“No apology needed,” I say although I must admit to being a little confused. While I’m more than happy with the change, it felt like her mind has been elsewhere.
“Had a bit of a day.”
I feel sorry for her and bad that I was confused. “Oh dear. Anything you want to share?”
She perks up. “No, it’s okay, but thank you.”
We go inside and are shown to a table for two about halfway into the restaurant and I’m pleased it’s not near the toilets or front door. Even though it’s not cold outside, tables nearby tend to get wafts of air, and not so pleasant wafts near the toilets.
Our server is a young man who doesn’t look too dissimilar to Laurence, hasn’t been supplied with a name badge and doesn’t offer that information but is very pleasant and prompt. After agreeing that neither of us is hungry for anything other than a main course, I order a ‘grand chicken Caesar salad’ with no dressing, at 477 calories, and Greta does the same. We both order diet Cokes and I wonder if she’s only being polite or whether she would have gone for those anyway.
She seems happier and less distracted than earlier so I start with mutual ground. “So, how are you getting on with the guitar lessons?”
She shrugs. “Not bad, thank you. Early days but yes, not bad.”
“And my mum?”
Greta snorts then apologises.
I laugh. “Drowned cat or…”
“Oh no, I didn’t mean…”
“It’s okay. She does this, has these fads. She will last the ten weeks but she tends to move on to something else. One thing she isn’t is a quitter but a mover, yes.”
Greta smiles and thanks our nameless waiter as he returns with our drinks.
I’m then regaling my life in Northampton when the food turns up. We tuck in.
“Mmm… this is really nice,” Greta says, her face matching her sentiment, and so does mine. With the lowest calorie ‘Al Forno’ pasta dish being the Peperonata at five hundred and forty-two calories and lowest pizza at eight hundred and thirty-four unless I’d gone for a base only, I’d had to go for the salad but I realise that Greta’s really slim so salads are perhaps quite normal for her.
As if she’s read my mind, she says, “I love pizza and pasta but come May, I go with the salads. Couldn’t tell you why. Must be a summer thing but I love chicken and Caesar sauce.”
I’d ordered first so I’m still not convinced she wasn’t just being polite. She knows I’m on this project so I think she was probably prepared to match me. I respect her all the more if this is the case. We have no calories left for the dessert but as it turns out, we have no ‘space’ either, the chicken and large glasses of diet Coke being filling enough.
We haven’t talked very much, partly because I’m conscious that she’s using her free time to be with me, and she’s also a really fast eater. I know I’m slower than most; I like the twenty-minute chew-a-dozen-times rule, but I barely get to double figures. I could have sat there chewing but salad doesn’t last long and she would have thought I either had really tough bits of chicken or that I was mad, or both. It certainly wasn’t the chicken; that was really tender, melting almost. Delicious.
Greta pays the bill and I insist on leaving a tip. As Nathan had said previously, Greta confirmed that Billy would have paid but I already feel like I’m on a free ride, even if I’m giving up my time for this, and like to play fair.
Our nameless waiter nods his thanks and shows us to the door.
Greta and I chat more about my life in Northampton and I’m pleased that in less than forty-eight hours I’ll be picking up where I left off, with Duncan on Friday evening then him and Izzy at some point over the weekend. I’ll have washing to do but it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world to do it at Duncan’s, or not do it and take a new set of clothes with me when I return to Mum’s Sunday evening. I wonder whether I could push the ‘flexible office’ a little and head down on the Monday but tell myself that I need to take the whole matter that much more seriously.
As we get back to the office building, we aim for the car park. Greta’s on the ground floor, I’m one up, so we swap thanks and a hug, and head for our respective vehicles.
As I drive home, I think about Greta; how chatty she’d been previously in the office but less so at the restaurant. A bit of a day, she had said, and we do all get those, so I hope she’s fared better when we go out next Wednesday. Not that having a quieter evening did me any harm; I am conscious that I talk too much – Duncan’s told me on numerous occasions, light-heartedly of course – so it’s good practice.
