by Zoe May
‘Morning.’ Sandra smiles, giving me a little wave.
‘Morning,’ I reply as I settle down at my desk.
Her eyes roam over my outfit. She doesn’t hide her interest, but then again, Sandra never does.
I turn on my computer. ‘How’s Betsy? Had her babies yet?’ I ask her quietly.
‘No, she’s just getting bigger by the day.’
Ted clears his throat and shoots us a look, before getting up and heading over. He’s wearing yet another pair of ridiculously large trousers, which waft like sails on a ship as he walks.
‘Need this done by the end of the day,’ he grumbles, before marching back to his desk, having clearly got up on the wrong side of bed this morning.
I roll my eyes at Sandra, before flicking through the document. It’s the usual. Long rambling paragraphs. Researchers too busy for punctuation. I start scribbling and making big biro slashes midway through sprawling sentences to break them up. But after a few minutes, my gaze wanders out of the window, my eyes landing on the Shard, towering above everything else, and I start thinking about Daniel. I picture our reflections in the mirror this morning, him kissing my neck, just before he called us a couple. I can’t help smiling to myself.
‘How’s the paper going, Sophia?’ Ted asks.
Somehow, he’s appeared at my desk. He’s still got the pen wedged behind his ear.
‘Oh, err, good, thanks.’ I rustle the pages and look down, spotting an unnecessary capital letter, which I quickly cross out.
‘I need it done by this afternoon. No excuses.’ He shuffles off to the photocopier.
No excuses. Who does Ted think he is? He sounds like a schoolmaster. What’s next? Is he going to bend me over the desk and spank me with his cane? I shudder, pushing the repulsive thought out of my mind.
I force myself to concentrate and work my way through the document, until Sandra finally breaks my concentration.
‘Want to go for lunch?’ she asks.
‘Sure.’ I immediately drop the paper.
‘One second.’ Sandra taps on her keyboard.
I look over to see a grainy image of Betsy appear on her screen. Suddenly the image moves.
‘What was that?’ I ask, startled.
‘My baby…’ Sandra coos, stroking the screen. ‘It’s webcam footage of Betsy,’ she explains as if that’s perfectly normal. ‘I attached it to the top of her cage so I can check on her while I’m at work, to make sure she’s okay.’
‘Right…’ I murmur as a pregnant Betsy waddles to her food bowl.
‘She looks like she’s doing alright,’ Sandra notes, logging off. ‘Let’s go.’
We grab our coats and head out the office, telling Ted we’ll be back soon. He nods, wrapped up in work, as sits at his desk and munches his packed lunch – some sort of fishy-smelling pasta concoction.
‘So, how did Betsy get pregnant then?’ I ask as we head out of the building and walk to the café down the road.
‘Bloody Trisha,’ Sandra tuts, pulling her coat close against the cool autumn air.
‘Trisha?’
‘You know I visited my mum a few weeks ago? Well, I left Betsy with Trisha from the Knitting Ninjas. You know how I don’t like to leave her alone, and Trisha has a hamster too, little Lizzy, so I thought Betsy would be in good hands.’ Sandra shakes her head woefully.
‘So, Trisha was cleaning Lizzy’s cage and she put her in with Betsy, and well, the two of them must have mated. Trisha was told by the pet shop that Lizzy was a girl but she took her to the vet and it turns out that she’s not a girl after all. She, or he, I should say, goes by the name of Fred now.’
I snort with laughter.
‘It’s not funny, Sophia,’ Sandra huffs, but her lips are twitching. ‘My poor little baby.’
‘Your little baby got some action!’
Sandra blushes. ‘Poor Betsy.’
‘What are you going to do with the babies?’ I ask, as an image pops into my mind of Sandra living in a flat swarming with copulating hamsters.
‘I’ll leave them in at the pet shop,’ she says as we approach the cafe. ‘They owe us for the mistake they made with Lizzy.’
Sandra pushes open the door. Luckily, we’re ahead of the lunchtime rush and the cafe, which smells of fresh coffee, is just the right amount of busy. We choose what we’re having and join the queue.
‘Anyway, enough about hamsters,’ Sandra sighs ‘How’s it going with Daniel?’
‘Amazing!’ I tell her, unable to hide my excitement. ‘We’re official!
