The Serial Dieter (The Serial Series Book 2)

by Rachel Cavanagh

  “Thank you.” This is so kind of everyone. I’m rather stoked. ‘Overwhelmed’ as my mum would say, and often does, and it doesn’t take much to overwhelm either of us.

  As I come out of Leah’s office, James is inconspicuous by his absence. I know it should be conspicuous however, no one but me seems to notice he’s not there. No one’s said anything and I’m certainly not going to ask. Not yet, anyway. Leah will know and ooh, we’re having lunch. Ding.

  I go to my desk and type up last night’s Lussmanns’ experience. There’s not much to tell as the only interaction I had was with the waitress and I don’t even know her name.

  The rest of the morning flies as I log into my own emails and deal with those. It’s gone half past twelve when I look at the clock so do a quick check of Veronica’s emails and answer a couple from readers. They say they’re enjoying the new project and are looking forward to whatever I eat thereafter. One is replicating my experiences so I’m pleased that I’m bringing local businesses new er… business. That takes me to 12.56 so I log off, grab my bag and head to Leah’s office.

  There’s still no sign of James as I walk past his desk. Greta’s on the phone and I don’t like to disturb Frank who does look rather swamped with paperwork but that’s accounts for you. Leah’s on the phone but beckons me in when I hover outside her shut door. There’s no shuffling of papers but I’m going to keep my eyes level with her so it doesn’t look like I’m prying, even though I’m dying to. I’m rubbish at keeping secrets so it’s probably just as well.

  Although I’d love to know all the gossip, I’m going to have to tell Leah that she’s not to confide in me… unless it relates to James. I wonder if he’s had a family crisis like Billy has but it might mean one of James’s ‘howevermany’ children being ill and I wouldn’t want that.

  Agreeing on a walk to the town centre, Leah and I seem to be heading for Marlowes and I’m hoping not for Subway. I could eat there every day but it would be nice to have some variety. I didn’t eat a huge amount yesterday, and the cereal I had this morning wasn’t particularly filling, so I am quite hungry.

  We have the choice of a few places but some, like The Dragon Garden and Banana Leaf, which both look hugely appealing are only open in the evenings. They’re proper sit down places anyway so too much for lunch. Roastino, I recall from a review when I was researching, does ‘the best fish and chips’ in Hemel but having effectively had that last night, or fish and salad, I wouldn’t go for that anyway.

  “The Marlowes Café okay?” Leah asks and as another reviewer called it the best café in Hemel, I agree. It has some outside seating but we go inside, Leah first so I’m following her. It’s quite simply decorated with salmon pink – clearly a popular colour locally – chairs and white melamine tables. Above the serving area is a large blue illuminated sign in the form of the café’s name, and that of the nearby shopping centre.

  Looking at a plated chicken salad on the neighbouring table, I’m tempted to go for the same but take a look at the menu. There’s almost too much choice and a variety including snacks to full Sunday roasts but somewhere in between will do me, so I go for what my neighbour had. Leah has the same and we both have diet Cokes.

  “I’m sorry,” she said after we’ve ordered. “You must think I’m such a copycat but it looks so lovely.”

  “It does. We didn’t really need the menu, did we.”

  “No, although they do pancakes so that was good to know.” Leah’s not like Greta then.

  The chicken dish does look filling but thankfully most likely less than 500 calories. It depends on what sauce they use and I’m kicking myself for not mentioning it when we ordered but I can always discretely scrape it away, but it only looked a drizzle so I should be okay.

  “How long have you worked at the paper?” I ask, hoping that eventually I can wheedle the conversation more specifically to James. I’m itching to know why he’s not been around.

  “A couple of years. Hazel, our matriarch, had managed for years on her own but we got too big so they brought me in.”

  I’m about to say something but Leah continues. A girl after my own heart.

  “I know what you’re thinking…”

  James. James. I bet, no hope, you don’t. James. James.

  “…there aren’t that many people in the office. They’ve downsized permanent but brought in a lot of freelancers.”

