Duncan. Think about… Oh no. I didn’t speak to him at all yesterday. I didn’t text so he’ll think I didn’t think about him. Of course I did; Nathan and I talked about him so why didn’t I call or even look to see if there were any messages. I’m driving on the A41 so I can’t pull over until there’s a layby and I’ve just passed one so there won’t be another for miles. I’ll do it when I’m parked up, by which time he’ll be in surgery, with a patient at least or something. His phone will be off in a locker or in his bag so he won’t see it until lunch by which time it’ll be a day and a bit. Oh, Donna. What are you doing?
Thinking too much. I’m driving. Concentrate on driving. It’ll all be fine.
Chapter 27 – Get Cracking
I arrive at work relatively stress-free, from a traffic point of view anyway, and look forward to a hectic day. Although I have a sort of plan, I’m going to play a lot of it by ear and that’s rather thrilling, despite it probably being half the population’s daily routine; not knowing what they’re going to have for an evening meal until they go shopping or out to dinner.
Veronica’s final piece runs today. I’ve looked at a few back copies and she doesn’t have as much space as I do at Northampton. Billy’s said that I can have the same or a smaller space and he’ll accommodate, which is very… accommodating! He has my intro piece so I’m not panicking. Much.
I wave my pass over the security scanner and the barrier lifts. There are loads of cars so I must be one of the last to arrive, even though there’s half an hour before the official start time. I suppose after yesterday’s staff bonding outing – was it really only yesterday? – there’s work to be caught up on.
Speaking of which, I’m pretty sure I’ve not met everyone yet. There are roles at Northampton that must be duplicated here – advertising admins and a sales manager at the very least – but it’s only day two, day one of the ‘project’.
I find a space on the second level and spot Nathan’s bug (that’s the name I’ve decided on, considering the colour) as I walk back down the ramp. The car park’s tucked behind the back of the building so there’s not a lot to see other than concrete until I get to the main door. There is a back door but I’ve been told this pass doesn’t open it from the outside. Not sure why but I do as I’m told. The thought of that makes me smile… and reminds me of Duncan.
“Oh sh…” I hadn’t messaged him when I arrived, not in the car park anyway, so I delve around in my bag and fish out my phone. Fully charged, I can’t believe I plugged it in last night without unlocking the screen and seeing what I’d missed. Anyone would think I’d had too good a time to think about my former life… or rather my pre- and post-Hemel life.
There’s only one missed call and when I tap on the recents icon, there’s a voicemail. My heart flutters as I listen to Duncan’s voice. “Hi darling,” he says. “How’s it all going? I won’t disturb you as you’ll be swamped but a quick message to say I’m thinking of you and… I’m thinking of you. I love you. Bye for now.”
The hesitation is very Duncan. I’m not sure what he was planning to say but whatever it was it would have been nice. More than nice. Probably something naughty but he gets embarrassed quite easily. For someone so outgoing, he’s quite shy – I know, an oxymoron – but when we’re together he’s confident, smutty, and very bad.
Phil smiles and opens the door for me before I’ve had a chance to swipe the pass again.
“Sorry, Donna. I should let you do that so it clocks you in. I know you’ll log in on your computer but you know.”
It’s not something I’ve given a huge amount of thought, or inclination. I’m on a flat salary so it doesn’t really matter when I’ve clocked in or out unless I take the proverbial and swan around like I’m Lady Muck. No one here seems like that, I’m sure not even the super-classy Veronica.
“No problem,” I say and hover my pass over a flat sensor. “How was your evening last night?”
Phil shrugs. “Usual. Chores, taxi service, that kinda thing.”
I’m surprised after working a twelve-hour day that Mrs Phil would get him doing chores. Taxi service, yes, but although he doesn’t sound too enamoured, he seems the kind of… upfront guy to not be bossed around.
“The joy of being a man,” I say and wonder why but it’s too late. It’s out there.
“Spot on,” he drawls and winks.
I smile and go on my way upstairs.
