Our Stop(28)

And he couldn’t wait to tell his mum something nice, something a bit exciting and hopeful, rather than all of their conversations being about something neither of them could control. Daniel often wished he had a brother, a dude to figure out this family stuff with. But he didn’t. The closest thing he had to a brother was his cousin Darren, who was fed up with what he called ‘rainy and fucking miserable’ England and had gone to Australia on an under-thirties visa and met a bloke that he went on to marry. They lived in Sydney and posted pictures on Facebook of weekend cookouts where they were both muscly and bronzed and had matching sunglasses which suited one of them (Darren’s husband) but not the other (Darren’s head was a bit narrow for sunglasses like that).

It was a funny day, and on the walk to the underground station and then as the tube sped through to Angel, Daniel found himself thinking that he’d only be able to get out of the party if she was there, on the train. He decided that would be the sign to gather his courage and at least make eye contact, and if he could do that, then he could simply not turn up to the party. But then he didn’t see her on the platform, and she certainly didn’t get into his carriage, and so by the time he got off, ready for work and certain he hadn’t got his nudge from the universe or some larger being, he messaged Lorenzo to say, Okay fine, meet me at six.

Lorenzo texted back immediately, with the two beers emoji and a smiley face.

Romeo wasn’t on the door this morning, so Daniel didn’t have an excuse to slow down and sound out his love life with the man who increasingly was the only person who talked sense to him about … well, anything, really. The pang of disappointment he felt reminded him that he hadn’t seen his mates from university – the ones he used to have a beer at the weekend or get dinner with – for a while either. He was thirty, almost thirty-one, and everyone he knew apart from Lorenzo had left the immediate area of London to start a family – or at least start thinking about maybe thinking about starting a family.

He’d stopped going to weddings every weekend – that had tapered off about two years ago, when he’d had his last serious relationship, with Sarah, who’d left him for a guy at work who wore a waistcoat unironically – and now spent a lot of time at christenings and first birthdays in the Cotswolds or Kent or, for his friends Jeremy and Sabrina, Milton Keynes. But never just at the pub, after work.

His group had, in a lot of ways, moved on without him.

For ten years, they’d called each other brothers and swore it was ‘bros before hoes’. Daniel reflected that it might have been poor taste to call the women they dated hoes, but nothing rhymed with ‘young women with dreams, hopes, aspiration and quite a good sense of humour’. In his twenties, his group of mates swore to one another they were family, but in the space of a few years, maybe even less, everyone except Daniel had peeled off and built actual families, recognized by the state. Sam’s wife had even taken his name, which had caused a weird rift between her and the other WAGS of the group. They’d all said it wasn’t feminist, but then Rashida had screamed at them that her feminism was about choice, and they needed to take a look in the mirror if they were going to tell her what she should and shouldn’t do. Daniel wasn’t sure what to think. He didn’t have a wife to worry about.

On his way up to the office, he took out his phone to text the lads’ WhatsApp group, saying, All right, guys, we’ve gotta get together soon, man. London, one Saturday afternoon? Or maybe even an Airbnb somewhere?

Over the course of the morning he got a stream of messages that concluded six out of the other guys in the thread were up for it. Daniel asked if it was crazy to say this weekend. It was rare to be able to do anything spontaneously now they all had responsibilities. But Terrence said his missus was on a hen weekend for her youngest sister, so everyone could crash at his place, and that made it easier. Some could make it just for the Friday, and some just for the Saturday, but all in all six of them was a bloody good show.

Daniel’s mood was lifted enough to start looking forward to the night’s party. Things could be good, he thought, if he let them be. He went out at lunch and got his hair-line tidied up and splashed on some Hwyl perfume at the Aesop store: he’d read on the GQ website that it was the scent every hipster should be wearing. He thought to himself how much better he felt for being proactive in his own happiness. He didn’t know a lot of people who went after the things that made them feel good – he knew a lot of people who sat around and waited for life to happen to them. Romeo seemed proactive: that’s why he liked him. It was apt he was in the lobby on his way back in from lunch. Daniel was pleased to see him.

‘Looking good, my friend,’ Romeo said, which was almost word-for-word what he said every day. And then, ‘And smelling good – is that the Aesop stuff?’

‘You know it,’ Daniel said, bumping his fist as he walked by.

‘You’ve got a spring in your step today, huh?’

Daniel stopped and turned around. ‘Romeo, I’ve decided today is a great day.’

‘That’s the spirit, Daniel. Man, are you right. You inspire me, man!’

Daniel winked at him. He was feeling inspired himself.

‘And she wrote you back, I saw. Might that have anything to do with this wonderful mood?’

Daniel spun on his heel to look at Romeo. ‘What? I didn’t see the paper today. I was so busy looking for her on the tube that I didn’t think to look for her in the paper!’