“Cold?” James asks. He must know I’m not as it must be twenty-something degrees but I love that he cares.
“Oh no, just…” I don’t know what ‘just’. Of course I’m not going to share my Ronald McDee and sophisticated men and their children with James, so I leave it at ‘just’.
“Let’s wander and see what takes our fancy, shall we?” he suggests.
I’d not realised until recently, actually today, since meeting James, how much of the English language lends itself to innuendos. The makers of Shrek must be eternally grateful.
As we walk towards the more modern area of Hemel town centre, James points out places of interest. Most are signed or signposted but I like listening to his voice so don’t interrupt.
Nor do I when we stop at Subway on the edge of the main shopping centre, The Marlowes. He gives me a goofy grin, or as goofy as he gets with those fabulous teeth. “Didn’t think I was serious about McDonald’s, did you?”
I laugh and shake my head.
“It would be a bit difficult actually as there hasn’t been one here since 2011.”
“Really? Why’s that?”
“I don’t know. Not profitable, I suppose.”
“But that’s crazy. Shoppers always want a McDonald’s.”
He shrugs and I stare at his broad shoulders, wishing I could rest my head on one of them for just a few–
“There are two out of town. One Apsley way, took over The Bell, lovely old place. The other’s in the leisure park top of the hill… Jarman’s, do you know it?”
“I do. I go to the Tesco there for petrol. Not stopped at the complex other than that but quite fancy the snow centre, and I’ll definitely do the cinema while I’m here.”
“Want someone to go with?” he asks then immediately backtracks. “I’m sorry. That’s very presumptuous. I’m sure…”
He stops and I want to know what he’s sure of. That I already have a boyfriend. Yes. That my mum would go with me. Yes, especially anything with Tony Robinson in it. That I have better things to do. No, I don’t. Okay, yes I do. I have thirty-one reports to write about thirty-one dishes and our lunch break is ticking along a little too quickly. I then remind myself though that the clock’s not actually started so I can have whatever I like.
“Shall we?” He points to Subway’s front door.
“Love to.” I’m melting. And it’s not because of the weather.
We stand side-by-side and look up at the choice. They do salads, which I’d not realised, although I know they put plenty in their rolls. Not rolls, subs. Doh. I’m torn between the chicken tikka and Italian B.M.T.(R). The B.M.T., not forgetting the (R) trademark, is only two hundred and forty-five calories. I expect the tikka to be more but it’s a mere one hundred and forty-one. This is noted as an easy option for one of my dishes but think perhaps it’s too easy. Where’s the challenge in salad?
The picture of the B.M.T., not forgetting the (R), makes it look very nice with lots of green (lettuce – definitely dull, sorry lettuce), red onion (not conducive to lunch with a colleague, one you would definitely snog had you been single, assuming he wanted to), tomato – of course, that’s the ‘T’, peppers (yuk), olives (formerly yuk but growing on me since Duncan made me try them on several occasions), grated cheese (yum), cucumber (meh, as security guard and ex Mike would say), green chillies, I think they look like chillies, and flat cubes of meat. Flat cube sounds like an oxymoron but they’re squares. Okay flat squares.
I always carry a notebook and a couple of pens in my bag, in case one of them runs out, and am making notes. I then realise I’m being quite rude. “Sorry,” I say to James who is still studying the board and doesn’t appear to be noticing me let alone hearing me. His head moving left to right makes me think he’s not a regular here until he nods and smiles.
I follow his line of sight and think he’s going for a Meatball Marinara like the guy in the advert until the man changes his mind and settles on turkey and ham, which I always thought a little dull. On the way, he goes for… cogs in place… yep, chicken teriyaki and envies a lady who orders… grey cells, grey cells… tuna. Again, a little dull. Got to have lots of mayonnaise and sweetcorn on that one. No, not turkey and ham. He goes for steak and cheese. Better, but still no. I watch too much TV.
