Chapter 6
6
Lunch get-togethers were a regular suggestion from Holly which, given that Fiona rarely said yes more than a handful of times a year, was a testament to their friendship. On Holly’s side, anyway. They had special dates pencilled in, of course, birthdays mainly, but even some of those Fiona had cancelled at the last minute over the years, when either her own or Stephen’s schedule had interrupted their plans. So, on Wednesday morning, after checking in on the situation with Martha, running the vacuum around the house and firing a couple of emails off to clients to let them know that she was now available should they need her, she headed to the rendezvous in Holly’s message.
There was no need to rush. Generally, Holly arrived fifteen minutes late, even later in the evenings, when she’d already have been drinking. Bearing that in mind and factoring in the time it would take her to get there, Fiona left the house exactly two minutes before the arranged time.
Her friend had spent several years writing horoscopes for two well-known papers and acting as agony aunt for various other publications. Occasionally, she’d turn her hand to writing book reviews – despite the fact that the only time Fiona had ever seen her reading was when forced to at university. Food critiquing was now something she was trying to get into. So, when she arrived at the restaurant, which turned out to be only one stop away from her office, it needed a double take for her to decide she was in the right place. It didn’t look at all like the type of establishment Holly would frequent.
‘I think my friend has made a reservation,’ she said, hesitantly, as she stepped inside to the reception desk.
‘Name?’
‘Holly. Holly Winter.’ She looked around her with growing unease at the bare-concrete and plastic-drainpipe décor. Potted plants – some weed-like monstrosities – formed the table settings, while all along the windows were full-length planters, filled with a variety of more random foliage. Most bizarre of all, however, were the hanging baskets, which appeared to be growing tomatoes.
‘This way.’ She was escorted to the far corner where a large pebble, daubed with paint, announced that the table was reserved. Honestly, she thought, it looks like something Joseph would have brought back from primary school.
Offering a warm smile to the perversely sullen waitress, she took a seat. Already fifteen minutes later than she and Holly had arranged to meet, she was glad she hadn’t set out any earlier and decided to check her phone while she waited. Finding two emails from the office, she began to reply.
‘Excuse me.’ The waitress, who had a nightmarish number of piercings, including a large ring through her top lip, loomed over her.
‘Oh, I’m waiting for my friend,’ she said, assuming she was expecting her to order.
‘No phones,’ the woman replied.
‘Sorry?’
‘No phones. We don’t do phones here.’ She pointed to the wall between two sections of drainpipe, where Life is short. Talk to each other had been painted. ‘You need to put your phone away,’ the waitress clarified.
Frowning, Fiona glanced back down at it. ‘That’s a very lovely sentiment and everything,’ she said, ‘but I don’t actually have anyone to talk to yet. And it’s not as if I’m annoying anyone, is it?’
‘No phones,’ the woman repeated. ‘And you’re annoying me.’
Fiona pursed her lips, affronted at being treated like an adolescent, at her age. The list of reasons why she would not be coming here again was growing. But was this a battle she wanted to get into right now? Probably not. She glared at the woman and dropped the phone back into her bag.
‘Drinks are on the menu. Food is on the board,’ the waitress announced, with a less-than-subtle smirk on her lips, before turning and leaving.
Fortunately, Fiona had barely had time to reach for the menu before Holly appeared.
‘Sorry, I got held up. Have you been waiting long?’
‘Five minutes?’
She pulled out a seat and dropped her bag to the floor beside it. ‘I was worried you might have a problem finding the place. Great, right? And what is that? Can you smell it? Is that pizza?’
Fiona sniffed. Whatever Holly could smell was lost on her. The overriding aroma seemed to be one of soil and compost emanating from the random vegetation.
‘What is this place?’ she asked, turning over the corner of her hessian placemat and prodding the mismatched cutlery. ‘When you said lunch, I thought you meant a proper lunch, you know, in a proper restaurant. With alcohol.’
‘I think they do cocktails here.’
Fiona looked at the drinks menu.
