The Serial Dieter (The Serial Series Book 2)

by Rachel Cavanagh

  “Penny for ’em,” Phil says from the periphery of my brain.

  “Oh, sorry. Monday morning.”

  “Blues?”

  I laugh. Had there been any ice, Phil would have just cracked it.

  He points behind me and there, in the doorway of the security office is the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen. Apart from Duncan of course, a little voice inside my head reminds me.

  This one is Idris Elba meets Denzel Washington meets Jamie Foxx meets erm… whatshisname Johnson. The Rock. Okay so they’re the only black sex gods that spring to mind but that’s not a bad list for… I look down at my watch… ten past eight on a Monday morning. This Elba-Washington-Foxx-Johnson… ooh, that would make a great porn star name… has the most amazing almond eyes. They’re like that super-rich doctor’s from Grey’s Anatomy who’s probably been in plenty of other things since then – assuming he’s gone, I’ve not watched it for ages – but will always be known for the hot young doctor from Grey’s Anatomy. Not McDreamy, as… what was her name Grey, Meredith? Yes, Meredith Grey called him. Patrick something. Dempsey.

  This McDreamy’s mouth has moved but his words haven’t registered. I’m still transfixed above his nose rather than below it but I can tell by the fact the rest of his face moved that he said something.

  “Sorry?” I say and wipe the side of my mouth to sweep away the drool that I hope I’m only imagining.

  “Good morning? You must be Donna aka Veronica.”

  Good morning definitely sounded like a question but yes, it most certainly is. I can almost feel the sun rising, the birds tweeting, and half expect Mary Poppins to appear in her blue attire, never-full bag and umbrella, and burst into song.

  “James Norton, like the bike manufacturer,” Phil says from beside me. “He’s going to be shadowing you.”

  I picture me and this god standing next to each other, his shadow casting my easy-to-swamp-a-five-foot-two-and-a-half… I look at the space between him and the top of the doorframe. It’s very Williamesque, so Adonis, sorry, James is probably also six foot four. I usually find really tall men intimidating – I do with William but William would, unintentionally, intimidate anyone, he just has this ‘air’. And I wonder how thin the air actually is that high up. I get the wobbles just standing on a chair. I can’t imagine being that tall all the time. But when you’re used to nothing else…

  “Donna?”

  I’m not sure who’s actually said my name as I’m still staring at the couple of inches between the top of James’s head and the white strip of wood that looks newly decorated. My brain is in a world of its own and instead of thinking of work, I’m thinking of standing on chairs. Old brown wood with green plastic seating. Heaven help me. Or James can in the meantime, and by the sound of it he’s going to.

  I think I’m in heaven already.

  Snap out of it.

  I’m hoping that’s my brain and not Mr Arizona or Mr… wherever James is from. He doesn’t look like Hemel born and bred. Local yokels certainly weren’t this hot when I lived in Tring.

  I lower my eyes to his and his eyebrows are raised. Mighty fine… I shake my head. “Sorry. Got stuck in traffic on the M1 coming down here… to Tring last night, and it’s sort of had a knock-on effect.”

  That’s my excuse anyway. Or the best one I can come up with. I couldn’t get to sleep last night so Mum and I were actually up till midnight finishing a jigsaw of a tiger by the edge of a river. It’s a really famous picture, or I thought it was until I went to google it and found everything else but and had to click on ‘Show more results’ three times until the screen refused to show me any more. I did giggle at the picture of artist Bob Ross’s hair on the way though so it was worth it. So did Mum, especially when she said hers was just as mad ‘back then’.

  I of all people know that there are more important things in life than getting frustrated at not knowing who painted a picture but it’s still grating. As are Phil’s teeth by the sound of it.

  “Our very own Walter Mitty,” James says and laughs.

  I must be back in the room because I heard that word for word. And yes, something, or someone, snapped me back.

  “Very pleased to meet you, James,” I say, then to Phil, “And you, Phil. Thank you for the offer of a heater.”

  James pulls a ‘but it’s quite warm’ face, or it’s how I interpret it. I just smile and shrug.