We settle on a turkey, bacon and guacamole wrap (me) and a chorizo flatbread pizza (James), accompanied by a bottled water and Pepsi max (bottle not tap) respectively. I know. Not sure how we got there either.
“Shall I?” I suggest, spotting a table in one of the front window corners.
“Absolutely,” James says and joins the queue to be served.
I go to pull my purse from my bag but James shakes his head.
“Wouldn’t hear of it. I always treat the newbies.”
I doubt it very much but laugh and thank him all the same.
I make a few more notes while I wait for James and next thing I know he’s arrived with the tray and puts it between us, sitting opposite. I’m not sure I can concentrate if I have to look at him for what’s left of our lunch break but better that than having to sit next to him as I think the spark between us would probably burn the place down.
“So,” he starts, “turkey, bacon and guacamole wrap. Is that allowed?”
“Sorry?”
“Turkey, bacon and guacamole wrap,” he repeats.
“Allowed?”
“Aren’t you supposed to be within the five-hundred-calorie mark?”
I hadn’t looked by the time I got to this one on the menu. I’d almost lost the will to live from all the choice, and I’d not started on the Subway Savers, one of which is James’s chorizo flatbread pizza, which is a shame because it almost looks as edible as the person who’s going to be savouring it. I feel the inside of my mouth liquefy and I swallow before I’ve eaten or drunk anything.
I give a hesitant, “Er… yes.”
“Five hundred and fifty-eight.”
I blow a raspberry and James laughs. He’s so perfect that there must be something wrong with him and I feel like I’ve set myself a challenge. Another one. Because three in a month isn’t enough already. But I realise I’ve forgotten what the other two were.
“Challenge, challenge, challenge,” I mumble, then realise that mumbling is actually speaking aloud, albeit quietly, and it turns out that James has supersonic hearing. Of course he does.
I take a bite of my wrap, swallow then go to speak but I remember. “Veronica’s desk drawer, not ditzy.”
“Er… okay. I’m sure it isn’t.”
I laugh, not a normal laugh but a schoolgirl laugh, and blush. This is going so well.
Chapter 19 – Colleagues
“So how long have you been at the paper?” I blurt to James so there are no pregnant pauses. Pregnant. Not a word I particularly like yet so many women… no, tears, stay back. I cough again and reach for the tissue in my pocket.
“Is it that hot?” James asks, pointing to my wrap.
My mouth isn’t burning. I shake my head. “Is yours nice?” I ask before blowing my nose in as ladylike a way as I can muster.
I’ve asked mid-bite and he’s chewing away like an otter but with much better manners and less buckier teeth. He nods though so that answers the question but he answers it anyway. “Not had this before but often seen it on the menu and wondered.”
Often. So he is a regular.
“Not that I do actually come here often. As the saying goes.”
And here was I wanting to have an intellectual conversation but it feels like it’s my fault and I’m not on my way to proving to him I’m not ditzy, not that it really matters. Like Izzy with not falling in love with dates, I remind myself that I’m here to work but can have fun in the meantime, as long as that’s all it is.
Being reminded of work, prompts me to ask my next question. I want to ask James again about his time at the paper but figure he’ll remember and tell me at some stage. I go for, “Would you tell me about ‘our’ colleagues?” I
emphasise the ‘our’ because they are while I’m there.
He goes to speak but I interrupt. “Sorry. Do you mind if I jot it down?” I hold up my notebook.
“Not at all. Wouldn’t want to get in the way of progress,” he says then frowns as if he doesn’t know why he’s said it. Nor do I but don’t mention it.
“Thanks.”
My pen poised, he starts. “Billy, our editor, you’ve met.”
I write: William = Billy.
“His P.A. is Nathan.”
I write Janine = Nathan then look up. “Oh.”
“I know. A male P.A. Very twenty-first century. I’d say that Billy does like his boys but it’s not true, not in that respect. He’s happily married, to a woman, Cassandra. Been so for a couple of decades, I think. Two boys … twins, IVF I think, but can’t remember their names.”
I write all this down.
