The Little Vintage Carousel by the Sea: A gorgeously uplifting festive romance!. Jaimie Admans
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out of this.
Daphne gets up and waddles around the room in another attempt to get comfortable. ‘Try 1234,’ she says with a laugh.
I type the numbers in. ‘As if anyone would be that stup—’
The phone makes a jingling sound and pings into life.
Daph bursts out laughing. ‘Seriously? The man deserves to have his phone stolen just for that. What’s his credit card PIN – 5678?’
I suddenly feel really bad. Whoever Train Man is, this is his private phone. He wouldn’t want a random stranger going through it, and I feel like some kind of criminal mastermind to have managed to unlock it. I’m going to be hacking the government next. Even though the government’s security systems are probably slightly more complex than 1234.
‘What did I tell you?’ Zinnia sounds gleeful. ‘Get into his pictures, quick. I want to see this dashing romantic hero.’
‘What’s that?’ Daph peers over my shoulder.
‘A train timetable,’ I say, looking at the jumble of numbers and times still onscreen from the last time he looked at it. ‘And not for the tube.’
‘So he was catching another train. Maybe that’s why he ran off so quickly.’
‘He did look worried about something. And he did keep checking his phone. Maybe he was looking at the time. Probably to check that his wife wouldn’t be home before his latest bit on the side left.’
‘Nah,’ Daph says. ‘Things like this don’t just happen. He’s obviously single and looking, just like you.’
‘I’m not looking.’
‘I’m looking for you,’ she says with a shrug. ‘Same thing.’
‘Anyone would think you didn’t have enough on with swooning over your own husband and a baby on the way.’
‘Girls, pictures,’ Zinnia says before she can respond. It’s not like it’s the first time we’ve had this conversation anyway. It always goes the same way. Daph says I’m over the hill, I tell her there is no hill to be over because whether I’m thirty-four or fifty or seventy, I’m not interested in another relationship, and she says she thought the same thing until she met Gavin, and if I’d just put myself out there and give it a chance, I might surprise myself and meet someone. I tell her how much I enjoy my own company and how nice it is to be single after spending so many years in a loveless relationship, and she tells me that was just one relationship and others will be different, ad infinitum. I can finish the conversation in my head without Daph saying another word, until she walks off muttering things like ‘spinster’ and ‘cat lady’.
I’m obviously not moving fast enough because Daphne plucks the phone from my fingers and starts playing with it. ‘I hope he takes a lot of selfies. I’m desperate to see this guy.’
‘We shouldn’t be going through his phone,’ I try to protest.
‘We’re not. We’re looking for a way to get it back to him. Via his photos. Ooh, and his notes. Oh, and we have to check his messages because there might be some vital bit of contact information in there.’
‘And we’re just nosy,’ Zinnia adds.
Like I hadn’t figured that one out for myself.
‘Like you don’t want to know too,’ Daph says.
‘Nope. I’m not looking. I’m not interested. I just want to get the phone back to him.’
Daphne makes various noises as she fiddles with the phone and I fight the urge to see what she’s doing.
‘Okay, well, he’s not big on selfies, but we’ve got bigger problems than making eye contact on public transport. Are you sure he didn’t strike you as a bit of a weirdo?’
‘No, why?’ I instantly imagine she’s found a folder full of dick pics ready to send to unsuspecting women or something. No wonder he smiles at people on trains – he’s probably assessing them for how happy they’d be to receive an unsolicited photo of his manhood.
‘Nothing about him screamed weird fetishist or anything?’
‘No. Why, Daph?’ All pretence of not being interested falls away as I jump out of the chair and try to see over her shoulder.
‘Well, he’s got a real thing for wooden horses. Look at this. His phone is absolutely full of photos of bits of wooden horses. That’s a bit weird, isn’t it?’
‘They’re carousel horses.’ I peer over one shoulder and Zinnia peers over the other as Daphne scrolls through his photos at the speed of light, each one showing similar pictures of wooden carousel animals in methodical stages, from perfectly painted to varying states of decay.
‘And what’s that? It looks like parts of a rollercoaster, and what the— Ooh, is that him?’ She shoves the phone at me, showing a picture of Train Man in the distance, his arms outstretched on a sparkling carousel.
‘He’s definitely got some kind of weird fetish for those things,’ Zinnia says.
‘Or maybe he just likes that godawful old movie that you love.’ Daphne elbows me in the ribs, knowing full well I can’t retaliate while she’s pregnant.
‘Aww, stop mocking Carousel. It’s a lovely film. One of the best.’
‘Yeah, if you like things that are nonsensical, boring, and old. And then you have the nerve to complain that I like modern romcoms. Judging by these photos, I bet he loves that movie. Talk about your perfect match.’ She takes the phone back and scrolls further through the photos, picture after picture of wooden things, half-finished paint jobs on carousel horses and other animals, and a few of various scenery, beaches and mountains and hills. Train Man must get around a bit.
‘Well, he’s definitely not vain – he’s never taken a picture of himself in his life. Although he’s got half his shoe in with one of these horse legs, which tells us so much.’ Daph gives up and scrolls back to the photo of him on the carousel, zooming in on it and bringing the phone almost to her nose. ‘He looks handsome, though. Good hair.’
‘He had good hair on the train this morning.’
I don’t realise I’m smiling involuntarily until I catch the knowing look on Zinnia’s face. I blush and tuck my own shoulder-length lank hair behind my ear. ‘Unlike my messy split-endy thing that needs a trim.’ I always feel self-conscious of my hair around Zinnia, who never has a strand out of place. Mine still hasn’t recovered from an ill-advised home highlighting kit where the streaks went orange so I dyed over them with a brown that was supposed to match my own colour but ended up going lighter because of the orangeness. Daph calls them lowlights; I call them ‘can’t afford to go to the hairdresser’s’.
‘You hate taking selfies too,’ Daphne says. ‘I can already tell this guy is perfect for you. Now, what next? Text messages?’
She’s gone back to the home screen and is fiddling around in his message folder before I’ve even started to protest. ‘We’re just looking for vital contact information so we can get it back to him.’
‘And evidence of a girlfriend because so far there’s nothing,’ Zinnia adds. ‘He must be single or there’d be some photos of a girlfriend, boyfriend, or otherwise on there. My phone is packed with pictures of my husband.’
‘And mine’s packed with pictures of Gavin measuring things against my ever-expanding belly to show how big it’s getting,’ Daph says. ‘Well, this morning someone called Jack texted telling Train Man “not to miss that bloody train”. His parcel was “now with his local courier for delivery” last Thursday, he wished someone called Susan a happy birthday last week, and someone sent a message a fortnight ago asking if he wants to go on a fishing weekend in July, but he hasn’t responded.’ She glances at me over her shoulder. ‘This is just as boring as