I tend to either fill in spaces for those who don’t say very much or for anyone like my mum, try to get a word in when they breathe! No, I need to pause and think, think and pause.
I do a little ‘yay’ as I spot my mum’s car in the driveway and no sign of the Range Rover. She rarely goes to bed early so I’ll get my chance to grill.
Chapter 42 – More Than That, Much More
“Hello, darling,” Mum says as I walk into her long kitchen diner.
I can’t speak but have a silly grin on my face.
“What?”
I sit opposite her at the dining table. “Nothing.”
She knows me too well. “What have you been up to?”
“Me? Oh, nothing. You, on the other hand…”
Her forehead creases as if she can’t possibly know what I’m talking about.
“I took Uncle Pat and Aunt Jan to the garden centre this afternoon.”
Her forehead decreases… uncreases. Darned English language.
“That was nice.”
“It was very nice.” I grin again.
We both know what happened or I wouldn’t have mentioned it so she spills. “Yes, I was there with Charles.”
I wait.
“We had afternoon tea, a lovely chat. The mini scones were still warm.”
I wait again.
“What?”
“Oh, nothing,” I repeat. “Go on. Afternoon tea, lovely chat, scones.”
“Yes. That’s all.”
“And Charles?”
“He had the same as me.”
“Mum.”
“What?”
“Come on. The whole story.”
She sighs. “Tea?”
I shake my head and wait.
She sighs again. “Okay. We bumped into each other while out shopping in Wendover. Sort of. He was at the Tesco on the hill, back from walking his dog Olly up at Wendover Woods, not really back as it’s the opposite direction but he said he only needed milk and bread so didn’t need to go to the big Tesco in Tring and we both live the Wendover side of Tring anyway so…”
“You bumped into each other while out shopping in Wendover but he was in Tesco…”
“I’d been shopping in Wendover town – you know how much I like the charity shops…”
I let her continue.
“I was driving back up the hill and spotted his car. The last three digits are OLL and it’s a fairly distinctive car.”
I recall the black Land Rover, albeit a twin of its neighbour. She’s not wrong.
“So I stopped and popped in, on the pretence of needing…” She frowns as if trying to recall what she’d been imaginary buying. “Crisps.”
“Oh.” I don’t feel it warrants any more than that.
“Which I did get. A multi-pack of Discos if you fancy some.” She points to a cupboard above the built-in freezer. “So there he was, by the refrigerators, picking a couple of the small milks. What are they…? Half litres?”
I shrug. They’re something like that.
“I think they are. He gets the green ones as I do. And he’s going to save the lids for Jan. I asked. Something to say when I approached him.”
‘Hello’ probably would have done.
“I can’t remember why she collects them now. Guide dogs or a neighbour’s school or some such. So he’s already got his bread and has the milk. I have my crisps. I don’t like the prawn cock
tail ones so help yourself to those.”
Now she’s mentioned it, I do fancy a pack and rarely have prawn cocktail so go to where she pointed earlier. In the cupboard, sure enough, there’s the six-pack unopened so I pull the seal apart and remove one of two pink packs.
She continues as I sit. “He suggested a coffee somewhere. I said the garden centre so we dropped off my car and Olly at his – Charles’s ex is away at a conference or something – and we continued on in the Range Rover. It’s very luxurious by the way. Only a year and a bit old. Bought it ahead of selling the house, which I thought was a bit risky but he said he’s on a good company pension so that’s okay. Anyway, it’s not my business. So there you have it. That’s why we were at the garden centre. How come we didn’t see you?”
“Charles did.”
“Did he? He didn’t say anything.”
“How would he know?”
She frowns as she thinks. “Oh yes. You’ve not met yet.”
I shake my head. “We were sitting outside, literally the first table, but by the time you came out we were in my car. We watched you but you were away with the fairies.”
