I smile and wait for him to speak. Like nodding, I feel I’m doing a lot of smiling today.
“Someone from the Hemel office is going to ring… actually more likely email you with all the details. You’ll simply be Veronica for the month. I don’t know if she’s got anything else that needs to be done but they can always reallocate. One column, one project is probably enough. It’ll take you a while to settle in but it’s only temporary so don’t worry if you don’t get everything done. The project’s the most important. Izzy will help, I’m sure.” With that, he looks over at her. She’s still on the phone, chatting away, smiling. William looks back at me. “We have a few days so…”
“We do,” I say and he wanders off towards Izzy but when it’s clear she’s not coming off the phone any time soon, he veers away and walks into the kitchen.
I look from Izzy to the kitchen. I can’t see William through the half-glass wall from the angle I’m sitting, which is weird as he’s super tall. Six feet four, I think. Anything above five feet four for me is tall, over five feet ten – Izzy and Duncan’s heights – is semi-super tall.
I sigh, wiggle my mouse to reactivate my screen, type in my password, and open up a new Word document.
Chapter 3 – Sharing The News
Izzy finally comes off the phone. She looks in William’s direction then mine. I think she’s deliberating who to speak to first but comes to my desk.
“Is everything okay?” she asks when she’s still a few feet away.
I want to say I’m not sure but I’m more upbeat than that. “Sure.”
“What did William want?”
Straight to the point. “He’s got a project he wants me to do.”
I can almost see her gulping. “Oh?”
“Thirty-one dishes in thirty-one days… I think.”
“Oh,” she says quite noncommittally. I can’t decide whether it’s a good thing or not, this project, but if anyone can help me, Izzy can. She’s good at taking charge, stands up to William more than I can, always has.
“In Hemel. Hempstead.”
“Hemel? Why Hemel?”
I shrug but I’m not sure why as I do know the reason for Hemel. “Sister paper. My equivalent’s on holiday.”
“For a month?”
“Apparently. Or at least, I think so. He’s just asked me to fill in so I’m not sure.”
“When have you got to go?”
“In the next few days. He wants me to start May first so…”
Izzy laughs. “May again?”
“Yep.” I do a slight swerve as there’s not much more I can tell her. “And I get to stay with my mum.”
“Oh cool. How is she?”
“She’s fine.”
“Delighted to have you back home?”
“Will be. I’ve not told her yet but she always hints that she’d have me back like the proverbial… even if she doesn’t actually say so.”
Izzy laughs.
“Did William not tell you?” I ask.
“About…”
“Transferring me?”
Izzy looks horrified, almost mortified. “Transfer?”
“For a month.”
The smile returns. “Phew. I thought… he wouldn’t do that to me, to us.”
“So he didn’t tell you.”
Izzy shakes her head. “Keeps work and home very much separate.”
“Of course.”
“So have you met your equivalent…?”
“Veronica. No. Spoken to her a couple of times.”
“What’s she like?”
“She sounds very posh, glamorous, I think, which you’d expect from a health and beauty columnist, not that I…” I laugh when Izzy blows a raspberry. “They’re going to email me with the details. It’s all a bit much to take in.”
“Of course. I’m sure he wouldn’t have asked if he didn’t think you’d be okay about it.”
“It’ll be good. I know the area already so it won’t be totally alien.” I was born in Chesham, which, according to Google, is about seven miles from Hemel and Tring, in different directions so sort of a triangle with the A41 along one side. Ish. I was young when we moved to Tring though but still have a soft spot for Chesham. Chesham Glass. The Wagon and Horses. Waggon? But my focus is Hemel.
I know the Plough roundabout – the ‘magic roundabout’ according to the locals – a large roundabout with five, no six smaller ones around it. It’s a nightmare if you don’t know where you want to get to but treat each separately and you’re fine. As I said, I know the Plough but everywhere else in the town is a bit hazy. There’s a nice park somewhere near the road along from the old Kodak building, which is flats now, Living Well, or something that’s like the gym chain. Carry on from there and you get to the old village, which I suppose Hemel was at one point. I think the town centre is similar to any other; a shopping centre or two with other shops dotted around it. It’ll be fun getting to know it.