‘Ahhh! You’re official!!’ Sandra squeals so loudly that the whole café goes silent. I cough awkwardly and try to feign a nonchalant expression until the conversation gradually resumes.
‘Oh, my goodness! You and Daniel! Wow!’ Sandra gushes.
I can’t help grinning.
‘Talk about boyfriend material! You really hit the jackpot there, Sophia.’
‘I know!’
‘I’m so happy for you,’ Sandra says as we carry our trays over to a table at the back of the café.
‘Thanks!’ I beam back at her as we sit down.
Sandra plucks the lid off her cup of Earl Grey and swirls a plastic spoon around, circulating the tea bag.
‘You’ll never guess where he lives,’ I can’t resist commenting.
‘You said he lived in London Bridge, didn’t you?’
‘Yeah, but guess where?’
Sandra frowns. ‘What? I don’t understand. How am I meant to know where?!’
‘He lives at the Shard!’ I tell her.
‘Yeah, right.’ She rolls her eyes as she fishes the tea bag out of her cup.
‘No, I’m serious. He lives at the Shard! He has a flat at the top of the Shard.’
Sandra takes a tentative sip of her steaming tea, eyeing me over the edge of the cup.
‘You’re serious, aren’t you?’ she says slowly, in disbelief.
‘Yes!’
‘The Shard!?’ she yelps, causing a load of people to look over once more.
‘I know! The Shard!’
‘The Shard! The actual Shard?!’ Sandra cries.
‘Yeah, I know! Shhhh.’ I try to hush her. ‘We sound like a pair of demented tourists.’
Sandra giggles, shaking her head slowly in disbelief. ‘What’s it like?’
‘It’s crazy! It’s so beautiful!’
I tell her about everything – the chandelier, the humungous dining table, the designer shower gel, the electronic curtains, the incredible views. Naturally, Sandra laps it all up.
‘What a catch,’ she utters, awe-struck.
‘I know! I still can’t believe it!’ I shake my head in disbelief, when I feel a hand tapping my shoulder.
‘Sophia?’
I turn around to see Chris standing behind me, in an office suit, holding a tray.
‘Hi!’ he says.
‘Oh hey!’ I reply, surprised to see him. ‘How’s it going?
‘Good! Yeah, great. Can I join you? I saw there was a spare chair at your table and I thought maybe you wouldn’t mind.’
‘Of course not!’ I reply, noticing how busy the café has become in the five or ten minutes since Sandra and I arrived.
‘Great!’ he takes a seat, glancing curiously at Sandra.
‘Chris, this is Sandra, Sandra, Chris,’ I introduce them as they reach across the table and shake hands.
Sandra asks how Chris and I we each other and we explain about our date and how we bumped into each other in the café, the story punctuated by awkward laughter, until Chris turns his attention to me and Sandra. We tell him about work, joking about our research papers and Ted with his enormous oversized clothes. It’s amazing to see how well Sandra and Chris are getting on. I’ve rarely seen her chatting with guys and always imagined she might be a little shy, but she’s totally at ease around Chris.
‘Oh! Tell us about your date!’ I pipe up when the conversation has finally moved away from the glamourous world of Shadwel
l Medical Research Centre.
‘Right, yeah… It was brilliant!’ Chris’ face lights up. ‘It was really relaxed. I asked her questions about herself and it felt good, like we really got to know each other. She’s up for a third date so I’m guessing it went well. I managed not to drop in too many facts at least!’ Chris says, explaining the questions over trivia rule to Sandra.
‘Facts are awesome though!’ Sandra says.
‘I totally agree!’ Chris adds, looking thoughtfully at Sandra’s lentil soup. ‘For example, did you know that in Ancient Egypt, as far back as 2400BC, people used to put lentils in their loved ones’ tombs to give them food for the afterlife!’
‘Oh, really?’ Sandra responds, rapt, eating a spoonful. ‘It’s interesting to think that the lentil soup I’m eating now, in the 21st century, is probably not all that different to the sort of thing that would have been prepared in ancient civilisations. I’ve never really thought about that before.’
‘Yes, definitely! Lentil soup is such an earthy, ancient dish. Probably the most the most age-old meal you could have found in here.’
‘It is!’ Sandra chuckles.
