Finn was right. The cheese bake was awesome. The veg, although I love cauliflower cheese, broccoli and the likes, didn’t taste like vegetables. Knowing how tricky some children are about eating their greens, their parents should bring them here. He, Finn, was also busy almost all evening so I didn’t get to chat much, though I did make sure I got to say a proper ‘goodbye’. Other than that, I sat in a corner so I didn’t get in his, or anyone else’s way. It was also just as well because I was rather busy sending, and receiving, rather raunchy text messages from a certain Northampton-based vet who, he says, is missing me like crazy.
So all in all, I was alone yet not alone, and although I was only there a couple of hours (enough though for three glasses of cider), the ‘little’ hours flew.
Chapter 60 – Not Quite The Same
Thursday 10th May
Thursday morning comes and there’s no sign of James. Other than him being one of my lunch accompaniments, it’s not my business to ask anyone of his whereabouts and I’m sure I’d have heard on the grapevine if something awful had happened to him, or Ethan… or wonderful; I know James does the Euro Millions. With the exception of Hazel and Leah, both being human resources, and perhaps Nathan, there’s one other person who knows everything that goes on and I’m having dinner with him this evening. Billy returned on Monday so his family emergency was thankfully short lived. Nathan had held the fort majestically.
I’ve brought in lunches or gone into town, mostly to charity shops, when on my own since I arrived last week. Today however, I fancy getting something from the van. On other days I’ve looked out of my window when they’ve blasted the horn but either been too slow, had something that needed using up, or forgotten my purse, fortunately on the same day as I’d brought the something that needed eating. Today though I’m ready with my purse, at the bottom of the stairs, and see the van before I hear it. I’m therefore not only first in the queue but the only one.
“Ooh, hello. You’re new.” The lady with ‘Val’ embroidered on her blue and white striped candy-style top smiles.
I blush. “I am. Only temporary though. Just for the month.”
“Welcome. Everything’s labelled and priced but let me know if I can help.”
“Thank you.” I take a look and am grateful that there’s not yet anyone behind me. I turn to check and they are actually all piling towards the van so I need to hurry.
“I’m sorry to be a pain, and I don’t want to hold you up, but do you know which of these are less than five hundred calories?”
With no rolling of eyes, as if she’s been asked hundreds of times, she smiles and points to a chart on the wall behind her. There listed are the items split into sandwiches, rolls, wraps, baguettes and ciabattas. Underneath each option, just like drinks at Starbucks, are the calories, with a disclaimer at the bottom which states that they are a guide only, I assume because the size of the bread can vary, but they’re very specific. My first choice is a tuna melt ciabatta but that’s way over so I opt for the wrap as that squeezes under my limit. I resist the crisps but buy a couple of bottles of Sprite Zero to support this local business, ingeniously called ‘Val’s Lunches’.
I’m contemplating inviting her to keep the change but I don’t think that’s really done with sandwich vans, even one that has such an impressive array, so I take my thirty-seven pence and drop it into my top’s one and only pocket.
I smile at Frank and Greta who are next to each other in the queue. There are a couple of other people I recognise from the first day’s group huddle but have never spoken to. I’m tempted to hover but that would be weird so will make sure I do introduce myself after lunch. After Billy’s welcome, they’ll probably know who I am, just not the other way round. I think one of them will be the fashion columnist, mainly because of what she’s wearing, the other one maybe… I don’t know who. I thought I’d met everyone other than fashion and that’s only because we’ve not been introduced. She’s not on the rota Hazel set up, nor is the guy, so I presume they didn’t want to do it or Hazel thought they wouldn’t. The girl’s very young, late teens, early twenties at the most, and wearing a stunning dress that hugs her amazing curves. Lara Croft eat your heart out. And I bet it’s not from TK Maxx.
I take my wrap and one of the Sprites, popping the other in the fridge, back to my desk then get going with my reports.