Someone I don’t know, but assume is Owen, is sitting at the reception desk. He’s on the phone but as we’ve not met, I hover, not wanting to interrupt, to wait and introduce myself. He puts his hand over the mouthpiece. “Hey, Donna. How are you?”
I’m a little taken back that he knows who I am but put on my best smile. “I’m really good, thank you. Owen?”
He gives a ‘Glee’ grin then points to the phone. “Catch up later, sweetheart.”
I’m not sure anyone’s called me sweetheart since my dad and it chokes me a little but I love Owen’s enthusiasm. I wonder if there’s something in the Hertfordshire water that makes everyone so jolly. If so, I’m going to bottle a load and take it home.
I wave a temporary goodbye and walk through the double doors that separate the tranquillity of the reception to the madhouse that would normally be a newspaper’s open plan office. Except this one’s quiet. I wonder if there’s been another staff bonding half day scheduled without anyone mentioning it – not that I’d be invited being a stand-in, but no, all the desks seem to be filled with my new colleagues busy at their respective roles. I can’t see my desk until I get round a final corner so I don’t know what awaits me but after giving everyone on my way a brief wave, I’m greeted by an almost-empty desk. Apart from Veronica’s samples.
Today is day one. Official. In the next… I look at my watch. Eight, twelve is four, one is five, five and twenty-four is twenty-nine. In the next twenty-nine hours, there has to be an article, a ‘dishes’ article, on the system – Billy’s happy to take it off from there. I can’t exactly plop it into his in tray now can I. Plop. “Plop.” I say aloud and look up. No one’s paying me any attention which is just as well. No one needs to know how mad I am.
So yes, twenty-nine hours for five hundred words maximum. I can do that. No problem. Uh huh. Yep.
To get me started, I pull out my plan.
– List of things to take: suitcase, laptop, phone, chargers, clothes etc. Enough for a week or the whole month?
Done and sorted. Tick.
– List of pubs and restaurants in Hemel Hempstead: lunch (alone or with colleagues) and dinner (with Mum? With Aunt Jan and Uncle Pat?). Breakfast?
Done and sort of sorted. Half tick. The ‘who’ is okay. I just need to expand on my list of ‘where’… and more importantly really, the ‘what’. There may be places on my list that don’t do any main meals under 500 calories. Google’s been my friend so far so I jot down ‘google more menus’ next to this prompt.
– List of pubs and restaurants in Tring. Definitely with family. Not breakfast unless the weekend, not practical.
That’s okay. I can play Tring by ear. I know it way better. I’ve been almost everywhere and while not eating rubbish, I certainly wasn’t counting calories. I do need to pay more attention. Okay, next.
– List of types of dishes. Not as mad as it sounds. Aunt Jan and Uncle Pat are vegetarians so something to bear in mind.
This is the crucial bit. I’m supposed to be the guide for my readers, advise where to go and what to eat. I wonder if Greta does food reviews. I should ask her. No, I’ll wait until our evening on Wednesday. It’ll be something to talk about, not that I usually have any trouble.
– List of places around the area. Why stick with Hemel and Tring? Repeat places or go somewhere just once? It would make the project more interesting but possibly more complicated.
It might but wouldn’t the reader want to know about places they’ve never been? Dishes they’ve never eaten? Of course they would. So, within reason, I need to find p
laces they’d not normally go to so no more Subway, McDonalds. Oh but Wetherspoon is ideal. Okay, compromise. Regular town-centre places at lunchtime – we, and those reading my articles, will only have an hour after all. Then somewhere more interesting. Brain clicks to Wiggington. The Old Man thereof. It’s a book. Can’t remember who by, a local chap, I think. I’ll google it.
There’s supposed to be somewhere really nice at Wiggington but probably outside the price range, not that anyone’s told me what it is yet. So yes, definitely imminently, eminently… come on, Donna… eminently sensible, Sherlock Holmes-esque, at lunchtime then a little crazy in the evenings. It’s Frank’s evening tonight so, being the accountant, he’ll know exactly how much we can spend.
