yorker. New York women don’t question whether they’re good enough for a promotion, they feel entitled to it. I suspect you’re entitled to yours. Your boss urged you to go for it, so clearly she thinks you’re amazing. Just believe it yourself.’

  Maya blushes. ‘Thanks Velma.’

  ‘You’re welcome. Now go home and get your beauty sleep. Not that you need it, you have a glow about you tonight.’

  Maya’s tired eyes light up as she remembers to tell Velma. ‘Oh. Train Man was back on the train yesterday.’

  ‘I thought as much.’

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Maya stands small in front of the big screen in the boardroom, five pairs of executive eyes look her up and down. She has just finished her presentation, her vision of the evolving voice of FASH: words like STRONG, BRAVE, CONFIDENT jumped out from the screen against a backdrop of models on rollerblades that she lifted from the Miami lookbook. Catwalk footage of so-now supermodels juxtaposed with FASH models wearing similar designs. All current FASH content that Sam helped her put together in a PowerPoint presentation, but Maya’s words helped make it feel ‘next-season now’. She dreamed up future campaigns in the hope that Rich Robinson would rub his moneyed palms together with glee, which he almost did, but it might have been an itch. HIKER CHICK. FUTURE FRESH. The FASH girl is quite different to Maya. She is brash, bold, oozes confidence and will take risks. Maya is more measured. Measured in the art of precision baking, measured in the way she advises her friends. Although right now Maya wants to make the very unmeasured move of ruffling up her hair, screaming at the CEO and his closest advisors and running out of the room, out of the building and out of London, like a crazed banshee. One part relief: two parts exhaustion.