  “Ready, m’lady?” James asks, steps away and holds out a bent arm as if he’s a Victorian gent offering to help a damsel across a puddle.

  I look down, not sure why as I can’t expect to see his jacket on the floor between us. I shake my head then realise that he’ll take that as a ‘no’. I’m feeling crazily foolish so I straighten up, smile and say, “As I’ll ever be.”

  Chapter 13 – Mirror Image

  The office is scarily like ours back in Northampton. It’ll certainly make life easier when finding my way around. James takes me to a desk which, I work out quickly, would be Karen’s back ‘home’. That would make me next to Izzy’s and I wonder whether this is the right way round but we’re split up at our office because we’d talk too much. I’ve answered my own question.

  This desk is incredibly tidy, almost as if someone’s been fired and removed their belongings, no personal touches at all. Having spoken to Veronica a few times, I’d not got that impression of her but sometimes work is work and I admire her obvious clear-desk policy.

  “Hazel will be in shortly,” James tells me, “so she’ll give you all the basics. Other than an initial password to get onto our system, your log in will be the same. She didn’t see the point of setting up a new one. Veronica sorted out her workload before she went on leave so there shouldn’t be any overlap. She does what you do, I’m assuming, so she’s just paused it while you take over then she’ll resume when she returns post bump.”

  “Post bump?”

  “Baby. Didn’t anyone tell you?”

  I shake my head and feel the tears looming. I can’t believe I’m being so emotional but I’m not in my comfort zone. It’s a replica comfort zone but I feel like I need my people around me. I need Izzy. I look at the clock and it’s not yet half past eight. The open-plan office is weirdly quiet. Ours is usually busy from six till six and later. Either they have less work to do or there’s something going on.

  As if reading my mind, James adds, “And I don’t suppose anyone told you that it was a staff training morning today. They’ve all gone off to Boxmoor Hall.”

  “Except for you.”

  He half nods then shakes his head. “I offered to hold the fort.”

  I look in the direction of reception and James continues. “Phil’s just external. You know, the actual security. We usually have Owen on reception but he’s helped organise it all so…”

  I smile at the thought of Frosty being replaced by a man, or more accurately how she would feel about being replaced by a man. The words ‘balloon’ and ‘lead’ spring to mind, although we do have Jason when she’s not there.

  “The phone system’s automated. Apparently you don’t have that yet so we’re not quite mirror images.”

  “Automated?”

  “Saying the name of the department or person or keywords, that kind of thing. I never actually ring the main number so I don’t know but it’s why Owen gets involved in other stuff. Apart from face-to-face there’s little for him to do, although sometimes there’s a mad moment on the phone so… Ah, there’s Hazel.”

  A sixty-something woman with bright red hair and a terribly clashing tartan two-piece is unlocking an office opposite the kitchen. She’s not how I’d pictured a Hazel at all, but I’m learning to expect the unexpected around here.

  Mike would have shouted over to her but James is far more sophisticated. He walks… no, sways… no, sashays over to her. She’s already in her office and is facing James so a large smile is plastered on her face by the time he reaches her. I can’t see what he says as he has his back to me but she’s fiddling with he
r hair. I find it endearing and know, or suspect, that she and I are going to get on. The thought reminds me of the scene in Notting Hill where Alice Tinker – or whatever the Vicar of Dibley actress’s name was in Notting Hill… Honey, yes, it was Honey. William… Thackeray’s sister so Honey Thackeray follows Julia Roberts aka… nope it’s gone.

  Anna Scott. Julia Roberts was Anna Scott. I smile as I remember the scene in the restaurant where she and William Thacker, not Thackeray, overhear a group of rowdy men putting Anna down and William offers to defend her honour. Anna says she would have done it herself but hesitates before giving them a piece of her very intelligent mind. Classic.

  So, yes I’d be Honey to Hazel’s Anna only not in the toilet underneath the stairs. That would be way too weird.