‘Kombucha cooler?’ she made no effort to hide the disdain in her voice. ‘Mint Mockjito? That’s not what I had in mind.’ She sniffed again. ‘Honestly, can you not smell that? It’s like they’ve got a compost heap out the back.’
‘That’s probably because they have.’ Holly picked up her own drinks menu. ‘It’s one of those farm-to-table places. They grow loads of their produce on site here.’ She plucked a leaf from the weed in the centre of the table and popped it into her mouth. ‘See, spearmint,’ she said after she’d finished chewing. ‘This place has been going for a couple of years. It’s well ahead of the game.’
‘And yet you’ve decided that you want to try it now because…?’
‘No reason.’ She plucked another spearmint leaf.
‘Holly.’
Just as sure as Fiona had been that Holly would arrive late, she knew exactly what the current evasion of eye contact signalled.
‘Fine,’ she relented with a sigh. ‘I overheard some of the men at my new yoga class talking about it. I’ve got a date with one of them next week. I thought it could be something to have in common.’
While intrigued to know how eating at a place which didn’t know if it was a greenhouse or a restaurant would achieve this, any opportunity to delve further into the bizarre workings of her friend’s mind was cut short by the appearance of a man at their table.
The hair was the first thing she noticed about him. His wavy, blond mane was tied in a loose bun, which he wore near the top of his head. Paired with a full, dark beard and studded eyebrow, it was difficult to see how someone like him could work in an eatery without violating several food hygiene laws.
‘How are you ladies doing today?’ he asked.
‘Great.’ Holly smiled broadly enough for the two of them, which was fortunate as Fiona’s face had set itself into a scowl. ‘We’re great.’
‘Aces. Well. As I’m sure my staff explained to you, food is all on the blackboard, but take your time and feel free to ask any questions you might have about it. I see you’ve already found the drinks menu. Are you ready to order, or do you need a little more time?’
Suddenly realising that he was talking to her, Fiona hastily turned her attention to the list of cocktails in her hands. Turmeric iced tea? Watermelon and ginseng Fresca? It didn’t take long for her to know there was nothing there she wanted.
‘Do you do coffee?’ she asked.
‘We do.’
‘Great.’ A glimmer of hope flickered. Even a bad coffee was better than none at all. ‘I’ll have a cappuccino.’
‘Awesome.’ His eyes glinted as they remained fixed on her. ‘What kind of milk would you like with that? We’ve got cashew, almond, oat?—’
‘I just want milk milk.’
‘Milk milk? You mean dairy milk?’
‘I do. Yes. Dairy milk. Milk milk. Milk from a cow.’
‘Okay.’ His lips pressed together in a half smirk. ‘Great, one cappuccino with milk milk. Any preference on the bean?’
‘The bean? I get to choose my bean?’
‘The list is there on the drinks menu.’
Turning it over, she found herself staring at a selection even Stephen would have had a hard time turning his nose up at. Assuming they were brewed properly, of course.
‘We’ve got Turkish, Colombian?—’
‘I’ll have the Blue Mountain,’ she said, finding her first choice near the bottom. His smile broadened.
‘Of course you will,’ he said, smiling at her in a way that made her feel uncomfortable and nervous, yet tingly at the same time. She wasn’t entirely sure what it was about him that had caused any of those reactions.
‘I’ll have the same,’ Holly said.
His eyes lingered on Fiona for a second longer and then, in a heartbeat, the connection was broken and the man was smiling at her friend. However, while his gaze might have gone, the tingling persisted a fraction longer.
‘So,’ Holly said, when the long-haired, inappropriately smirky hipster had gone to fetch their drinks. ‘Has Stephen made contact at all?’
‘Not yet. But no news is good news, right? I don’t suppose you’ve heard anything have you? On your grapevine? About him? Or this woman?’
Holly shook her head. ‘Sorry. I haven’t been asking though, you know. I thought you wanted to keep the whole thing confidential.’
