The day goes soooo slowly. I’m counting the hours before I see Duncan but don’t have much work to do. I’ve brought in a sandwich so no van Val and I resist eating my BT (the lettuce in my mum’s fridge was black and wet… ew) on granary until one o’clock, although a larger than before bowl of four nuts helped.
James still isn’t around and everyone else looks like they’re busy. I do finally get to speak to the fashion girl, Amber, who is sitting at one of the freelancer desks and is as gorgeous up close as she looked passing by on my exit from Val’s van that first time.
“Are you busy?” I ask, hoping she’ll say no. I’m in luck.
“Oh hey, Donna.” American. She sounds American, the deep south, if I’m not mistaken. I wonder if she’s related to Phil. Not that that’s likely; America’s a biiiig place. “Mississippi. In case you were guessing.”
I’d not quite got there but it was my next move. “M… i… double s… i… double s… i… double p… i,” I sing and she laughs.
“The one and the same.”
“I’m sorry. I’m keeping you from…” I look at her desk which is covered in magazines. Thick ones. Like Vogue. She’s wearing another gorgeous outfit.
“I’ve been meaning to come find you actually.”
I’m stunned. “You have?”
“Sure. I thought we should do a project together. I suggested it to…” She turns to the next desk but it’s empty, or rather the chair behind it is. “Oh, he’s not there.”
No. He’s not. I presume she means the guy she’d been in the snack van queue with, whose name I still don’t know.
“I’ve not met him yet,” I say. “Can you tell me something about him so when I do…?”
“Oh sure. His name’s Calvin, like Klein, the boxers.”
“What does he…?”
“Do?”
“Press.”
“Press?”
“Handles the press. Enquiries from other media.”
“Oh.” We don’t have anyone who does that at Northampton. I’m not sure why because they’d need someone like him.
“Covers your patch too.”
“He does?” First I’ve heard of it. And there was I thinking I had my finger on the pulse… as my mum would put it, but I can’t have if I’m quoting my mother.
“Ah ha. Liaises with someone at your office. Not sure who, sorry. You’d think I’d know, given that I sit next to him but I’m only part time and he’s out a lot.”
“You’re part time?”
“Newly. A couple of weeks ago. Had a baby and agreed to come back sixteen hours a week. Billy’s been very good.”
Everyone’s having babies. May. Nine months. May is five, December, November, October, September. September babies or thereabouts. End of the summer holidays, weather changing, three maybe four weeks before the clock changes, more nights staying in. September’s the ninth month. I wonder how many babies are born on the twenty-fifth of September. What else is there to do on Christmas Day? Not that…
“Donna?”
Amber’s caught me grinning. “Sorry. Just thinking.”
“Something fun, judging by your expression.”
“Fun, yes, definitely.”
“Care to share.”
Oops. “Erm, just a joke I heard on the radio on the way in.”
“I love jokes. Do tell.”
“Sorry, forgotten the punchline but I remember it being funny.”
“Okay.”
“I’d better get back to my desk and leave you to your…”
Without turning to her magazines, she explains. “What’s the hot colour gonna be for this fall… sorry, autumn. I think burnt orange but not many others do. They’re all going for safe: beige, pink, bland.”
I think of the dress I wore to Frankie and Benny’s last Friday, of my mother’s scarf at the garden centre, and smile. “I think it’s the perfect colour.”
“Yeah, exactly. Huh. What do the experts know?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing, right?”
“Right. Well, lovely to finally speak to you,” I say. “Sorry it took half my time here. I don’t suppose… No, it’s okay.”
“You don’t suppose what?”
“I’m at a bit of a loose end tonight…”
“Loose end?”
“On my own.”
“Oh I’m sorry. I’d invite you to where I’m going but it’s a dinner party and it’s strictly couples.” She grimaces, showing off beautifully white teeth. “I’m sorry.”
“No, no, it’s fine. I have a boyfriend.” Overcompensating. “He’s up in Northampton, coming down in the morning but tonight…”
“I get it. I totally get it. You don’t want to be on your own. Who does Friday night, right?”
