I’m grateful my desk is tucked around a corner. I can’t see James’s desk from mine so when he gets out of his meeting, I’ll run the risk of passing him every time I want to go to the kitchen, ladies, out for lunch or home time, but I can’t dwell on it and hopefully it’ll blow over. He’s a very reasonable chap. And I’m a very reasonable chapette. Or whatever the equivalent is.
I’m pretty sure I can’t hear James from my desk either. Although there are peaks and troughs of noise and quiet, no single person is distinguishable at any one time. There’s a decorum whereby everyone seems respectful of everyone else’s personal space and I’m particularly grateful. But then I remember he had a two o’clock meeting so he may not have even come back through.
I have emails from my and Veronica’s readers. Hers are more tricky as I have to pretend to be her so I go into her ‘sent’ items to see her style. It feels a little creepy but my heart almost stops when I see how many emails she’s sent James. And reading them, I can see why.
They’re together. That or they’re having an affair. It’s all very intimate yet strangely detached. I can’t quite work out why. Their surnames are different – I knew this already but now assume Veronica uses her maiden name for professional reasons. I stop reading as I start to feel sick. I’m intruding on a couple who are doing nothing wrong. A married couple discussing childcare, plans for the weekend, whether she still needs him to finish early on Friday. Normal couply stuff.
I shouldn’t be surprised and actually I’m not. It doesn’t take a genius to figure that Veronica’s just had a baby, and James is… The father. Ethan’s father. And the other three in the picture. So much for him having two. That was bad, lying to me. If that’s what he did. He certainly didn’t use the correct level of decorum, or whatever.
Why couldn’t he just come clean and say, ‘Sorry, Donna. I can’t have an affair with you. I’m married to the woman whose job you’re doing this month. We have four children, double what I told you. Or what you think you heard. And we’re very happy, thank you very much.’
But he didn’t, my brain tells me as I head for the ladies.
Chapter 31 – Being A Chicken
To take my mind off James, I crack on looking at Google maps, listing potential places to go and looking at their menus. Many, the restaurants mostly, don’t have calorie listings but I figure they’ll have something. I need to be more accurate than that though because if they don’t, I’ll be stuck with Asda or Subway salads every day. Not a bad thing for lunch, and I’m sure the sandwich van lady or gent will know the calorie content of their own selection.
It’s two o’clock, the time James’s meeting starts, before I finally check my mobile’s messages. I hadn’t expected James to be collecting me so early and seeing how that panned out, I simply didn’t have a chance to look then. Apart from anything else, I get carsick at screens… or maps, or anything really. So I do while tucking into my salad and it makes my day. Duncan’s one message rather than the salad, although that was nice. No, the message is a very simple ‘Don’t forget I love you’ with a bunch of emojis thereafter which make me laugh. Apart from the face blowing a kiss, I think he hit them at random, or selected the recent few, a bit like doing the scales on the piano only less tuneful but funnier. That’s Duncan all over. I can imagine him chuckling to himself.
It makes me smile and I send back an elephant and a face blowing kisses then a heart with two stars. No words but I tell him all the time that I love him and sometimes it’s not what we say but how we show our affection. It’s like the showing not telling in writing. Have the character do something, don’t tell us how they feel. “You can’t handle the truth!” I blurt then cower, hoping no one’s paying me any attention. If they are, I can’t see them so that’s fine. Unless they know it’s Jack Nicholson from A Few Good Men, they’ll just think I’m having an argument with a supplier or something.
By the time five o’clock comes round, I’ve not only compiled a great list of eateries, along with some less than 500 calorie options, but I’ve written an article. Not the most inspiring of starts was my description of the Asda salad, but I’ve embellished it as much as possible, saying why salads aren’t all boring and they can be welcome in the warm weather; containing hidden water and so on. I then go on to detail my trip to Chiangmai Cottage with Nathan so plenty of humour. I hope.