I take a big bite of my carrot cake. ‘Thank God, we live in modern times!’
‘Yes, we certainly wouldn’t have had cake in BC. It dates back to the 13th century, quite a modern invention compared to lentil soup!’
Sandra laughs and I find myself smiling somewhat indulgently at this geeky conversation.
‘You really do know a lot of food facts!’ I note. ‘Like crazy amounts.’
‘Well, I love facts and I love food!’ Chris grins. ‘And as for the baking facts, my mum has a cake-baking business so she taught me a lot about cake!’
‘That’s so—’ Sandra’s phone starts ringing, interrupting the conversation.
‘It’s Ted,’ she gasps, with a panicked expression, before answering the phone.
‘Oh, right, yes,’ she says into the phone, while glancing at her watch.
I glance at mine to see that we’ve been on our lunch break for well over the allocated hour.
‘No, we’re heading back now. Ok, five minutes. Sorry Ted, bye!’ She hangs up, pulling a face.
‘Ted’s pretty annoyed. We need to get back!
We don our coats and apologise to Chris, who still has half his lunch left. He takes a couple of battered old library books out of his bag – a romantic comedy novel and a politician’s memoir.
‘Reading material?’ I ask.
‘Yeah, just popped into the library before lunch. Not sure which to start with,’ he says.
‘Oh, I’d go for that one,’ I point at the romantic comedy.
‘Yeah, good shout.’
Chris slides the memoir back into his bag and we say goodbye.
‘Let me know how date three pans out!’ I call over my shoulder as Sandra and I are walking away.
Chris’ mouth is full and he nods, giving me the thumbs up.
Sandra and I hurry back to the office.
‘He was so nice!’ she gushes, a little breathlessly.
‘Yeah, he’s sweet,’ I admit.
‘You didn’t tell me he was such a dish!’ Sandra adds, giving me a cheeky nudge.
‘He’s not a dish. Anyway, you said that about Daniel, who is actually a dish. Chris is sweet but he’s not dishy,’ I add, wincing a little at my use of Sandra’s cringe-worthy adjectives.
Sandra shrugs. ‘They’re very different. Chris is cute.’
‘Well, I suppose so. A bit,’ I admit as we carry on walking. He is kind of cute, but in a sort of chatty, wide-eyed, enthusiastic way, like a puppy. And yes, he’s tall and slim and he does have a nice smile, but he’s not a head-turner like Daniel. He’s not sexy or suave in the way that Daniel is.
‘Yeah, cute is the right word for Chris. He’s cute,’ I think aloud as swipe my pass against the office door.
Chapter Seventeen
It’s surprising how easy it is to slip into a routine with someone. Before I know it, a couple of weeks have passed and I’m still staying at the Shard with Daniel. I haven’t been back to Lewisham once. Tom’s been stopping by at Lyn’s, and although I do feel a bit bad, he insisted that she’s his mum and I’m not her carer and I should just enjoy myself ‘now that I’ve finally got a man’. And so that’s what I’ve been doing. At first, it felt a bit weird to just sort of move in with Daniel, but now it’s begun to feel normal, spending our evenings together and sleeping curled up every night like an ordinary couple. But of course, he’s far from ordinary.
On Tuesday nights, he likes to go to ‘the club’, aka The Cavendish Club. And on nights when he’s really hungry, he goes to his other favourite private members’ club, Shoreditch Lodge, because of their ‘incredible’ buffet. It is a pretty good buffet to be fair – dozens of fresh glistening salads, fresh fruit, barely a carb in sight. But my favourite of Daniel’s haunts is a tiny French restaurant just around the corner from his office on Bermondsey Street. It’s small and unpretentious, sparsely decorated with whitewashed walls, hideously cliched strings of garlic, and candles stuffed into old wine bottles dripping with wax. It’s not like the private members’ clubs, where people Daniel knows always come over and sit down, wasting no time at all before they start talking about their recent holiday to Monaco, the trip they took on their friend’s yacht, their latest Sloane Square shopping spree that got out of control. I’m yet to witness a single conversation in the clubs that doesn’t revolve around money but whether Daniel likes it or not, he fits in effortlessly. ‘Just got back from Milan.’ ‘Picking up some silk for a client.’ ‘Off to Paris next week.’ I don’t think Daniel realises how strange these conversations sound to people like me. Lewisham’s Wetherspoons is my Cavendish Club, staycations in Skegness are the type of holidays my friends go on and Sloane Square!? We’re more likely to get excited about five quid bargains from the local Scope.