  I nod, knowing only too well how things have changed. I’m surprised really, given that Izzy and I are so specialised: technology and health and beauty respectively, that we’ve not been downsized but we do our near-daily column and the readers seem to love us so long may it continue. “I don’t think I’d be any good working from home,” I say at the thought of having to go freelance. “I’d get nothing done.”

  “Me neither. I love daytime TV. Live and catch-up. Jeremy Kyle, Jeremy Vine, all the other Jeremys.”

  I laugh. “Beadle.”

  Leah, who like Greta is younger than me, frowns.

  “Someone my mum liked,” I explain, although we used to watch Beadle’s About and Game for a Laugh together. I do love a catch-up channel.

  “Oh. So yes, a couple of years. It’s really interesting, especially taking on new people. I don’t always get to do the interviewing; it depends on the level we’re recruiting, but I see all the CVs, put the best ones on the top. Hazel insists on reading them all but usually agrees with me.”

  “You’re quite a team,” I gush and see the perfect shoo-in. “James is convinced you have ESP because you and Hazel seem to communicate without speaking to each other.”

  “The joy of email.”

  “No, literally. He says…” I try to recall what he’d said. “He said, ‘they have some kind of code. Not exactly lip reading but they can communicate just by looking at each other. Not ESP because their lips do actually move…’, something like that.”

  “And you have a photographic memory.”

  I blush. “It’s not bad. Not quite Carrie Wells but…”

  Leah frowns again.

  “She’s a character in Unforgettable, an American TV series that Duncan, my boyfriend…” I’ll never tire of saying that, although fiancé would sound even better. “…likes. He says because we both have good memories, Carrie and I, but she’s always wearing skin-tight clothes.” I laugh, as does Leah.

  “So, James…” I say before we go too far off. “Is he…?”

  Leah says nothing, clearly waiting for me to elaborate.

  “He hasn’t been in for a couple of days. Is everything all right?” There, I’ve said it, stuck my nose in, not the worst offence surely.

  “I’m not sure. Something family related, I think. James did say but…” She takes a sip of drink but doesn’t continue.

  Not to me. Someone has to be doing his work while he’s away and his equivalent, like a role reversal of Veronica and me, is Izzy. I don’t know how asking Leah directly would go down but I don’t know how else to, although I phrase it as if I’m being helpful. “Is someone covering his work while he’s away? Anything I can do?”

  Leah swallows. “Thanks but Simon’s picked up some of the things. He used to do James’s role before becoming a manager. James has set his email to forward so that’s covered. I think he was pretty much up to date though and he’s due back on Monday.”

  I’d already been told that somewhere else in the building are Simon, Hemel’s sales and marketing manager, and his two assistants, Steph and Zoe, so plenty of spare ‘arms’. Heads? Some kind of anatomy.

  The conversation pauses while our food and drinks are brought over. They look every bit as delicious as our neighbour had, with even less of a drizzle on mine for which I’m grateful, and Leah and I devour without another word uttered.

  We finish at the same time and lean back like twins, dabbing the edges of our (own!) mouths with our restaurant-quality paper napkins and laugh.

  “It’s a shame you’re not staying,” Leah says, “you fit right in.”


  “It is but, and please don’t take this the wrong way, I’m missing home already and I’m only a quarter of the way through.”

  “It’s gone quickly,” she says but I don’t agree… not really. I’ve been looking forward to tonight since I got to my mum’s on Sunday which is bad because it’s wishing my time away which she never approves of. My mum, that is. I don’t know if Leah approves or not and it would be too weird to ask her.

  “I bet it’ll be lovely to get back to Duncan tonight.”

  I can’t help smiling as she speaks. “It will,” is all I can manage without drooling. I dab at my mouth again, this time with my right thumb and I’m pleased that I’m not actually drooling.

  With heartfelt thanks, I leave Leah at her office and return to my desk. It’s gone two o’clock already and I plan to leave at four so the next two hours are a blur. With Veronica’s emails and my own up to date, I don’t feel at all guilty, and remember what Billy said about flexible hours so sneak away at three forty-five. Owen’s not on the phone for a change so a chance to speak with him before leaving entirely.