It’s been a very strange forty-eight hours. My mum is light relief so a nice kind of strange, and the rest has been too, but they say your life can change in a matter of hours and before I met James I’d wondered… although it had when I’d met Duncan. When you think your life is on a certain course and something comes along to shake that, it really does make you wonder.
Part of me calls myself chicken for hiding in my corner but unless I need to go to the ladies – which I don’t because I forgot to bring a drink with me – or the kitchen to get the forgotten drink, I stay put. I have to face James sometime but I’m waiting until Frank gets me before venturing out.
Yes, I’m a chicken.
Chapter 32 – A Couple Of Small Someones
The more I stare at the picture of Veronica, her children and the ‘bump’, the more curious I am about the person taking the photograph. I’ve assumed it’s her husband but it could be anybody. But why would he not be in the photograph. She has her right hand on one of her son’s shoulders, her left over her bump, which we now know as Ethan. Her wedding ring is silver, platinum more likely, simple and unassuming but the engagement ring is massive, blue with diamonds, a bit like Princess Diana’s, now Kate’s, the Duchess of Cambridge, as she’d more formally known. This ring is a more modern version, and Veronica looks very classy – to be expected from a health and beauty journalist. I scoff. Okay we’re not all like that.
I want to know who James is married to for sure but chide myself for the nonsenseness of it all. Nonsenseness, another Donna word?
No, it makes no difference. James has someone if it’s not Veronica. Veronica has someone if it’s not James. I have Duncan, the gorgeous vet. Not only does James have a someone but he has small someones and that’s a no…
No. No, Donna, you’re a good girl.
It’ll be fine. I’ll go home Friday night and Duncan will throw his arms around me and…
I want to cry.
It’s just as well I don’t as Frank comes over to collect me. I had my bag ready, complete with recently checked phone – nothing new from Duncan – so Frank and I are away as soon as I log off my computer.
Thankfully, James isn’t there when we approach his desk. His two o’clock meeting must be a long one. I strategically let Frank go first.
I can’t see him as he’s slightly ahead of me but think I hear him smirking as my eyes rest on James’s desk for a second or two too long. I can certainly imagine it. I’m not subtle. I know I’m not subtle. It’s never been one of my traits. But after a couple of days, for anyone to have picked up on my feelings for James isn’t good. Has he? Frank? My mum hasn’t, although she knows there’s something wrong, but given things are a little strained with Duncan, that’s quite easy.
I need to get home, not my mum’s, but my home, Duncan’s home, to see him. I can’t take a whole day off but I could leave really early one morning. Wednesday, Thursday, Friday. Three days. I can’t leave it three days. But I have to. I can’t. It’ll be fine. Oh, why is life always so complicated?
Okay. I’ll make the most of it here. Apart from the James hiccup, it’s going really well.
Frank and I reach reception and Owen’s still there. I wonder if he finishes at six, the same time as the security crossover. I’ve not met Phil’s night shifter but will definitely stay one evening so I get to meet him… or her. Coming in before six in the morning would be a tad mad, and of course that’s not like me at all. We have Jason from six pm to six am so I’m curious but won’t inconvenience Frank by delaying our trip out.
“Hello, Donna. Lovely to meet you finally, properly,” Owen says with a warm smi
le.
I give him a big smile in return. “And you, Owen. Can’t really stop but…”
“No problem. I know what Frank here is up to. I er… I mean.”
Owen blushes, bless him. Frank and I laugh.
“You have fun, you two,” Owen concludes. “See you bright eyed and bushy tailed in the morning.”
“You will,” Frank says and opens the door for me at the top of the stairs leading down to the security office.
I expect to see Phil when we get to his room and I’m not disappointed. He’s watching a monitor and what appears to be someone loitering near Nathan’s car. I don’t remember seeing Nathan at his desk when we walked past but I was concentrating on James not being at his so wasn’t really paying attention.
We’re all watching the person on the black and white screen unlock then drive away the car next to Nathan’s, a very grubby what-should-be-white Vauxhall Astra van. A BMW Z4 it is not.
“Oh, that’s okay,” Phil mumbles, still staring at the screen.