Then I realise I don’t know where our offices are down there. Maybe they’re on one of the industrial parks out of town. That won’t be so much fun but I’m not there to have fun. Am I.
“Donna?”
I realise I’m staring at a small ant crawling across my desk as I’m thinking… miles away. About forty miles from Northampton. I make a mental note to google that too. I leave the ant to negotiate one of my coasters and look back up at Izzy. “Huh?”
“You said, ‘It’ll be good. I know the area already so it won’t be totally alien.’ Or something like that.”
I think it was exactly like that. “Yes. It’ll be fine.” Then there’s Duncan. Things aren’t particularly rosy between us at the moment and I don’t know if this’ll help or hinder.
As if she’s reading my mind, she asks about him.
“He’s fine.” Fine. Everything’s ‘fine’, which it isn’t. But it will be. I’m half-glass-full Donna. I see the best in everyone and everything. I know I’m really lucky. I have Duncan, Hunky Dunky, a wonderful caring vet who everyone loves. I adore him. It’s just circumstances. We’ll be fine, more than fine. The lady doth protest. No. It will.
I sit up a little straighter in my chair and smile. Until an email pings into my inbox. “Ooh.”
Izzy’s still looking at me, waiting for me to say something. She points at my screen. “Is that from Hemel?” She can’t see from where she is and is far too polite to lean forward and… She leans forward. “What does it say?”
I open the email and scan the contents. “Oh.”
“Oh? What does it say?”
“Nothing about why she’s off.”
“But you’re just there the month, yes?”
I scan a bit more of the email. “It doesn’t say. William promised… well, not promised but said it would just be a month.”
“Do you want me to have a word with him?” She looks at the kitchen but, like for me earlier, it’s not possible to see anything much. As if by instinct, we turn to his office and he’s there, drinking a cup of something, coffee probably. We turn back and give each other the ‘he’s made himself a drink!’ expression and laugh.
I love Izzy. Most people don’t ‘get’ her, she’s serious on the outside, but I know inside she’s like marshmallow. Not as soft as me so I guess I’m like melted marshmallow but…
“I’ll have a word tonight.”
I blow her a kiss and mouth a ‘thank you’. “He did say you’d help me though I’m not sure what I need help with yet.”
“At least he gave you some warning.”
I think back to the previous May. William had told, instructed, Izzy the morning of the first of May, the first day she was supposed to meet someone, and another thirty. The speed dating ended up being a bit of a bonus, in more ways than one for Duncan and me.
She’s right; at least I have a week’s notice. Seven days to plan thirty-one dishes, or at least the first one, and move two counties… Buckinghamshire’s between Northants and Hertfordshire, not counting the brief flirtation wit
h Bedfordshire as I bypass Leighton Buzzard. Some would say not a bad thing but the rare occasion I’ve driven through there it looks really nice.
“And will Duncan be okay with it?” Izzy asks.
I shrug but she continues.
“Absence makes the heart grow fonder.”
I want to say ‘out of sight, out of mind’ but fortunately resist. It’s not like me to be half-glass-empty but it’s not like her to be quite so positive. William really has changed her. No, that’s not fair. She’s always been adorable, it’s just her skin’s more porous these days so the adorability exudes somewhat easier. Adorability. I like that.
“Better get back,” she says and points to her desk.
I mouth another ‘thank you’ and turn my attention to the email. It’s quite official with the office’s address – not one I recognise so will google it – together with parking arrangements (on site, fortunately, which makes me think it’s not town centre), details who to report to – Hazel in HR – who will provide me with my ID badge, computer log in etc. I’m surprised I won’t be using my own but remember that I’m Veronica for the month. I make a mental note to ask William whether I’m to pretend to be Veronica or whether this project will be under my own name but I can ask Izzy to ask him that.