A search for The Old Man of Wiggington isn’t helpful, not even when I add Hertfordshire, as most of the results had wanted me to go to The Wiggington at Tamworth. I try ‘books about Wiggington Hertfordshire’ and the closest I get is a series of local history books by Mike Bass and Jill Fowler. Clever people. That’s a kind of dedication I admire; to spend probably years researching somewhere and sharing their knowledge. Even if they’d lived in the town all their lives, they’d still have to check everything. I wouldn’t have the patience, not that I’m not a patient person but you know. Too much to do.
So, I must have imagined the Old Man, which is sad. I like to think there was one at some stage.
The pub it turns out is an inn, a hotel no less, called The Greyhound. It looks very nice, exclusive with its smart lemon-coloured frontage, black railings and ‘warm welcome’ red and white sign. Probably way beyond the company’s budget for my project, so something perhaps to treat my mum to. And it serves Doombar beer and ooh, Tring Brewery’s Ridgeway Bitter… my uncle would approve, but it’s a pub, sorry inn, with beer so he’d be happy regardless. He doesn’t get much opportunity, being the driver when they go out, so a table for four definitely, with me as chauffeur. Mum and my aunt’s birthday mid-September. Mustn’t forget.
And back to the present day.
Chapter 28 – The First Official Dish
I’ve just gone back to my list when Frank appears by my desk.
“Good morning, my dear. And how are things with you?”
I smile. I’ve been doing a lot of that recently and it feels good. “I’m very well, thank you, kind sir.” I hope I’m not being patronising.
“All set for this evening?”
“I think so. Thank you. It’s very kind of you to do this.”
“Nonsense. Gives me something to do other than watch television when Frankie’s out with your mum. How is Lesley?”
“She’s well, thank you. I hadn’t realised she was so busy. All these evening classes, subjects I never knew she liked.”
“It’s not everybody’s cup of chai. Frankie’s always been a chess fan but I believe Lesley also does the guitar and yoga, is it…?”
“Pilates.”
“That’s right. Pilates. That and the chess are private; in local halls rather than schools but I think the guitar is Adult Learning so in one of the local schools. It’s amazing what’s on offer and considering chess is supposed to be quite an intense thinking man’s… woman’s sport… I think it’s a sport, officially, you know.”
I haven’t a clue but nod.
“Yes. Considering chess is supposed to be quite an intense thinking woman’s sport, they don’t half talk a lot.”
I laugh. A round-hearted belly laugh. Frank looks a little taken aback but smiles nonetheless.
Tonight’s going to be fun. He’s a little serious, old school, but I can see underneath is a heart of gold, and given that he’s sharing it with me, I’m honoured.
“So… how’s it all going?” he asks looking at my too-tidy desk. Back in Northampton, my equivalent would be covered in white with very little brown fake wood to be seen, but I know where things are when I need them. It would be me juggling a lot of open assignments. Here I have just the one.
“Not bad, thank you. Still at the planning stage but a much easier job than Izzy had. Do you know all about Izzy, back at Northampton?”
Frank frowns.
“Izzy… Isobel, my technology colleague, had to date thirty-one men in days and…”
Frank’s frown lifts.
“Write about it,” I continue. “It was actually forty-something as we went speed dating mid-month. It’s where I met my boyfriend actually.”
Frank smiles. “Yes. Frankie did mention how you’d met… Duncan, is it?”
“It is.”
“Not in context, but it makes sense now. Yes, that’s tough. I’d go for the food option.”
I laugh. “Me too.”
“So,” he continues, “has anyone explained the rules?”
Uh oh. “Rules?”
“Not rules as such but erm… oh I don’t know. Terms. No, too formal. Stuffy. Anyway, you have a limit of fifty pounds a day, which I think is pretty good really.”
“It’s fantastic,” I gush. Considering Izzy had a ten-pound daily limit, fifty is astounding but who could get a decent meal, or a half-decent one to include a drink, for ten pounds.
“Yes. Fifty pounds a day. You can go where you like. I have some ideas. I can pull up a chair if you like.” He points to Veronica’s visitor chair.