Frank coughs, making Phil jump. Considering he’s supposed to be ‘on guard’ with a pair of eyes in the back of his head, he’s not terribly observant. “Night, Phil,” Frank says and gestures towards the front door.
“Yes, right, Frank. G’night. G’night, Donna Dishes.”
I only just refrain from blowing him a kiss. Mike he is also not. Thankfully. There’s no food in sight, not even a crumb in evidence of Phil having eaten a morsel. No stains on his impeccable uniform and only a metal cup of steaming coffee next to a huge silver thermos, the cup being the lid.
I’m really looking forward to K2 and still so grateful to Frank for taking me – I will tell him later. Sometimes I forget to say ‘thank you’, which is terrible. I’m not like that but my mind whirrs at a million miles an hour and I have to tell it to slow down and take one day at a time, an hour at a time, a minute. Sometimes I need to take a breath.
“Convoy?” Frank suggests as we get to his car. It’s the first in the car park so he doesn’t need to ask where I’ve parked as we wouldn’t have got to mine first.
“Absolutely.” We both know where we’re going but Frank’s the native. K2 is actually walking distance but the opposite side of the magic roundabout so tricky to get to on foot. We’d only be crossing two roads but still not advisable, especially straight after work and as some shops shut so the world and his wife would be travelling.
Anyway, I don’t know where Frank lives so we could be going in opposite directions. Taking both cars makes sense. “I’m up a floor,” I say and point northwards.
He nods. “I’ll wait by the barrier.”
I’ve done enough nodding for the month already so I head to my car and we’re soon on our journey… all seven minutes of it, and four of those are waiting to get out of the car park. Our offices are spitting distance, almost literally, to the magic roundabout so even if people wanted to let us out one way, the other is often blocked. The joy of being close to the town centre.
Chapter 33 – A Day For Climbing
I’ve been past K2 umpteen times, hundreds, not thousands for sure, but never been inside. It’s a treat. The staff are so welcoming and there are loads of them. Although we’re early, and there are only half a dozen customers sprawled around in such a big place, there’s a really good atmosphere.
It’s darker than I imagined but that adds to the ambiance. There’s wood everywhere, even on the ceilings, and it’s very smart, very typical Indian, very Balti… if there is such a thing. I should know. I should be the expert; food does come under health, but I’m not normally being so specific when it comes to calorie counting. That’s what a lot of people get wrong; they spend so much time counting calories that they forget about balance.
After I’d mentioned K2 to Frank, I’d Wikipediad it. They’re a clever lot, these Wikipedia contributors. In this case, I’m told that K2, also known as Mount Godwin-Austen or Chhogori at 8,611 metres (28,251ft) above sea level, is the second highest mountain in the world after Mount Everest at 8,848 metres (29,029ft). Located on the China–Pakistan border between Baltistan in the Gilgit-Baltistan region of northern Pakistan, and the Taxkorgan Tajik Autonomous County of Xinjiang, China, K2 is the highest point of the Karakoram range and the highest point in both Pakistan and Xinjiang. It doesn’t mean a huge amount to me but second highest, perhaps where the ‘2’ comes in, is impressive indeed. Not that it takes much to impress me but even so…
We’re given menus and for the second evening in a row, I’m overwhelmed by the choice. It helps having the English explanations and ‘hot’ ratings.
“Starter and main?” Frank suggests and I’m grateful.
I am normally a pudding person and the choice here is really good: ice cream, sorbet, chocolate mousse, pineapple or dumplings. Pineapple’s one of my favourite fruits but I tend to have something I’d not have at home, or be able to buy too easily, when I’m out, and especially somewhere like this. Dumplings are gorgeous but ones I’ve had in the past can be really filling, even small ones, and I don’t think I’d manage it only after just the main course. Ice cream wouldn’t be so filling so I’m torn but say, “That would be lovely.”
There’s an astounding choice of starters. I fancy the crispiness of a bhaji so go with that. There’s only a choice of onion which isn’t particularly sociable but I have no plans to get up close and personal with Frank and I’m sure (hoping) he doesn’t either.