‘You’re right. Of course, you’re right.’ Her fingers found the stem of the herb in front of her. She tore off one of the leaves, slowly. Being discreet would be better for all of them in the long run, when she and Stephen had sorted things out. ‘I just wish I had something to go on. A name. An age. Anything.’
‘Would it help?’
‘Probably not.’
The moment’s contemplation was cut short.
‘So, here you are. Two milk milk cappuccinos. Have you decided what you’d like to eat yet, or do you need a little more time?’
Ignoring the question, Fiona lifted the drink to her lips. A small sigh escaped as the coffee hit her throat. There was little in the world that didn’t seem better with a nice, strong coffee.
‘It’s good,’ she said to Holly.
‘I know,’ the man replied.
This time, she was smart enough not to look at him, in case he caught her with that arrogant, wide-eyed grin again.
‘We’re going to need a bit more time,’ she said, deliberately looking down at the menu. ‘I haven’t had a chance to choose yet.’
‘No, me neither. Can you give us five minutes?’ Holly asked.
‘Sure, no worries.’ He turned back to Fiona. ‘Although everything we’ve got food-wise is on the board over there. That’s just the drinks menu, I’m afraid. You’ve already looked through that one.’ From his tone, it was clear that he was trying to get a reaction out of her. What with the no-phones rule and now this, it certainly wasn’t a place that majored on customer service.
‘I’ll be back in a couple of minutes,’ he said.
Peeking over the top of the card, she watched as he sauntered away to the counter. Even from behind, she could tell he was smirking.
‘I wouldn’t say no to that,’ Holly said, leaning over the table in a conspiratorial manner.
‘What?’
‘What do you mean what ? He was flirting with you. And he’s cute.’
‘He was not flirting,’ she spluttered. ‘He was doing his job. And badly at that, I might add.’
‘He is cute though.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous. He looks like a hipster. And he must be ten years younger than me and… besides, why are we even talking about this? I’m married.’
‘Well, all I’m saying is, I wouldn’t judge you.’
Fiona refused to dignify that remark with an answer. In her line of work, she was never short of attention. Men, away from home at a conference, were often looking for company in their lonely hotel suites. Over the years, she’d had one or two more permanent admirers too: clients who had developed a crush on her. But she knew it was nothing more than a bit of harmless flirting on their part. A bit of fun. Nothing to be taken too seriously. After twenty years of marriage, she wasn’t sure she would know how to flirt any more. Not properly. And she certainly wouldn’t know how to take it any further. God, she could barely remember any other position than missionary, legs behind her ears while Stephen pounded away, after two decades still unable to locate her clitoris.
‘What are you thinking?’
‘What?’ she dropped the menu, her cheeks colouring rapidly. ‘Er, nothing,’ she stammered.
‘About the food, I mean. It looks good.’ Holly studied the blackboard as she spoke. ‘You know, I miss growing my own.’
‘When did you ever grow your own food?’ She knew her friend better than anyone, but this was clearly a phase that she’d missed.
‘You know, when I had that little courtyard in Woolwich. The one behind the railway.’
The memory took a while to locate.
‘Didn’t you just grow tomatoes and weed?’
‘And mint for mojitos. Don’t forget the mint.’
Laughing at her comical friend, she turned her attention to the menu in earnest.
‘The Dumpster Dive,’ she read from the top of the board. ‘Why would anyone put that on a menu? That has to be the most off-putting thing ever.’
‘Ahh, so you don’t know much about us then? The Dumpster Dive: it’s our name.’ The owner was back again. ‘We specialise in reclaimed food and zero waste. We’ve also got a small shop just over the road that’s all zero waste too. We’re looking for a place big enough to house the café and shop together, eventually.’
‘Waste food?’ Fiona fired a look across at Holly, trying to indicate how unimpressed she was with her friend’s choice of lunch venue. If Holly wanted her to come on any more of these lunch dates, she was going the wrong way about it. And Fiona didn’t like the way he’d diverted the conversation away from the food either. ‘What does that mean? You sell leftovers?’