Typing up my visit to Black Goo and The Anchor are fun as I relive sharing both venues with Finn. Although I didn’t eat a relevant low-fat option at the former, I include it in my article and recommend it to my (Veronica’s) readers, especially for their vegetarian and vegan dishes, and fans of an all-day breakfast. My stomach rumbles at the thought of a full ‘English’ so I tuck into my wrap. Not quite the same but I have a good imagination. Maybe I should write that novel. Izzy said once, I think it was Izzy anyway, that some writers don’t think JK Rowling or Dan Brown, he of The Da Vinci Code, are particularly good writers but they tell a good story and that’s the important thing. I like words so would want it to be well written too. I’ll leave the novel writing to Izzy, I think.
Chapter 61 – Finally Billy’s Turn
Five thirty is finally here. I’ve already checked with Nathan that Billy’s still okay for dinner and he says ‘with bells on’ which is lovely. I’m not entirely sure that’s true but it’s flattering nonetheless; from Billy if it is true or Nathan for making it up.
I’m debating whether to collect Billy, and if so what time, when I hear a voice. “Ready?”
I look up. “As I’ll ever be.” I cringe. How silly do I feel?
But Billy smiles and yee haws. I feel my shoulders relax and realise how tense I’ve been. It’s been a tough almost couple of weeks and I think, with the extra knowledge I’m armed with, that I can handle the next three a lot better. There’ll be no ‘feelings’ between James and me, if and when he does finally reappear. No. Professional all the way. And I shall tell him so if need be.
“Anywhere in mind?” Billy asks as we walk through the relatively quiet office and out towards reception.
I shake my head then realise that Billy doesn’t have eyes in the side of his.
Before I speak, he says, “Shall we go up to Jarman Park and see what takes our fancy?”
This immediately reminds me of James but that’s not a bad thing as it’s a way I can raise the topic.
“Absolutely.”
“One car or two?”
“Erm… I don’t mind.”
“You’re in Tring, right?”
“My mum is, yes.”
“We’ll take mine then. We’ll have to come back this way so…”
“If you don’t mind.”
“Not at all. Be my pleasure.”
And it turned out to be mine. Billy’s ride is a blue Jaguar XF something or other. Beyond the James Bond-type silver and the gorgeous smell inside, I don’t pay much attention to specifics but I can tell Billy loves it. From what I caught of William and Duncan’s conversation about William buying a car, it certainly wasn’t a Jaguar. Ford and Vauxhall were two of the models mentioned so unless they were a Mustang and… whatever a flash Vauxhall would be, there’s no comparison. What the two Williams spend their money on is their business but buying something like this wouldn’t leave much for anything else if what Izzy tells me of their frugal lifestyle is true.
We settle on Chiquito and I can feel another wrap or grill coming up but I’m easily swayed by something a little different and go for the Jambalaya. I’m hoping it’s not too spicy, not that I can’t handle it but I do have to share a very lovely smelling car back to my very ordinary smelling one and I wouldn’t want any of the ‘tang’ to transfer. I needn’t have worried as Billy goes for the same. I have a large lemonade, in anticipation of my mouth being on fire, whereas Billy goes for a small beer, having ‘just the one’. I get squiffy on half a cider so I never drink when I’m driving but knowing how much Billy loves his car, he wouldn’t risk anything happening to it, or me, I’m sure.
“Little Ethan’s very poorly. It’s all very sad. There’s a problem with his heart but they hope he’ll make a full recovery, albeit slowly apparently. Lots of tests, some surgery expected.”
“That’s terrible.” It’s not the sort of thing you would wish on anyone, and I wonder if James declaring his feelings for me was a distraction. “Simply terrible,” I repeat.
Our food arrives and we eat at similar speeds, slowly so we can enjoy it but also so I can drink plenty of lemonade per mouthful.
“And you had some trouble yourself the tail end of last week,” I say. “I understand. I’m sorry to hear that.”
Billy sighs and puts down his fork. “Yes, my wife’s nephew. Silly lad. Bought a bike that was way too powerful for him. Hannah, that’s my sister-in-law, lets him do what he likes, no expense spared, then wonders why he comes off the thing two days later. No one else involved and he’s only broken an arm and leg, landed on his side, but worrying nonetheless. Imagine how she felt when she got the call. She’ll have a tighter rein on him from now on hopefully. I took the Friday off to go up and see them. Hannah doesn’t drive and her husband died Christmas Eve last year so it’s been tough for her. I suppose she thought it would give the lad some independence seeing how she can’t ferry him around.” Billy shakes his head.