I feel sorry for Duncan. In a way it’s perfect timing, but in another respect it’s lousy. What’s to stop him going off with someone else when I’m not home? I don’t often feel insecure but I’m feeling it right now. It’s only a month, I tell myself, but a month is a long time in a relationship of less than a year. And I’ll be away for our anniversary. Not the day, evening, we met, that was the fifteenth, but our first date, when we ‘got together’. Ooh, it’s warm today, I think, as I fan myself with a ‘Maybelline’ coaster.
On the ‘Calendar’ on my computer, I skip forward to May the eighteenth and see it’s a Friday. Mmm. Could be worse; a mid-week when I can’t see him, but could have been better; a weekend. We’d do something in the evening. Maybe I could leave work early… or have a work-from-home day. Counting just the weekdays, it’s only twenty-five days away. A lot can happen in twenty-five days.
I decide to tell my mum before Duncan. Good news before bad. I send her a quick text and have only just put my mobile back on my desk when it quacks. I forgot to put it on silent so some of my colleagues look at me and I can feel my face flush. I put up a quick hand to Karen, my fashion colleague, and Keith, our agony ‘aunt’. Fortunately it didn’t penetrate the glass between my desk and William’s office, and his PA, Janine, is on the phone so didn’t hear it.
Mum’s just texted a ‘yay’ which is typical of her. She’s only in her sixties but not the biggest of technology buffs. She left that all to my dad. My uncle’s more the whizz when it comes to iPods, iPads and everything ‘i’. As is Izzy. She’s my number one go-to in most respects, but hey, you know that by now.
Chapter 4 – Talking It Through
Izzy’s back at my desk and tapping her watch. I look at the tiny clock bottom-right of my monitor and it tells me that it’s not only lunchtime but ten past lunchtime. Where’s this morning gone?
I know the answer to that one. Reading and re-reading the email from Hemel. From someone called Ian. I look at his email address and it’s iedwards@… Ian doesn’t admit to being a job of any description so I assume he’s also human resources or maybe security… or perhaps IT. The only Ians I know are Ian Beale from EastEnders – who doesn’t exist – and Ian Botham, the cricketer – one of my mum’s favourites, and of course, I don’t actually know him.
Izzy’s hovering, not tapping her watch anymore but I can tell she wants to.
“Sorry, yes.” I grab my bag – it looks too nice outside for a jacket – and follow Izzy down the hall. Sometimes she forgets that her legs are so much longer than mine that I have to skip, not quite hop or jump to catch up but not far off.
Frosty’s on reception and engrossed in something or other. Marion’s surname is Frist but Izzy nicknamed her Frosty (just to me) and it stuck. Her being busy lets us off the hook from her steely glare, which is always a blessing. You’d think she’d lighten up given that she and Mike, our usual daytime security guard and my one-time beau, oh Lord, are an item, and have been for months. They think we don’t know but they’re not at all discreet. To start with, other than William – because he’s the boss – Mike is the only person Frosty’s nice to, and not just nice but gushy. It’s quite stomach churning.
Speaking of which, he’s got what looks like jam on his jumper as we pass him down in the main foyer. I’m hoping it’s jam. Either that or he’s killed something or someone, and while he’s not the softest person on the planet, that would be beyond him. Terminator Two’s Arnold Schwarzenegger Mike is not.
We exchange the briefest of smiles, much to Izzy’s chagrin, and head out onto the main road. I assume we’re off to do the usual Market Square Boots meal deal trip and I let Izzy go slightly ahead, which isn’t difficult because again she’s forgotten that her steps are like Bigfoot compared with my… whatever the opposite of Bigfoot is. Littlefoot? Lightfoot. That reminds me of an author my mum likes, Freda Lightfoot, and I make yet another mental note to see if my mum’s got her latest book. Knowing her, she’ll have bought it on publication day, she’s that big a fan, but without the technology to hand she may not have received ‘the memo’.
Yes, again, we patronise Boots and I go for prawn. I usually go for chicken but I fancy prawn today. Prawn in a light – of course, I am the health and beauty columnist (just don’t tell my readers about the huge bar of Galaxy chocolate lurking in my desk’s top drawer) – Marie Rose sauce. It makes me wonder who Marie Rose actually was, assuming she exists, and I add that to the ‘to google’ list.