Absolutely. Who would? “Right.”
I’m about to leave when Amber’s next-door neighbour returns to his desk.
“Hey Calvin. Meet Donna. Donna’s here covering Valerie.”
“Veronica,” I whisper.
“Veronica, of course. Sorry. Baby brain.” Amber looks up to the ceiling then back at me. “Just as well I’m only part time.”
I’m not sure what that has to do with the price of… What was it I had at Lussmanns? Cod? Now my brain’s failing me.
I turn to Calvin and I almost curtsey but thankfully don’t. He’s a little older than Amber, but not by much, and the duo make me feel old. “Lovely to meet you, Calvin. I’d love to find out more about what you do sometime.”
“Nothing to tell,” he says and I’m disappointed. I don’t think he meant it the way it came out but it did feel as if he wasn’t interested in telling me. I’m here for a couple more weeks so plenty of time to speak to him again, although Amber did say he was ‘out a lot’.
I while away the afternoon getting my emails up to date. It makes a change from trying to make my dishes reports sound more interesting than they are. I’m not the best person to have done this – you can probably tell – as I’m not the strictest at sticking with the rules. My mum used to call me her ‘little rebel’ when I was younger and it got me into trouble sometimes, not illegal or anything, just naughty, pushed more boundaries than… Donald Trump?
Sometimes I wonder where these thoughts come from. I know he won on state rather than individual votes and he’d been harping on about building a Mexican wall before, during and after his campaign but even so. There’s Donna logic somewhere.
And so I have my Friday night in for one. I’ve struck lucky with a Weight Watchers chicken and lemon risotto in mum’s freezer which means I don’t have to trek to Tesco, although I’m then a little disappointed that I don’t actually have to trek to Tesco so tell myself that I still can but don’t want to.
You can probably tell that I adore chicken. I could literally have it every meal. At a mere 342 calories, I have a hundred and fifty-eight to spare and am tempted by half a tub of Peanut Butter Cup – two calories less than half a tub… half a tub minus a teaspoon?
The television’s not bad but my mum has Freeview and Sky, although I don’t know why as she’s rarely home. She did tell me once, to get Sky Atlantic I think, but I can’t remember the show that she couldn’t live without. Probably Grey’s Anatomy or something similar. We’re alike in fancying men in scrubs. The thought of that makes me miss Duncan all the more and I give him a call but it goes through to answerphone. Strange. I hang up as I’d expected him to answer.
He did say he was probably going to have to work late but it’s gone nine.
I call again and leave a soppy, yet professional, message. “Can’t wait to see you. Miss you. Love you.” Okay so much more soppy than professional. Totally soppy.
I settle back to another Big Bang Theory. I’ve seen them all at least twice but not all in the same order, thanks to being on different networks across different channels. Duncan got me hooked on it, although I’d seen a few and had loved it anyway, especially Amy, the nerdy brunette, and of course Sheldon. Who wouldn’t lo
ve Sheldon the most?
Chapter 63 – Couldn’t Wait Any Longer
Saturday 12th May
I wake up super early because Duncan’s coming at ten. Mum’s house is spotless, not that it never is – unless I clutter it, so there’s nothing to do in that respect, not that Duncan minds. Living in clutter is one thing, staying in clutter for thirty… something hours.
I stay in bed until half seven but I’m wide awake and have exhausted my personal Twitter and Facebook’s notifications, shares of cute animals doing crazy things. (I’m not quite up to sharing babies with my 537 followers and 142 ‘friends’.) So I get up. I can have a shower nearer Duncan’s arrival but having had one last night, I don’t feel too sweaty. The thought of that reminds me that it’s been too long since I’ve done a hot vs. cold shower skincare article for a while. It also reminds me of the last time Duncan and I were together and the shower we had. Feeling definitely more hot than cold, I now need a shower.