I nod mine. And there was I thinking that tonight would be a barrel of laughs. My fault really for bringing up the whole James thing, indirectly, and the wife’s nephew directly. When will I learn? So I try something else. “I love your car.”
Billy smiles. “Thank you. It’s an extravagance but I promised that when I reached fifty, I’d treat myself.”
I’m surprised he’s that old. I would have said a decade less tops.
“I’m not quite there yet,” he admits, “but couldn’t wait.”
I laugh. “It suits you.”
Billy blushes. “So tell me more about this man of yours.”
And I do. Almost everything there is to know and we’re on to coffees by the time I’m finished. Billy settles the bill, leaving a fair tip, refusing my offer to do so.
“It’s been a really lovely evening, thank you,” I say as Billy pulls up beside my Suzuki in our offices’ car park.
“It has. We should go out for dinner more often, my wife and I. Sorry, I didn’t mean…”
I laugh. “It’s okay. You should. They don’t have to…” I was going to say ‘cost the earth’ but he’s driving a ridiculously expensive car. “Thank you again. And I’ll see you tomorrow?”
“You will indeed,” he says and I get out of the car, taking one final silent inhale of the opulent aroma.
Mum’s not back as I return home. Thursdays are guitar with Bernard, Greta and co. so I slob in her lounge with back-to-back Big Bang Theory episodes and the remainder of a tub of Halo Top Sea Salt Caramel. I’d never heard of it but I’m a convert. It’s a mere 320 calories per tub so the thought hits me for a micro second that I could use it as one of my meals but laugh it off as ridiculous. Some people would have a tub as a ‘meal’ but I wouldn’t be setting a good example, would I… even if it is high in protein (according to the label).
I’m still peckish as I scrape the last of the golden nectar. I know there’s an unopened tub of Peanut Butter Cup, another mere 320 calories, but I resist. I’m better when something’s sealed, like a box of chocolates. Ooh, there’s a bar of Galaxy, my favourite, in the fridge.
The fourth episode’s just finishing when I hear a key in the door. I look around, making sure there’s no incriminating evidence of anything untoward lying around but one look in the freezer at the space left by the now-empty Sea Salt Caramel tub (that’s in the paper recycling bin) would be enough to know I’d not been angelic. I had taken Mum at her word when she’d told me on day one to help myself to anything I fancied. I don’t think she meant tall dark and handsome with almond eyes. Almond flavoured Häagen-Dazs maybe.
I get up and go to greet her. “Hi. How was guitar?”
She smiles and props her guitar-shaped case against the hall wall. “Really good. It was ‘John’ night.”
I picture a street full of prostitutes and their pimps. Again, I don’t think this is what my mum meant.
She reels off the list. “John Denver, Williams, Lennon…”
I struggle to think of any more Johns. “Travolta?”
Mum laughs. “Cuppa?”
“Please. Lewis? Malkovich?”
Mum keeps laughing as we walk through into the kitchen. I plonk myself on one of the dining room chairs as Mum makes the tea.
“Bon Jovi?”
“Yes! We did Wanted Dead or Alive. A fabulous song. When I say ‘we’, I mean Bernard of course. I struggled, even Greta did with a couple of them so it’s good that she’s learning too.”
“She’ll want to, having spent the money.”
“She didn’t pay for the course.”
“She didn’t?”
“No, she got a grant.”
“She did?”
“Yes, a hardship allowance or something. I shouldn’t know but Bernard let it slip over coffee during the mid-session breaks in the first or second lesson. I can’t remember which. First, I think. She wasn’t there, it was just Bernard and I… me thankfully. Big mouth has Bernard.”
Big mouth Bernard. Love it. “I didn’t know. I assume because she works…”
“Something to do with her living arrangements, parents’ debts before they died.”