“My treat,” Izzy says and takes my lunch from me.
“Ahh, thank you.” I step from the queue so I’m not in the way. I take the time to dig out my mobile and hit the multi-coloured ‘G’ app square. I search for ‘Marie Rose sauce’ and up comes a helpful link to Wikipedia. I stab on that and I’m told:
Marie Rose sauce (known in some areas as cocktail sauce or seafood sauce) is a British condiment made from a blend of tomatoes, mayonnaise, Worcestershire sauce, lemon juice and pepper. A simpler version can be made by merely mixing tomato ketchup with mayonnaise. The sauce, as well as cocktail sauce, were (‘was’, I mentally correct) invented in the 1960s by British cook Fanny Cradock.
There’s a little ‘1’ after Fanny’s name and I click on that, smiling at the difference between ‘fanny’, as a noun, in England vs. the United States. “Fanny pack,” I whisper then smile as I add, “bum bag.” The one takes me to ‘The origins of 10 modern classic foods.’ Channel 4. Archived from the original on April 6, 2014. Retrieved 6 June 2014. I hit the back arrow as it’s gone a little too off track. As have I.
Izzy joins me and we head out into the Market Square. We wander through the market, much of it second-hand on a Thursday, and I stop at a toy stall that also sells DVDs, music CDs and audiobooks. It’s the latter that grabs my attention as they remind me I don’t read enough. Duncan’s not a big reader and we tend to watch box sets together but there are times when he has to work late, or is called in for an emergency; a run-over pet or flea-ridden hedgehog. It’s just as well he doesn’t bring his work home with him. Not that Buddy, Duncan’s… our beagle, would like it if he did. He barely tolerates me despite me often feeding and walking him. A one-person dog.
I squeal as I spot an Anna Jacobs audiobook. It looks very much Freda Lightfootesque and I think my mum will enjoy it. It’s not her birthday for several months and Mother’s Day was a while ago but she’ll be putting me up, or putting up with me, for a month so it’ll be a small contribution to rent. Three pounds fifty. Very small.
Izzy’s flicking through the DVDs and has already picked out a couple which are lying flat on a row next to her. I crane my neck but can only see the top one. I smile at the picture of Will Ferrell in front of a post-9/11 New York ‘curs
ing the heavens in futility’… as Emma Thompson put it. Stranger than Fiction is one of my favourite films and I’m surprised Izzy’s not got it already but I’m more surprised that I don’t know that fact for sure. I have no clue what the other DVD will be.
It seems that it’s just the two for today. She usually buys at least one – she’s a DVD hoarder is our Izzy despite our love of Prime and Netflix. As the woman, one of two sisters I think but have never asked, takes the DVDs, I see the other cover. It’s The Hitman’s Bodyguard. Being another film I love, I want to cheer. With the market surprisingly busy, I resist, but my stomach is doing flips on my mouth’s behalf. Still, I know, it’s only a film but my brain’s not right at the moment. It’s too full of William’s project, Duncan, and what could have been. I need to clear it so I shake it and it just hurts.
“You okay?” the woman serving asks.
I smile sweetly and say, “Yes, thank you. A wasp, I thought.”
She appears horrified and looks around. I think she must be allergic, no, anaphylactic. When she gets stung. I look around too but there’s no sign of wasps. Not that I actually thought there was. “Sorry,” I say as if to appease her and go to wander off but realise I’ve not paid for the audiobook. And that I’ve not finished looking through them.
I do so and buy the Anna Jacobs along with a James Patterson Michael Ledwidge combo. Step on a Crack. It’s the only one of his I’ve read in its entirety, in paperback version, and I was exhausted. It was brilliant but edge-of-your-seat stuff and I’m looking forward to listening to it. I’m normally a chick flick… no, chick lit… actually both… kind of person, I love romance, but every now and then you just need a bit of thrilling. I giggle and the woman giving me my change smiles. She probably thinks I’m completely deranged but so be it. She wouldn’t be the only one.
The Serial Dieter Page 2