I’m very much a chicken main person so wouldn’t do that for starter as well – hence me having the maybe-weird combo of chicken and duck yesterday – so the onion bhaji is a compliment and I think I’ve settled on that and tandoori chicken but remember that the main should be less than 500 calories and with lots of lovely tikka sauce it’s going to be way over, certainly if I include the fritter aspect of the bhaji. I’m about to take another look when I see Frank’s chosen already.
Our waiter comes over and introduces himself. His name plate says ‘Bhumi’ but he gives us a small bow and says, “Bhu, at your service. May I take your drinks order?”
Frank says something but I’m not listening. I’m still staring in awe at Bhumi’s name.
He leans in a little towards me and our eyes meet. “It means ‘earth’, my lady,” and he gives a slight tilt of his head before rectifying it again. It reminds me of when my iPhone decides to adjust a picture that is perfectly fine as it is and I click on ‘reset’.
I pull back a little and smile. Everyone here is so nice and Bhumi, Bhu, obviously loves his job. You can usually tell. Either that or he’s a very good actor. I could picture him on a Bollywood movie set. “Could I have a lemonade please.”
Bhu bows again. “I shall return momentarily with your lemonade, madam, and your…” Bhu turns to Frank. “Kingfisher, sir.” Frank returns Bhu’s subsequent bow. “Then I shall collect your food order when you are quite ready. Sir, madam.”
Frank and I smile at each other as Bhu heads off towards the bar area.
“It’s all very authentic,” I say and look around the restaurant. The blue, red and gold chairs look like they’ve not long been bought, no scuffmarks in sight. The decorations, again ornate, look equally fresh. I don’t know Hemel well but imagine it has a real mix of cultures. I did think for a second that perhaps Bhu originated from Luton, a couple of junctions north on the M1, where I know there’s a healthy Indian population, but that would spoil the effect. So here we are in little India and I’m looking forward to getting to know Frank better.
“Where did you meet Frankie?” I ask, launching into his personal life.
“School.”
“Really? Childhood sweethearts?”
Frank laughs. “No. Evening classes. Five years ago. Dance lessons.”
“Oh.” I’m astounded. I don’t know why I thought they’d been together forever. It felt natural. There we go.
Frank just smiles. “And you? Oh yes, you were dating. Speed dating was it?”
“Yes. I went to keep Izzy company really
, for her project.”
“Like I am you tonight.”
“Indeed. Which reminds me. Sorry.” I tap the menu.
“No, of course, you must choose something.”
“I had but remembered I have to be good.”
“Under 500.”
“Under 500, yes.”
While the menu’s great, it’s not helpful in that respect.
“Bhu will know, I’m sure,” Frank says.
I smile. “I think you’re right. I’ll pick some alternatives and see which I can go for.”
“Maybe they could cook them a different way, for you. In peanut oil or… you’re not allergic, are you?”
I shake my head. “No, very lucky. Not allergic to anything as far as I know, apart from aeroplanes.”
Frank pulls a sad face. “My Frankie too. Gets very sick. We have a small camper so we tend to take that around the UK. She’s a brilliant driver, much better than me, but don’t tell her I said that.”
I laugh. He’s such a sweet guy. He really is like my dad.
Bhu’s back with our drinks. He puts mine in front of me first then Frank’s. Like yesterday, the glass is huge.
We both say our thanks then Frank speaks. “My lovely and esteemed colleague here is on a mission. She’s trying out different recipes as a bit of research, and would like to know how many calories there are in some of these dishes.”
This has put me rather on the spot as I’ve not yet had a chance to return to the menu.
“No problem,” Bhu almost squeaks. “Fire away.”
“I like, love chicken.”
Bhu nods.
I continue. “Something with not too much sauce.”
Bhu nods again. “Lots of calories in sauce.”
“But not dry, something with flavour.” I grimace at the last bit as if suggesting anything they create doesn’t have flavour but Bhu doesn’t appear to take it as an insult.
The Serial Dieter Page 13