  James turns and beckons me over. I don’t feel them move but my legs take me to Hazel’s office. I feel numb everywhere, not in a pins and needles way but that the world is revolving and I know I’m part of it but everything’s surreal.

  Hazel is as Scottish as her tartan, which she tells me is the Mackinnon before I’ve even asked – I am staring at it – but she says she’s been a Smith for “longer than you’ve been alive, dearie”. She reminds me of the television character Supergran who I struggled to understand when I was younger but Hazel’s words seem to trip off her tongue and into my ears as easily as if I were wearing a babel fish. Good old Douglas Adams.

  James leaves, doffing his imaginary cap and walking backwards as if he’s a Shakespearian character, perhaps William himself. Just the thought of ‘my’ William, my boss, brings me back to the now and I return my gaze to Hazel who’s sitting behind her desk and is holding out a piece of paper.

  I smile and take the proffered sheet. It’s a personnel form. The kind where they want to know your next of kin should something happen to you. I’m confused and it must be evident because she apologises.

  “I’m sorry, dearie. Wrong one.” She takes back the sheet. “We have that already.” She opens a file and, like a bank clerk but without a rubber thimble, licks her right index finger and flicks through a few sheets. “This…” She holds out a sheet which this time is a security questionnaire. “Only the bits relevant to your car… er, I think that’s all we need. And your name at the top.”

  “Of course.” I take a pen that’s lying between us and fill in my details, still a little confused that they don’t have this information already. I hand it back and Hazel reads it.

  “Just as well.”

  I wait for her to continue.

  “We still had the Peugeot.”

  “Oh. That went a while ago. I’ll let Chloë know.” She’s our HR lady, Hazel’s equivalent, or one step down. I don’t know yet if Hazel has an assistant. I figure she does but that she… or he… this is the twenty-first century… is at the team bonding thing.

  “No need. We have a shared system. I’ll update it now and that’ll be job done.”

  “Excellent,” I say and feel a bit lame. Izzy’s the techie but I can appreciate how wonderful it all is.

  Hazel taps a few keys and grins. “There we go. Now…”

  We chat about why I’m here, my life history with the paper (which didn’t take long – health and beauty columnist is the only job I’ve had there) and go off at several tangents along the way. Yes, Hazel’s definitely my kind of woman. She does however explain why I’m there.

  “Veronica, as you know, is on maternity leave, back June fourth. I think you’re just here until the end of the month but it’s fine to not have a handover. If you could leave her some notes it would be appreciated. She can log in from home and get the electronic files so she can see what you’re up to…” She pauses. “Oh dear, that sounds very big brother but it’s not, I assure you. She’ll have her hands full with Ethan.”

  “Ethan?”

  “The baby. Had him last week. Quite a big boy by all accounts, given that she’s so trim and he’s her fourth.”

  My heart’s breaking but I try a smile. It seems to be genuine enough as Hazel doesn’t react until I sniff.

  “Sorry, a cold coming, I think.”

  Without speaking, she passes me a box of tissues. I don’t need it but take one to be polite. “Thank you.”

  Four children? Veronica has four children? I’ve always had the impression that she’s around my age, but how can you tell from a voice. She sounded mature. Yes, actually, that’s not me but sensible. Yes, sensible. Grounded.

  “And you have everything planned? Your ‘project’?”

  I nod despite the answer not being a complete ‘yes’. I have a list of some venues, a handful of downloaded menus, some of which look perfectly suitable, the others maybe just starters for less than five hundred calories. The instruction was ‘dishes’ rather than ‘meals’. It’ll add to the variety and I can always skip a sauce or two. I don’t have to know exactly how much everything is as long as it doesn’t go over. My head starts calculating five hundred times thirty-one and I’ve got to 15,000 straight away and add the other five hundred. So 15,500 calories max in a month. Peezy.

  “There is something I want to run past you but we can come back to that.”

  It sounds ominous but she doesn’t look worried or scary so I shouldn’t be either. Scared, that is. I don’t think I could look scary if you covered me in spikes and gave me a megaphone. Okay, that’s weird.

  “Right then…” Hazel pushes back her chair. “Let’s get you settled.”

