1. Introduction
"Just my luck," he thought, as he struggled through the crush of the Underground station, the sound of the announcement following him like an over-affectionate puppy. "There are severe delays on the Circle Line westbound, due to signal failure at Aldgate." There are always signal failures at Aldgate when you're in a rush. "Okay, over to the Metropolitan platform, get that to Liverpool Street, on to the Central Line to Notting Hill, and then race down on foot." Like all regular commuters, he knew the lines and their connections better than he knew the people who lived in the same block of flats as he did.
But it was hot! And he was beginning to sweat, even without his jacket. The thought of arriving with dark, damp patches on his shirt filled him with anxiety. This was definitely not the way to make a good impression. Years of having to travel in the rush hour had taught him how to blank out the too-close presence of his fellow passengers, but even so, the jostling of someone's suitcase filled him with irritation and his face had that expression on it that someone had said looked like he was smelling a piece of rancid cheese. "Bloody tourists! Why can't they travel outside of rush hour?"
Liverpool Street, and the passengers exploded out of the carriages like champagne from a bottle that had been shaken before opening. Whoosh! And they were on their way to the railway platforms for their overground trains back home. Ducking and diving, sidestepping the few people who dared to dawdle, he made it to the Central Line platform. Now all he could do was to inch his way along, through the solid mass of people waiting. Get to the back of the train, that's where the exit is at Notting Hill, save at least a minute and a half. Such small victories as this make up the life of a commuter.
Standing all the way; but what else did he expect? The carriage was silent, everyone reading their free copy of the Evening Standard or some dubious fiction on Kindle, or dozing away, exhausted, Using the time to run through in his head what he would say, how he would say it. Damn, it sounded so banal, so trite. "You'll love her!" Anne had said, "She's such a softie!" Wrong! No mother is going to be a softie with the boyfriend who might take her daughter away, especially a daughter who spent so much time and energy reassuring her through yet another bout of hypochondria. He wished Anne wasn't so keen for him to meet her mother. Other guys he knew didn't have to go through this, or at least didn't have to do it this way.
At last, Notting Hill. Racing up both escalators - hey at least if you're a commuter there's no need to sign on at a gym, just run up all the escalators! Why, oh why, is there always some idiot who waits until they get to the ticket barrier before they start searching for their travel card? Like it's a great surprise that it's there and they need to use a card to get out? Dodging to the next gate, and through. He checks his watch. 12 minutes. He's got some time in hand after all. Okay, slow down, calm breaths, focus, relax.
The sun hits him as he comes out of the station, the air thick with fumes from the cars and buses, but he quickly turns off into another road where it's shaded by big trees which freshen the air. Walking along past big houses painted white. Hmm, isn't David Beckham having a house round here renovated for him and the family? Round another corner, houses smaller but still determined to let you know that this is Notting Hill, so you'd better watch your step! He knows he's Tower Hamlets, not Notting Hill. This is going to be a disaster!
Finally he's there. Up the steps, short ring on the doorbell (not a long one, that would look bad), waiting. The door opens, and there she is. Smaller than he had expected, but in the look she gave him before the politeness shutters came down, battle lines were drawn, war was declared.
"Hi, I'm David."
; I don't wanna needlessly break up your story flow!)