“That would be great but aren’t you busy?”
He waves a hand down like a… I don’t know what like but he pfuts. Or something like that.
“It’s just figures. Everyone’s still submitting all their receipts and whatnot for last month so no point in me even starting on them until they’re all in.”
That shatters my illusion that anyone working in finance is manic at month-end, month-beginning, but Frank knows best, and I think part of it is him being polite. He too might be swan-kicking underneath.
He pulls the chair round towards mine and I move up so there’s space for the both of us at my desk, albeit with none of our four legs outstretched.
“What have you got so far?”
I show him my list.
“Okay…”
I know how bare it is. “But I’ve been to Ristorante Alberto with James, and Nathan,” I blurt. “It was shut on a Monday though so we went for a nice walk into town. We ended up at Subway, James and I, so I got a feel for the area.”
“That’s right, you’ve not actually lived in Hemel.”
I shake my head but he’s still looking at the sheet so he can’t see me. “I grew up in Tring and know it really well. I should therefore know Hemel but I left home years ago and I only visit every–”
“Ah, yes. Well, never fear. We’ll look after you. Everyone on board is local born, never escaped like you did, so they’ll be able to answer any query you have. Be good to be more about the food, wouldn’t it.” Great minds think alike. “So, Alberto’s and Subway. That was lunch yesterday?”
“It was. Nathan took me back to the old village last night, evening, but not to Alberto’s, not to eat. I thought we were when we were heading in that direction but it was still Monday.”
“Of course.”
“We ended up at the Chiangmai Thai.”
“Nice. I do like it there. One of Frankie’s favourites actually.”
“It was really nice. Then Asda.” I can’t help smiling.
“Asda?”
“Milk. Nathan had forgotten to get some milk.”
“Ah…”
“And I picked up some essentials.”
“Mum not feeding you because she’s never there?”
I laugh. “Not quite but no, more like research.”
He waits for me to continue.
“A couple of the salads, some light… low-calorie crisps and bottled water.”
“Eminently sensible.” Sherlock Holmesque, yes. “So the salubrious Subway and Asda. Anywhere else as classy this lunchtime?”
I’d not thought that far ahead. I’d tried not to as it would mean thinking about James. “Not really. Just see what James fancies doing.” I know t
hat I could be going out with him or Leah and think the latter would be better to keep me on the proverbial straight and narrow. Plus she and I have talked very little so far, only because our paths haven’t really crossed, so it would be nice to get to know her better.
“I’m sure he’ll come up with something.”
I don’t know whether Frank says that because he knows James will be my chaperone today or whether it’s a more general comment. Of course I’m not going to ask so don’t reply.
“And tonight? Anything you’d like to do?” Frank asks.
Leaving Wetherspoon as a solo back-up, I say, “I drive past the K2 Balti House every time I come down to the hill to the magic roundabout–”
Frank laughs and I smile. “Ah yes the magic magic roundabout. The Plough, don’t you know.”
I don’t like to tell him that I do as it may sound smug but he spots me looking at it on my notes.
“Indeed you do. So the K2, hey?”
“Is that okay? In budget? Or more importantly, something you’d like to do? Not too spicy?”
“Don’t worry about that. I can do hot. Not quite vindaloo. I’m more of a Bhuna or Dansak lover myself.”
I’m so pleased I’m in such good hands. “I’m not an Indian food expert but I’d rather have a bit of a kick than the ultra-mild Korma, not that I don’t like sweet.”
“We’ll find you something.”
“That’s really kind.” I feel like a stuck record but it is. It wouldn’t bother me to go on my own but it’s always nice to go with someone else, especially someone who reminds me of my dad. I get a little sad and nostalgic and Frank seems to notice.
“Now. Let’s see what else you have.” He looks at my woefully inadequate notes. “Oh, I knew there was something else,” he says, looking across at me. “Billy has told you that you don’t have to be office bound, hasn’t he.”
The Serial Dieter Page 11