  I’m about to stand, meeting over, when I hear what sounds like a herd of elephants coming down the corridor. I look round, hitting my elbow against the chair. I want to say ‘ow’ but feel foolish. It’s more surprise than pain. And pride, perhaps.

  “They’re back.” Hazel sort of states the obvious. My new colleagues, and there are loads of them. The open-plan arrangement is similar to ours so I wonder where they’re all going to sit but Hazel senses my query and explains. “Most are freelancers. Everyone, other than a trickle of us, went. Only half of them live in the area but Billy wanted them to all come back here as some have only been in the office for their interview. A couple never. They live too far away, Scotland for one, Devon for the other. Not quite Land’s End to John O’Groats but still. We did Skype or Zoom video interviews. It’s not so important for the freelancers.”

  “Oh,” is all my brain and mouth offer as I’m half seated half standing. I want to add something else but backtrack to the name. “Billy?” I sit back down.

  “William Tyler, our editor, most people’s boss. But he hates being called William. Too stuffy, he says, so Billy it is. Suits him better actually. No shirt and tie for our Billy, not unless he has a meeting with the board. Very down to earth. You’ll like him. Everyone does. Respect him too, of course. Anyway, I’ll introduce you now he’s here. He might even do a speech. He does love his speeches, especially with a captive audience. He had high hopes for the training. Helped Leah and Owen with all the arrangements.”

  “Leah?”

  Hazel laughs. “Sorry. I forget you don’t know everyone.”

  Anyone, I think then correct that to James, Phil and Hazel but don’t say anything.

  “Leah’s my assistant. I think the training was her idea but Billy loved it so much that he kind of took over. No malice, just enthusiasm.”

  William, our William, has gone up in my estimations over the past year, having got to know him better via Izzy, but enthusiasm isn’t something that comes naturally to him. By the sound of it, his namesake got our William’s share. I’m looking forward to meeting him.

  Chapter 14 – Being Veronica

  We come out of Hazel’s office and she points towards the far end of the open-plan sprawl. “Après toi?”

  “Merci,” I say and Hazel giggles. I’m not sure why I’d not put her down as a giggler, given it’s a work environment, but my heart bonds to her that little bit more.

  I follow and immediately feel intimidated. I’m not the world’s most confident person and am out of my depth. I sho
uldn’t be because we’re all part of the same company but the only person I’ve ever spoken to before, and that was a long time ago, is possibly the only one who’s missing… on maternity leave. So probably at least nine months ago.

  Hazel heads straight for Billy’s office, aka William’s office. Both of them. As I said, the building is pretty much a replica of ours, on the inside at least, or this part of it. The offices. Even in my head I’m rambling. Nerves. My dad always said I should think an idea through before I verbalise it but I just like talking so I guess I talk as I think and vice versa.

  Billy stands. He’s not as tall as our William, around five eight maybe, so still taller than me. That’s not difficult. He’s also around our age. Mid-thirties tops. He’s very sweet looking, not sickly like banoffee pie – Izzy’s favourite, but ‘nice’. I’ve never liked the word ‘nice’. It’s too insipid. But yes, Billy looks like a nice guy and from Hazel’s description of him and his enthusiasm, he’s going to be.

  He gives me a broad smile and sticks out his left hand. It’s tilted like a normal handshake but I catch a glint of wedding ring. I’m neither disappointed nor pleased. I’m not sure how I should feel but he’s my boss for the next month so I shake his hand, with my left which feels odd as I’m right handed, and match his smile, or a level or two lower. I don’t want him to think I’m taking the mick.

  I laugh. That’s the kind of thing Mike… our Mike, my security guard ex-boyfriend, he of the dubious jam stains on his jumper, says. Taking the mick. Mike.

  Billy’s speaking but I’m a few words behind so just keep smiling. “…meet everyone.”

  Fortunately I don’t need the missing first part of the sentence as he’s already come out from behind his desk and is walking towards his door. I take it as a cue to follow him and notice that Hazel’s been outside the whole time, that or she moved and came back.