Esther jumps up onto the sofa and makes herself comfortable on my lap. I tickle her fur as I gaze out of the window at the spectacular view, which still amazes me every time. She starts to purr softly.
‘No, the sofa won’t fit next to the display cabinet,’ Daniel explains to a client as he paces back and forth across the flat, talking into his mobile. ‘It’s a bit late to make an eight-foot version now, I’m afraid. It’s already been made.’
He walks over to the window. ‘I could but I’d have to have the cabinet redone. It would cost another £35,000.’ He pauses, looking out over the city.
‘Okay, of course not, that’s absolutely no problem. I’ll let the designers know.’
This is our routine now. I come home from work, Daniel’s usually back before me so I play with Esther while he wraps up a few business calls. I watch the sun set over London, observing the lights coming on across the city, glittering into the distance, and then we make plans for the evening. It’s still a novelty, discussing what to have for dinner with a man.
‘Excellent. Speak tomorrow.’ Daniel hangs up and walks over, perching on the edge of the sofa.
‘Clients! They want me to scrap the cabinet we agreed on ages ago and make a new version.’
‘The one your designers have been working on?’ I ask, recalling one of our conversations over dinner a few nights ago.
Daniel nods, rolling his eyes. His designers have been crafting a cabinet for weeks made from special thuya wood that Daniel spent ages tracking down from some exclusive supplier in Morocco. I couldn’t believe it when he told me the cabinet was going to cost the client £35,000. More than my entire year’s salary on a flipping cabinet!
‘Will they still have to pay?’ I ask.
‘Yeah, we’ll figure something out.’ Daniel shrugs. ‘But it’s not about the money. It’s all the effort. I’m going to deal with the suppliers all over again. The designers are going to be really pissed off.’
I pull what I hope is a sympathetic face, though I can’t help thinking what ridiculously first world problems Daniel has; I don’t think I’l
l ever get my head around his world. He sighs loudly and reaches over to stroke Esther. She rolls onto her back as Daniel massages her belly.
‘You like that, don’t you, baby?’ he coos as Esther purrs loudly.
‘You little flirt!’ I poke Esther playfully. She looks round and glares at me.
‘You love your daddy, don’t you, baby? Don’t you?’ Daniel murmurs. Esther purrs louder as Daniel ruffles her fur.
‘What do you fancy for dinner?’ he asks. ‘I’m starving.’
‘Are you talking to me or “Esther baby”?’ I tease.
Daniel grins. ‘Unfortunately, I don’t think I can take Esther baby to Shoreditch Lodge,’ he says morosely.
Please not Shoreditch Lodge. What I really want to do is just stay in and have a quiet night. Just me and Daniel.
‘How about we just hang out at home, watch TV and have cheese on toast or something?’ I suggest brightly.
Daniel scoffs. ‘What, like you do with that old lady you visit?’ he asks, tickling Esther behind the ear.
‘Her name’s Lyn,’ I point out, a little huffily. She’s not just ‘that old lady’; she’s Lyn. And anyway, I’ve mentioned her to Daniel enough times over the past few weeks for him to remember her name.
‘So, you don’t want to go out?’ Daniel looks up from tickling Esther, seemingly not picking up on my tone.
‘Just a bit tired,’ I say, unable to suppress a yawn. It’s been a long week and I’m feeling drained from work. Ted gave me a delightful 100-page paper to plough through over the past few days and the only perk of my time in the office has been watching Betsy growing increasingly rotund on the webcam.
‘Well, I don’t have any cheese or any bread for that matter,’ he says. ‘Shall we just order something?’
‘If you want.’ I shrug.
When Daniel told me cooking wasn’t his forte, I don’t think I realised quite how serious he was being. He hasn’t used his state-of-the-art hob once. Even his bespoke microwave and toaster are untouched. He’s just about capable of making coffee and blending a smoothie but that’s literally it. Asking him to make cheese on toast would be like asking a lobotomised monkey to make duck a l’orange. Daniel picks his iPad up off the coffee table.