  “Hello, Miss,” he says as I approach his cube-like reception.

  “Hello, Mister,” I reply and feel a little foolish but he doesn’t seem to notice.

  “How’s your first week been?”

  I glow and before I can say anything, he continues.

  “That good. I’m pleased, really pleased.”

  He has somewhat of a glow about him too if I’m not mistaken.

  “And your week?” I feel that’s general enough to not be prying but I’m dying for him to mention Greta.

  “It’s been grand, thank you, just grand.”

  I’d not detected any hint of Irishism before now but the way he says it does have a certain twang, but it probably would even if I’d said it. I’m about to speak when the reception phone dashboard lights up with, I look over, four lines incoming.

  “Never rains,” he says, mouths a ‘have a good weekend’ and takes the first call.

  Without going round to the side of the cubicle, leaning over and attracting his attention while he’s speaking, there’s no point in saying or mouthing anything so I leave.

  Phil’s staring at his screens as I get to the bottom of the stairs. I debate whether to interrupt him and decide it’s worth it. Had it been any other day, I wouldn’t have, but not being back until Monday and it being the first Friday, it’s the first time we should have been going out.

  I tap on the door and wait. He doesn’t move. I tap a little louder. Again he doesn’t move. His cameras cover the stairs, right up to the top, so I’m sure he would have seen me. Third time proves to be unlucky and again, he doesn’t move. I’m about to turn when I see him jolt.

  I smile as I realise he’d fallen asleep. Maybe he has more in common with Mike than I thought.

  Chapter 48 – Welcome Home

  I squeal as I open Duncan’s front door. I’m still squealing as I hang up my jacket… or I would have hung up my jacket; I actually threw it on the floor along with my bag and kicked the door shut. Duncan’s usually in his kitchen diner so that’s where I go first but it’s empty. The light’s on but he’s not there. There’s no music either. I go through to the lounge diner but no, light on but a distinct lack of Duncan and music. “Hello?” I call but no reply. I go to the bottom of the stairs. “Duncan?” Nothing. A fine welcome home this is.

  I slump down on one of two stools at a breakfast bar in the kitchen then scream as I feel something touch the back of my neck. I’m about to swat it away when Duncan’s face appears as I turn round. I realise the touch was a kiss. “Where were you?” I ask a little hysterically.

  “In the downstairs loo.”

  “Why?”

  “What do you mean why?”

  “Why didn’t you answer when I called you?”

  “I was hiding.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I wanted to surprise you.”

  “By frightening me to death.”

  “That was the plan. No, that wasn’t supposed to happen but, okay it sort of was but it was more romantic in my head.”

  With that, and the puppy-dog expression on his face, I can’t be angry but a little part of me is.

  “I saw your headlights as you pulled up so I got Alexa to turn off the music. I knew you’d know I was here if the music was playing.”

  “But you were here.”

  “Yes, but I didn’t want you to know that.”

  I sniff.

  “You okay?”

  “Yes. I wondered whether you’d planned anything for dinner.” It’s traditional for Duncan to cook on a Friday night, regardless of how his day’s gone.

  “Chicken salad. They’re plated all ready in the fridge.”

  Oh great, another chicken salad. I can tell by Duncan’s face that he knows I’m disappointed. He then smiles and pulls out two takeaway menus from one of his back pockets. “Chinese or Indian?”

  I smile. “That’s more like it.” I shake my head. “I don’t mind which, you choose.” I secretly hope for Chinese.

  “Chinese it is.”

  I clap, lean over and give him a kiss. “Don’t order too much though. You always order too much.”

  “Saves us cooking Saturday lunchtime.”

  While that is true, Saturday mornings are our weekly fry-up so three such meals in a row would certainly be too much. It never is because there’s so little left after we’re done on a Friday night that it ends up being breakfast on Sunday. I know; unhealthy and unhygienic. Microwaved meat thirty-six or so hours later. Asking for trouble.