“Her parents died?”
“Early last year. Car crash. Intentional apparently so no insurance payout. Her dad had his own business, owed a lot, remortgaged the house a couple of times.” My mum takes a sip of her tea.
It doesn’t surprise me that she knows so much. She could wheedle information out of a stone. If it had a mouth. It does surprise me that Bernard knows so much but I don’t say anything. “So you had a good evening. Do you think you’re improving? You weren’t so sure last week.”
She shrugs and moves her head side to side in a ‘comme ci, comme ça’ fashion, not a shake exactly but somewhere in between that and a nod.
“Early days,” I say encouragingly.
We finish our teas and yawn at the same time.
“Bed?” she says and I repeat the word.
We go up together, I go to the bathroom, her to her en-suite, and we say ‘goodnight’.
Chapter 62 – In Luck
Friday 11th May
My mum’s still sleeping when I leave for work, after a quick bowl of four-nut and maple cereal. She and my aunt and uncle go to Dunsley Farm near Tesco on a Friday morning at ten thirty so she has plenty of time.
Duncan’s coming to Tring for the weekend but not until tomorrow morning so I get an evening with my mum… or I would if it weren’t her night with Charles. She’s going over to his so at least I won’t be gooseberry. No, I’ll just play solitaire instead. The Carpenters song pops into my head. One of my dad’s favourites.
I could always pop to The Anchor again or see if Phil’s up for going out. He seemed keen to start with and we’re back on good terms. It’ll make a change for him too I’m guessing.
He is friendly when I walk up to his booth. “Good morning, Donna. How’re you keeping?”
“Morning, Phil.” I cut to the proverbial chase. “Are you free tonight?”
“Er…”
“Only I’m not going home this weekend. Duncan’s coming here instead but not until the morning so I wondered…”
“Er…”
“Don’t worry. It was just a thought.”
Phil winces. “I’m sorry. I’d love to but I’ve made other plans, what with you saying you were going home each weekend. I could see if I could rearrange it but I’ve sort of promised this friend that–”
“Oh, no. It’s absolutely fine. I’m sorry for messing you about.”
“No worries. No messing.”
>
I smile and I think we’re okay. We’d never be besties but I like to get on with everyone. So unless anyone wants to come out to play tonight, I will be solo but that’s fine. Maybe I’ll see what’s in the freezer… other than the Peanut Butter Cup. I think Mum has some Weight Watchers ready meals. They do a mean risotto. Knowing my luck there’ll be everything else but that would be a great excuse to walk down to Tesco. It’s the other end of town but it’ll work off some calories before Mr Three Hundred and Twenty Calories puts them back on, not that I’d eat the whole tub. Ooh, I wonder if Tesco stocks them.
I’m not a very good advertisement for a health and beauty columnist, am I. I don’t wear much makeup, but less is most definitely more; subtlety the name of the game in beauty. In life really. Donald Trump… suntan, Fifty Shades of Grey… everything. No, that’s mean. It changed a lot of women’s lives, mostly for the better, but I’m a tough crowd, being a wordie. That said, I actually prefer the numbers round in Countdown. One from the top, five from the bottom. One large: fifty, five small: one, two, three, four, five. Pick a random number… four hundred and twelve.
Oh bum. Now I’ve got to work it out. The thirty-second clock jingles in my brain as I grab a piece of paper and pen from my bag and sit halfway up the stairs. If Phil’s been keeping an eye on the monitors, he might wonder why I’ve not appeared in reception yet, although he’ll also see me sitting on the stairs. I think he thinks I’m pretty weird anyway. In keeping, even.
Ooh easy. Three plus five equals eight, times the fifty is four hundred. Times the three by… oh no, I’ve already used the three. Okay… one plus two is three, times the four. Twelve. Do I get any bonus points for using all the numbers? No, I didn’t think so. My mum makes her own rules in Scrabble so I probably would, even though this is a different game.
I stand and head for reception. Apart from killing a few minutes as it’s not yet nine, it’s woken up my brain if not the rest of my body.
The Serial Dieter Page 27