She blushes. I smile.
Neither of us says anything until she offers again to make a cup of tea. I’ve not opened the crisp packet yet and am not sure whether they’d make great companions but this time I won’t say ‘no’.
“So, how’s your diet project going?” she asks as she part-fills the kettle with bottled water. She’s got it into her head that it tastes better than tap but once it’s boiled and a tea bag or coffee granules added, I can’t taste any difference though less chalky I suppose. We are in the Chilterns.
“Not bad, thanks. I went out with Greta tonight.”
Mum smiles at the mention of her guitar companion’s name. “She’s really good. We’ve got our next session tomorrow night but she’s miles better than us already.”
Mum’s said that before but I smile as if it’s the first time I’ve heard it.
“Did she talk about it?”
“She was pretty quiet actually.”
“She is in class.”
“Oh? But I suppose everyone is if they’re trying to concentrate, letting Bernard teach.”
Mum sniggers, I guess at ‘Bernard’. “Except me.”
Shocker. Mum’s usually more talkative than me, and that’s saying something.
“But you let him speak.”
“Of course.” She looks wounded as she makes the tea but I know she’s only joking. My mum’s a hoot and I adore her. She’d make a good actress, although her memory’s not what it used to be. We have that in common too. “What did you have?” she asks as she returns to the table with our two mugs.
“When?”
“Tonight with Greta.”
“Oh, chicken Caesar salad and diet Coke.”
“And Greta?”
“The same.”
“Yes.”
“Yes?”
“She’s a diet Coke girl, brings along a big… two-litre bottle to each session. Offers it around but only brings one cup so unless anyone brings their own...”
“It’s not like she needs to be on a diet. She’s pretty tiny.”
Mum nods. We’ve both had to watch our weight. Too many afternoon teas and we’d balloon. I’d had issues growing up, nothing to do with my parents but more at school, and that was how I got to be a health and beauty columnist, learning to slim and keep it off to avoid being bullied, not that Mum ever knew; she just thought it was puppy fat. I never cried in front of her or Dad. I sniff as I feel tears welling. “Think I’m getting a cold.”
She offers me a box of tissues and I take one even though I’m sure I won’t need one. I put it next to the crisps which remain unopened. They’ve lost their appeal but can come to work with me tomorrow. I’ve decided I’ll be more productive if I stick to office hours. Having the day out and about today was lovely, and I wouldn’t have seen Mum and Charles had I not been there but no, I should be a proper worker. How else am I going to fit in if I’m never there?
“So, things going well with Charles then.”
Mum takes a sip of tea but winces as it’s clearly still too hot. I’ve not started mine for that reason. “Yes, really well. Early days but…”
I grin. I know all about early days; getting to know each other, the fun part. Should be the fun part. Not that everything thereafter isn’t but you settle into a routine. I miss Duncan. He should be here or I should be there. I’m pleased Mum has someone, even if it’s complicated.
“I’m pleased for you, Mum. I really am.”
She smiles. “Thank you. I know it’s not easy for you but…”
While my mum’s had ‘friendships’ since my dad died, I get the impression that Charles could be more than that, much more. She’s too young not to have a significant other. We all need one if we’re honest. Most of us are happy with our own company, some more than others in their own skin – that’s one thing I try to help with in my column, the beauty bit mostly, but there’s nothing quite like having someone to look after us, and vice versa. Most definitely a two-way street.
We finish our teas and head to bed, neither of us needing a hot water bottle. Even if it hadn’t been late spring, thinking about our respective other halves seems to be keeping us warm, it is me anyway.
We stop on the landing, our bedrooms opposite each other.
“Night, Mum.”
“Night, Don Dons.”
I drop my head and smile. She’s not called me that for years and all of a sudden I’m a little girl again. I shudder at how strange it feels; not bad but strange. Non-funny peculiar instead of non-funny ha ha.