A tiny bowl of four nuts later – tiny because I don’t know whether Duncan will have eaten and will want to go out for something, I’m sitting in front of the television watching more Big Bang Theory. I thought I’d seen them all, twice, but don’t remember this episode where Penny meets Leonard’s mother for the first time. She, Beverly Hofstadter, aka Christine Baranski, is one of my favourite characters. She’s so dry, something I aspire to be but could never carry off, and Christine does so well.
I need to watch this on repeat as research so pause it, bring up the ‘i’ information, noting the series (two) and episode (fifteen) numbers then search for the series. It’s on another channel later today so set it to record. I’ll only be able to watch it while I’m at my mum’s so must jot it down somewhere so I search for it when I get back here… or I could just YouTube it, assuming there’s an official version or a pirate one that’s not been removed yet.
I’m engrossed in the first viewing when the doorbell rings. I look at the clock on the mantelpiece. Just gone ten past nine. Too early for Duncan. And there’s no sign of my mum yet. Maybe the postman but even so, it’s the weekend.
I’m in my pyjamas and dressing gown, decent enough to answer.
The front door’s glass is frosted so I can’t see who it is exactly, just an outline. He’s tall though not tall enough to be Charles, but then he has a key. He, it’s stocky like a ‘he’, is the perfect height to be Duncan and I squeal as I open the door to him.
He lunges forward and envelopes me, and Buddy rushes past. I hear him clatter around the kitchen as if searching for anything edible that someone might have dropped just for him.
As Duncan and I are hugging, I notice that my mum’s car’s not there. That’s why she’s not come down yet. Dirty stop-out. I’d gone to bed relatively early considering it wasn’t a school night and unsurprised, given it was her one weekday evening with Charles, that she’d not come back by then.
“I know I’m early,” Duncan says as we release our hold and step inside so I can shut the door – he closes it actually as he’s nearer. “But I couldn’t wait any longer.”
We kiss and I so want to take him to my bedroom but I don’t know what my mum’s doing. Her reappearing, with or without Charles, during a moment of passion isn’t something I want to think about so instead of leading Duncan upstairs, we go to the kitchen. “Cuppa or did you want to go out for something?” I ask.
“I fancy going out. I’d love you to myself but plenty of time tonight.” He winks and I blush.
I feel warm again yet goosepimply like I’m cold. I’m nothing if not a whole little bundle of contradictions. Okay the aforementioned ‘mass’.
A thought strikes me. “You’ve never been to the museum, have you?”
Duncan frowns. “The one in the market square?”
Tring has two museums. The most recent one, a local history, houses almost everything you can think of that’s Tring-related. The other is the world-famous natural history, with close links to the Rothschilds, über fans of zebras, I think they even had them as pets. Now that would have been fun; taking Elliott to Tring Park and seeing how he’d react to black and white stripy horses. He’s the world’s biggest wuss and pretty much scared of anything that moves if it’s bigger than him: horses, cows… probably very wise. He’ll gladly chase anything that’s smaller, although he tends to avoid cats. I think there’s history there. A swipe or two.
“The zoological one near the park.”
Duncan shakes his head.
Saturday’s probably not the best time to go but it’s not yet half term, we have two clear weeks until that so parents would probably wait until then to amaze, or horrify, their offspring.
“Does that appeal?”
Being a vet, it’s a given that Duncan loves animals and although there’s a slight hesitation, he grins, much like Elliott when confronted with a new squeaky toy. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve been to the museum but not for a few years, since I took Izzy not long after we started working together. I don’t know why it had never occurred to me to take Duncan. Maybe because the animals are dead? As it’s near the town centre, we went to the local history museum as part of the ‘never been here’ before tour but the natural one is a bit outside, albeit only at the end of one of the roads, Akeman Street, that feeds off the high street.
“And,” I add, “they have a café so we could go there first.”
To this suggestion, he doesn’t look so sure. “Could we do Costa?” I know exactly why. He loves children but not ones who have spent the past hour or two looking at magnificent exhibits and want to talk about them, at full volume because that’s all children know, or run around pretending to be them. Costa is also opposite the bottom end of Akeman Street so an easy walk.
