Meet Me on Platform 3 by Zara Stoneley

Author:Zara Stoneley [Stoneley, Zara]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780008535650
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers

Chapter Nineteen

Millie

Monday 4th April

Episode 4

Confessions of… we meet for real!

I am beginning to feel like a schoolgirl with a hopeless crush. My train-guy might have a name now (I’m superstitious, I can’t make it public until I’m sure this is real), but we still haven’t swapped numbers and all I really know about him is that he works in IT, in London. That narrows it down a lot, doesn’t it?

I spent all of Wednesday evening preparing for our encounter, which meant I had sticky notes all over the bedroom mirror and a checklist on my phone. I practised my smile, and a variety of opening lines to cover every scenario.

Despite the fact that we were only (possibly) meeting on a train I decided to treat this as a practice run in case things developed between us. My father firmly believed in starting as you mean to go on, so this is my new mantra. Although I’m not sure that, when he said it, he was thinking about eyebrow and lady-forest tidying, or lacy bras that contain hidden extra-control (this is in case sprinting is required, before stripping – you have to catch your man before you can kiss him is also a new motto).

Anyway, I was scrubbed, plucked and trussed more thoroughly than any turkey before I headed in to work on Thursday. I had deliberated very carefully on footwear and decided that while flatties might be most sensible, he might not recognise me if I’d lost three inches in height since we last met. I’ll have to work my way down once we get to know each other.

I double dosed on lippy and deodorant before I left the office, as I was sure in my worked-up anxious state I’d be sweating cobs (that means ‘profusely’ in London-speak) and even if my lips weren’t destined to be mashed against his there’s a good chance I’d have licked the colour off myself. Yes, I was a bit of a nervous wreck. Which is probably why when I got to the station, I didn’t notice that I’d picked up half a loo roll on the bottom of my shoe, on my second emergency wee-visit.

My bladder is my stress-level indicator. On the outside I might be calm and serene, but inside my waterworks send out alarms every twenty seconds. How the hell am I supposed to meet the perfect guy/perform the perfect interview/give the perfect presentation if my bladder thinks it controls my life?

Anyway, confession coming up. All my preparations turned out to be a waste of time. When I spotted him, it was through my legs, my arse stuck in the air as I wobbled on one leg, grappling with a piece of dirty toilet paper of uncertain provenance.

In my dotage I am not likely to have fond, romantic memories of young love to look back on.

Anyway, to give him his due he recognised my behind, and had bought coffee!

Oh my God, it felt so good as we walked, shoulders brushing (well, mine brushed his bicep) to catch the, our, train.

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