“Agony Aunt. Vacant at the moment. Been for a while, which is a bit of a surprise. You’d think they’d be queuing up to give advice but Billy’s very fussy. Needs to be qualified. I think he’d do a good job himself but… Then we have, going round the room… you aka Veronica for a month in the corner.” He pauses for breath and his eyes go up as if retrieving the information. “Then on the other side, there’s Frank, the money guy…” James puts a hand up to his mouth and leans forward as if about to impart a great secret and he does indeed whisper. “Accountant, but actually he’s really nice.” James smiles and sits back.
Speaking normally, he continues. “Second of the trio is Greta, our everything else reviewer: books, films, whatever doesn’t fall into any other remit. The third is me, James, the technology guy. The same as your Izzy, I believe.”
I grin at the mention of my best friend. I jot all the names along with our respective equivalents.
“Then there’s Leah, Hazel’s assistant – who does much more than just personnel, human resources, call it what you will. She’s like our office manager really. Leah sits next to the kitchen sort of opposite Hazel’s office. They like to be opposite each other so they can talk without actually speaking.
I can feel my eyebrows rise and my mouth opens a little. My brain chugs.
“Oh,” he explains, “they have some kind of code. Not exactly lip reading but they can communicate just by looking at each other. Not ESP because their lips do actually move but… No one’s managed to figure it out but it works. The job gets done so that’s all that matters. Speaking of which…” He taps his watch and takes the last bite of his pizza.
I lean over to look at his watch and I’m horrified when I see we’ve been out for over an hour.
“Don’t stress, little one,” he says then looks equally horrified. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean that in a… erm.”
“It’s fine. I didn’t take it in a… erm.”
He blows me a kiss and I flame as if I’ve not only had the hottest meal on the menu but someone turned up the heat in the shop. I look around and see no one’s paying attention. As if they would.
“What about fashion?” I ask, meaning their fashion journalist. Karen’s equivalent.
“Fashion?”
“Columnist. Journalist. Fashionist,” I say then laugh rather inadequately.
“Uh huh.”
“The fashion journalist? Or do you not have one?”
“Yes.”
I feel like we’re going round in circles but say, “We really should be…” I hurry down the rest of my wrap despite James assuring me that Billy won’t be bothered, and probably won’t notice that we’re not there because he’s too busy, but it’s not exactly the impression I want to make on my first day.
We take our drinks with us and stroll quicker back to the office than on the outward journey. Although Hemel isn’t particularly familiar territory, it actually never has been, it doesn’t feel alien either which I like.
We arrive at James’s desk first, it being nearer the entrance than mine. Although the office’s layout is almost a replica of Northampton’s, not everyone’s sitting in the same seats. That would have been too much to ask.
“Thank you again for lunch,” I gush then roast as James pats my arm. Not really a pat, more of a soupçon of a touch. It’s all too much and I decide I need to either steer clear or set ground rules. We’ve not mentioned partners but it feels as if he’s assumed I’m single. I’ve not exactly been fighting him off but it’s not fair to either of us to not say anything.
I will. Next time we talk, I will. I’ll make it clear I’m with Duncan, and while I’m very flattered, nothing can happen. Nothing at all. We’re only colleagues, James and I, and that’s all it can ever be.
Period.
End of.
Thank you but no.
Now, what did I say about the lady protesting?
Chapter 20 – Another Walter Mitty Moment
My mobile’s ringing as I approach my desk and I only just get to it before it rings off. I grin as Izzy’s face appears. It’s not her live face but her photograph. A normal twentieth-century phone call.
“Hey!” we say in unison.
“How’s it going?” she asks.
I shrug.
“Donna?”
“Sorry. I shrugged. I forgot you can’t see that. I’m too used to FaceTiming my mum.”
“You and your FaceTime. How is she?”
“Yeah, good.”
“So…”
“So…?”
“Why the shrug?”
“Oh. First day, you know.”
“They being nice to you?”
The image of James and his soupçon touch leaps into my head. “Yes,” I squeak.
“You okay?”