I smile. “Absolutely. And Buddy?”
We look at Buddy who’s sniffing around the dining table, wagging his tail furiously as if he’s on to something juicy. Hoovering is pretty much the only thing that my mum is religious about so I can’t see there being anything to interest him but it keeps him busy.
“He’ll be fine. We went to Bradlaugh Fields first thing and he watered one of your mum’s roses when we got here.”
Bradlaugh Fields, back in Northampton, is a huge former golf course, and Duncan always does the whole thing. What time he would have had to get up to do that and still get here for nine-ten doesn’t bear thinking about. “I’ll be quick then and get changed.”
Duncan follows me upstairs and my smile broadens as he places one of his hands on my right bottom cheek. I sashay a little more pronounced as I climb each step. Buddy, thankfully, is still downstairs, oblivious, as I close the bedroom door.
Chapter 64 – Peace Disturbed
Despite my earlier reservations, Duncan and I surface from my bedroom an hour later, our peace undisturbed.
Buddy’s lying on the landing, looking very neglected, but perks up when Duncan comes out.
I go along the landing into the bathroom and have a quick shower while, he tells me later, Duncan and Buddy go into the garden. Although close to Tring town centre, my mum has a proliferation of squirrels in her garden and Buddy would stay out there all day if he could but we bring him in and give him some long-lasting, even at Buddy’s destruction, chews and toys to keep him occupied while we’re out.
Costa is busy, as to be expected on a Saturday morning, but more adults than children and thankfully just chat rather than screaming. I’d love children of my own but, like Duncan, I feel other people’s can be a handful. I figure it’s why grandparents always seem happier than parents; because they get to give them back.
We have black coffees and a chocolate twist and almond croissant to share. Thanks to previous research, and www.9to5strength.com, I know the calorie content of almost everything (nearly four hundred and just over three fifty in today’s choices) at Costa before we get there although each option has it conveniently on all the cards, as if treble figures starting with anything but a one wouldn’t be scary, and am glad to have saved
some calories on the milk, as if adding fifteen calories to a two-calorie drink really makes that much difference. Sometimes, doing what I do makes for a cluttered brain.
When we get to a table, away from the front door, and chatter, I cut the pastries in two; purposely smaller pieces for me and redistribute them on the two plates. Duncan looks at them then at me.
“What?” I say. “You have longer legs to fill.” It’s the first thing I think of to say. Half a twist and croissant in no way constitutes a meal so I don’t need to be bothered calorie counting but I do have to weigh myself on Monday so I’ll try to be good(ish) until then. From the next meal until then. I tend to wear leggings or tights so not so easy to judge when I’ve put on weight, but I can usually tell roughly.
When we’re Costad out, we head up the road to the museum. Despite not having been there for ages, I don’t expect it to have changed all that much and am astounded when, while the exhibits haven’t, the building itself, inside anyway, feels very different. I don’t remember it needing anything doing when I was there last, but it feels bigger, brighter, even more welcoming.
The lady greeting us as we enter is delightful. We buy a catalogue, mainly because we want to support the place as there’s no admission charge, but also because Duncan doesn’t have a copy and the one I have (probably in my mum’s garage) is years old… although not that much, as I’ve said, changes.
I show Duncan my favourites: the huge and somewhat intimidating, especially to anyone young, polar bear, the baboon and his brightly coloured backside, and my absolute all-time, why I’d go there just for them: the Mexican dressed-up fleas.
“No!” Duncan exclaims while looking through the first of the two magnifying glasses, the ‘man’ in his white suit and hat carrying his bundle of twigs. “No! How can they…?” Duncan moves on to the ‘woman’ in her white and red dress and white pinny, carrying whatever it is she’s carrying in her hands. “And they’re from when?” He looks away and reads the accompanying narration. “1905. That’s amazing.”
The Serial Dieter Page 28