‘In a way. We collect food from supermarkets and shops that’s close to its sell-by date and therefore about to be thrown out. Then, each morning, we design a menu based around that produce. That’s why it’s on the blackboard, because it changes every day.’
‘Is that safe? I mean, if it’s near its sell-by date?’
‘Do you know what the sell-by date was on the last piece of meat you ate in a restaurant? Of course you don’t. What about the cheese or milk? Nope, you don’t. Obviously, we’d never cook something that was going off. Trust me, nothing here is going to make you ill. We want people to come back and, as you can see,’ he stepped back a little and gestured to the bustling tables around him, ‘they do.’
She remained unconvinced, particularly since the comment came from a man who looked like he’d needed more hepatitis and tetanus jabs than your average stray dog catcher.
‘And all the food is dumpster-dived as you say?’
He shook his head. ‘Not yet. Most of it is, but there are still a couple of things we buy in, without packaging of course. Hopefully, after we’ve been going a bit longer and got a few more supermarkets involved, it’ll all be waste produce. If you’re interested in learning more, I’d love to sit down and chat with you about it.’
She looked back up at the menu board. A salmon burger was distinctly less appealing when there was an increased chance of it keeping you up all night. And the same could be said for the gorgonzola ravioli and goat’s cheese tart. Every item brought visions of mould spores and bright-green fungus.
‘Do you know what?’ she asked, ‘I think I’m good with just coffee.’
She was thankful when Holly had finished her meal. While it looked nice enough on the pretty grey slate with edible flower garnish, the thought of eating food that had been heading to landfill made her stomach turn.
‘I’m not going to lie,’ Holly said, using a slice of bread to mop up the remaining sauce. ‘You missed out here. It was really good.’
‘I think we’ll see who missed out tomorrow morning when you’re up at 3a.m. with a dodgy tummy.’
‘Oh ye of little faith,’ Holly replied, before sliding her plate to one side. ‘So, what are you going to do?’ she asked, with her serious face on.
‘About?’
‘About everything. Stephen, life, work.’
‘Well, work is fine,’ Fiona replied. ‘The wedding is shaping up to be quite the event.’
‘I can’t believe they’ve sold the photos.’
‘I know. Crazy really.’
‘Your wedding. In all those magazines. You know your business is going to explode, right?’
She wrinkled her nose. ‘I don’t know. I mean, I don’t mind doing a wedding as a one off, but I couldn’t go back to it. Too much emotion. You don’t get that with a business event. Just facts and figures. Not worrying about choosing a flower that might upset your Aunty June because it reminds her of her mother’s funeral.’
‘You’re not serious?’
‘It’s happened before. Anyway, work is going well. Annabel and I were talking last month about taking on someone new. Just to work with the smaller clients.’
‘That’s brilliant.’
‘And the other stuff? Well, I guess I’ll just keep myself busy until he comes around.’
‘And you still think he will? Come around, that is.’
Pursing her lips, Fiona didn’t spend long contemplating the question. ‘He will. He has to. This is our whole life. And, like I said, I’ve got plenty to keep me busy at work until he does. It might even be good not to have any distractions for a bit.’
Holly’s expression changed from concern to annoyance. ‘Really. You’re going to focus on work right now? What you need is some proper you time .’
‘Work is me time.’
Holly wasn’t convinced. ‘At least come to yoga with me on Friday. You used to love it.’
‘I used to be able to touch my toes without worrying about slipping a disc too,’ she replied.
‘All the more reason to come – strengthen your core.’ Holly paused. ‘Oh, come on. There’ll be more hot men to flirt with.’ She nodded in the direction of the restaurant owner, who was showing someone to a seat.
Fiona shuddered. ‘That’s not the way to get me there.’
‘Well then, come because I want you to. I hardly ever get to spend time with you doing things like that. It’ll be fun.’
And then, because it was easier than inventing a plausible excuse, when she knew she didn’t have one, Fiona said, ‘Oh all right then.’