  It turns out we eat very little. A bowl of cereal each. We get a little… erm… way laid, as the saying goes. The takeaway’s not ordered so no Sunday morning salmonella or botulism either. Okay, slightly over dramatic. Campylobacter bacteria and Clostridium perfringens. Lovely.

  And it was; getting way… erm, yes.

  Chapter 49 – A Bolder Donna

  Saturday 5th May

  There’s nothing quite like waking up in the arms of someone you love. In my case it’s Duncan’s arms; we’re spooning but quite disturbingly, as I turn to face him, there’s a paw over his shoulder so he too is in the arms, legs, of someone he loves. His five-year-old beagle.

  “Buddy!” I say not too loudly but not quietly either, and the paw retracts to be replaced by a head, a canine one. He’s smiling and licking his lips. He always goes out in the garden first thing but for micro seconds, doing the bare minimum of necessity, before his lord and master gives him his breakfast.

  Buddy likes me, I know he does, but whenever I feed him he just looks at me, his bowl, then back at me. Duncan then has to swoop in, remove the bowl, stir it round with the dog fork (one that doesn’t match any others) and return the bowl to the mat. Buddy bolts the food down quicker than… oh, I don’t know, a starving animal – which he’s not, he’s got a bit of a tum – as if Duncan fed him in the first place.

  I’ve bought him toys – Buddy loves anything that squeaks, which he demolishes in about thirty seconds flat so it’s Poundland almost all the way. Rubber toys are pointless because they don’t even get to double-figure seconds or they’re ignored. No fun out of that for either of us. I love dogs, especially Elliott, and I’m sure Charles’s Olly is also very sweet, but not on the bed. Duncan’s softer than I am in that respect but I’ve never owned one personally. We had them growing up but they were either Mum or Dad’s, usually Mum’s because she spent more time with them, so they never really attached themselves to me that closely.

  When Duncan and I are… let’s say, having ‘quality time’, the bedroom door is most firmly closed with Buddy on his bed, normally at the end of ours, on the landing. He whines to start with but gets the hint. Occasionally we’ll hear squeaking but even that dies down after a while, usually because he’s forgotten he has any toys that do still squeak so de-squeaks them. Bless him.

  Duncan must have caved during the night and opened the bedroom door be
cause we had quality time last night. I’m still grinning. Absence most definitely made the heart grow fonder for both of us.

  Duncan has to go into work today so I’m meeting Izzy for lunch. It seems like ages since we saw each other but it’s only been a week. We’ll probably meet in town and hit the charity shops. We both love them and a lot can change in a week, two weeks actually for some of them.

  “Morning.” A sleepy Duncan realises I’m awake.

  “Good morning.” I, on the other hand, am more wide awake than… what’s wide? The Forth Bridge? It takes forever to paint so it must be big.

  I hear Buddy thump down onto the floor and sigh as Duncan nuzzles into my neck. I don’t think I can love him any more than I do right at this moment. He groans. “I have to go to work.”

  “Uh huh.” I want to tell him he really doesn’t have to but that’s one thing I love about him: his work ethic. He puts the animals, and their owners, above almost everything else. I am number one in his life, he’s told me often, but this is more than a job to him, more than his business, it truly is a vocation. I love my job but it’s not the same. If it all ended tomorrow, and I sometimes wonder if it will, especially with technology moving on, I’d find something else I enjoyed.

  I can be insecure. Some previous relationships have set me up to be that way, not that I haven’t always been to some extent, but that’s what makeup does. It sounds silly; put on a bit of colour, whether it’s makeup or clothes, and you immediately feel better. Hazel has the right idea and I need to be braver. Bolder. And it starts today.

  Duncan and I get up at the same time. I put on a dressing gown and head to the kitchen to get the kettle on and toast done. I don’t know why but as soon as the clocks go forward in March, we have cereal for breakfast during the week and toast or leftovers at the weekends. Not that we don’t have toast or leftovers at the weekends all year but thinking the days are going to be warmer when they’re longer just meant us having cereal. I can’t even remember whose idea it was, it sort of happened.