I hear her bedroom door click shut and do the same to mine then lean against the back of the door and burst into tears.
Chapter 43 – Oh Congratulations… Oh No
Thursday 3rd May
I feel much better when I wake. I don’t know what got into me last night but whatever it was has gone. I feel resolute, determined, and am looking forward to going to work and writing up last night’s dinner with Greta. If James or Leah don’t mind, I’m going to invite Greta instead for lunch.
Even if she’s brought something, we can sit together and chat. Fingers crossed she’ll be having a better day by then but if not, I’m hoping my broad shoulders will help, not that they are actually broad, in keeping with my five-foot-two-and-a-half frame, but you know.
I get to work just before nine and the office is packed. Owen’s on the phone but looks up as I walk into the reception foyer and we exchange smiles.
Hazel’s also on the phone as is her assistant Leah in the opposite office, and I wonder if it’s to each other, although Leah’s shaking her head whereas Hazel’s nodding so I’m not so sure.
I get to my desk via a quick “Good morning” exchange with Frank. I wanted to speak to Greta but she looked too absorbed in something, and was scowling, so I thought best leave her to it. We’re not bosom buddies, as the saying goes, but I’d like to think she could confide in me. She probably does that already with Frank, seeing as they’re neighbours, but different genders and generations don’t allow for full and er… Frank discussions.
Cracking on with last night’s report, it’s eleven before I know it. I eat my crisps then go to the ladies to brush my teeth, having forgotten how pungent prawn cocktail flavouring can be. Delicious though. I keep a travel teeth-cleaning set in my handbag as I never know when I need a fresh breath but we should always brush, even just brush without the toothpaste, between meals, not that a bag of crisps can be classed as a meal.
Then it dawns on me. I didn’t end up weighing myself before starting this project. I should have used my mum’s scales on Tuesday morning to make it official, but am I doing the weight thing officially? Will my readers want to know if I’ve lost (or gained) x pounds? I suppose some will. It’s a calorie-counting exercise after all. Okay, I’ll weigh myself tomorrow. I didn’t eat loads last night and will be good today so… I shake
my head. What started as something simple… Isn’t that often the way in life?
With lovely clean teeth and minty breath, I head back to my desk. All my project companions are in but look super busy. I want to talk to someone, it’s my favourite thing to do, but equally don’t like disturbing anyone. The food van will have been and gone, probably when I was in the toilet, so I’ll have to go out to get something. I’m hoping Greta will need to as well and want a walk.
I spend the next hour faffing with my emails, Veronica’s being zero other than office round robins, which is a little disappointing seeing as I’ve been her for two and a bit days. I have two from new suppliers offering me a choice of their wares and I send a very polite and flattering reply back – without being too smarmy! I’ve had plenty of practice at that… to my suppliers anyway.
“Hi Greta.”
Greta looks up and smiles, a semi-sincere smile, and I can tell something’s still troubling her.
“I wondered if you’d like to accompany me for lunch.” That makes me feel so old, like I should be wearing a hat I can doff. The fact that I even know that word makes me feel even older.
“Love to but can you wait a minute while I finish off something?”
I go to speak but she points to the chair between her desk and Frank’s. He’s not there so I sit.
“My best friend’s just got engaged,” Greta blurts while typing something and looking at her screen.
“Oh congratulations.” I said it as a natural reaction but I can tell by her face it’s not as good news as it should be.
“It’s such bad timing,” she continues. “I’m happy for her, really I am.” She tries a smile but neither of us is convinced. “I… I did have someone…” She looks at the empty desk next to her, James’s, and sighs.
Oh no. I’m hoping that doesn’t mean what I think it means but suspect it does. “I’m sorry,” is all I can muster. I feel doubly determined to avoid him now. Greta’s so lovely that I wouldn’t want to hurt her more than he’s clearly done. I want to be angry with him, and believe me I am but… I shake my head.
The Serial Dieter (The Serial Series Book 2) Page 18