I can’t see her but I can picture Izzy frowning. She worries more than I do… or rather she did until recently. We seem to be roles reversed.
“Oh yes,” I say with more conviction. And I am. I’m going to Wetherspoon singular… literally; on my own, by the looks of it. It was all a bit of a rush this morning so I didn’t get much of an answer on whether Mum was free but I’m pretty sure I know what it would be. She has a hectic lifestyle, such as it is being retired; too many clubs, fitness sessions, other stuff. Chess is the latest thing. I didn’t know she even had a board! She seemed to get more involved in anything that was on offer when my dad died. He was a workaholic so she was on her own much of the time, after I’d left home especially, but there’s a big difference between being alone and lonely, and I only really appreciate it being here.
“Hello…?”
“Sorry, Izzy. Having a bit of a Walter Mitty moment.”
“So they’re all being nice to you.”
“Yes. Really nice. Hazel, you know, the HR lady, is as batty as a fruit–”
“Which is why you get on.”
I can feel warmth running through my body again. Not a James warmth but an Izzy warmth and I love it. She always knows how to make me smile. I wish I could bottle her.
“Yes. You’d love her.” She would. Izzy thinks I’m a bit mad, okay batty, but only because she’s serious. Of course I don’t think that because she’s my BFF and I really know her. It’s everyone else. Whereas… hark me. Whereas… Hark! How old am I? Thirty going on twelve going on sixty-something, my mum. Not even my mum says ‘hark’. Maybe only at Christmas.
My ear’s itching. Someone’s talking about me.
“Donna!”
I look round the office but it’s Izzy again. “Are you there, Donna?”
“Sorry, Izz.”
“Yes, Walter.”
“Huh?”
“Walter Mitty?”
“Oh yes. Sorry.”
“Are you really okay?”
“Absolutely. There’s just a lot to learn in a really short time but no, everything’s fine. Everyone’s being lovely. They’re leaving me to it pretty much but I’m used to that. I… er…”
There’s a slight pause on the other end of the phone. “Donna.”
“Sorry, yes.”
“What’
s going on?”
“Nothing. Really. It’s fine.” Tears threaten.
“Donna…”
“There’s this guy.” I look around the office and although no one’s looking at me, they’re too near for me to ‘turn on the waterworks’, as Mike would say. Damn Mike. My brain should be full of Duncan but Mike’s in it? I shake my head, put on the broadest smile I can imagine – just as well as someone’s coming over – and I say to Izzy, “It’s all good. He’s being really nice to me. I miss Duncan, that’s all.”
Izzy sounds hesitant. “If you’re sure.”
“Yep.” And I nod to prove it but of course she can’t see that. “I have to go. Someone’s…”
“Of course. But you’re okay, yes?”
“Yes. Love you.”
Izzy giggles and it kills me. She’s gone from the serious one to carefree. I should be; I have everything I ever wanted. I put on a smile, blow a kiss into the receiver, and we say ‘speak soon’.
Nathan, as the person turns out to be, is Billy’s P.A. The twenty-first century male P.A., not that there weren’t any in the twentieth but I’ve never come across one before. I’m not sure why it should make me feel any different but…
“Donna, right?”
I nod and try to place his accent. It sounds a little Swedish. Nathan, I suppose, could be a name to fit a multitude of nationalities but anyone can have a foreign relative they’ve been named after, or like me… one of my middle names is Diana, the other Dawn, yes I’m double, treble D! – just because my mum liked it, them. She studied classic Greek literature at university. I was lucky I wasn’t Desdemona or Delilah.
I realise I’ve not answered Nathan’s question and it needs more than a nod to make me look anything other than rude. I stand and hold out my hand. I’m about to say, “I am. Lovely to meet you” when he lunges at me and gives me a bear hug.
“Snap out of it, Donna.” I think I hear as Nathan releases me.
“Sorry?”
“Wanna get out of here?” Nathan points towards the kitchen. “Hot choc or something?”
The Serial Dieter Page 7
