Authors: Jennifer Joyce
‘Great. I took Isaac and Luke to the zoo.’ Adam’s eye light up, as they always do whenever he talks about his nephews. ‘Isaac now wants to be a zookeeper when he’s older. Luke wants to be a rhino. I don’t know how to break it to him that when people say you can be anything you want to be, that isn’t strictly true.’
‘Tell me about it. I wanted to be an actress on Broadway when I was younger.’
‘There’s still time,’ Adam points out but I shake my head.
‘Acting isn’t my strong point.’ As I found out when I took part in the Year Six Christmas show at school. I was playing a Christmas tree and I was so nervous, I became a self-watering Christmas tree. Right there on the stage, in front of everyone. ‘What did you want to be?’
‘A fireman,’ Adam says and I repeat his words about there still being time. Like me, Adam shakes his head. ‘It turns out the grown-up Adam isn’t nearly as brave as the little-boy Adam. I’ll stick to the safety of social media, thanks. Speaking of which…’ Adam grabs a pile of printouts. ‘The new recipe competition has closed. Want to help me pick a winner?’
I look at my in-tray. Denise has helpfully placed the bundle of clock cards on the top, ready for me to transfer the info onto the payroll report. ‘I’d love to. Shall I put the kettle on?’
Over cups of tea, Adam and I pore over the entrants. The public really took to the idea and there are a lot of recipes to sift through. There are numerous versions of cheesecake, from the standard strawberry to the more unusual pumpkin and the not-very-appetising (to me, at least) fennel cheesecake. Amongst the entrants are several variants of millionaire’s shortbread, rocky road bites and delicious-sounding biscuit brownies. I love the sound of the biscuit chocolate roll while Adam is keen to try out the lemon parfait but in the end we choose a chocolate truffle biscuit cake and rope Karen in to help us bake it.
This recipe is a lot more complex than the ones we’d attempted before but Karen, being far more knowledgeable than Adam and I in the kitchen, is able to whip up the dessert quite easily. The result is a gorgeously gooey chocolate cake with layers of crunchy biscuits, chocolate truffle and cream. Adam takes lots of photos for the blog before we attack it.
‘Oh my.’ I cannot believe how good this tastes. It is heaven on a plate.
‘I’d trade my husband in for this cake,’ Karen says and I don’t doubt it at all.
‘We definitely have our winner,’ Adam adds. I don’t know how we could even consider any of the other entries worthy.
Adam and I decide we deserve a pint after slaving away in the kitchen (as though eating the end product wasn’t enough of a reward) so we decamp to The Bonnie Dundee after work. The pub, as ever, is empty apart from the bored-looking landlord who is playing solitaire along the sticky bar.
‘Today has been surprisingly fun,’ I say as we carry our pints to one of the many vacant tables. ‘I never knew a Monday at Brinkley’s could be like that.’
Adam laughs. ‘You’re not a huge fan of the office, are you?’
‘It’s not so bad now that you’re here.’ I cringe as the words leave my mouth. Did I say that out loud? ‘I mean, you make a nice change from the Brinkley Clan.’
‘They can be hard work,’ Adam admits.
‘You’re all right. They love you. Neville wants to adopt you and I won’t mention what Katey-Louise wants to do to you.’
Adam grins at me and I feel a delicious little bubble rise up inside. ‘I can’t help being this adorable. I was born this way. My parents should be awarded for bestowing me onto the world.’
‘And you should be awarded for your modesty.’
‘I’ll add it to my collection. It’ll go well with my handsome, successful, general-all-rounder awards.’ Adam grins at me again and my insides go all squishy. I have a definite crush on this man, which is a little bit scary as I haven’t had an actual crush on anybody but Ben in such a long time. I’ve had a good, hard look at my relationship with Ben over the past couple of months and I’m not entirely happy with what I’ve found. I’m starting to think Lauren was right, that Ben was controlling. Could it be that I really am starting to move on from Ben? Maybe what I’m feeling for Adam isn’t just a harmless little work crush but could lead to more.
But what am I supposed to do with these feelings? Stuff them back deep inside and hope they go away? Or act on them and pray Adam doesn’t think I’m a complete moron?
‘Sorry, what was that?’ Adam has said something but I’ve been too preoccupied with deciding what to do with these silly teenage feelings to pay attention. I feel like I’m in an episode of Dawson’s Creek. Any minute now Lauren is going to come crawling through the pub’s dirty window and we’ll start talking fast and inappropriately mature for a bunch of fifteen-year-olds.
‘It doesn’t matter.’ Adam takes a sip of his pint. ‘You were miles away. What were you thinking about?’
I could tell Adam that I like him as more than a work colleague and hope he likes me too. But then what if he doesn’t? I’ll be humiliated and I’ll have no choice but to resign from Brinkley’s and find a new job. Which sounds like far too much hard work.
‘I was just worrying about what Denise will say when she finds out I haven’t updated the payroll report.’ I am a chicken. Cluck, cluck.
‘Don’t worry. I’ll say I forced you into the kitchen.’ Adam pats my hand and I get all fuzzy inside, especially when Adam’s fingers linger on my hand. He doesn’t break contact as he picks up his pint with his other hand and my hand is frozen in place.
It’s almost like we’re holding hands.
‘I’m sure Denise will buy that.’ My voice comes out all funny; croaky and barely above a whisper. I’m not sure who my body thinks will overhear – there hasn’t been the hint of another customer since we arrived and even the landlord has disappeared down the cellar.
‘It’s one of the perks of being adored by your bosses,’ Adam says. His fingers are still resting on my hand. I daren’t move.
‘If only we could all be so charming.’
‘You think I’m charming?’
‘Incredibly,’ I squeak.
I’m disappointed when Adam moves his hand, but instead of removing our contact completely, he gently pushes our fingers together until they’re entwined. Now we really are holding hands, which my body thinks is a marvellous time to make my palms sweat profusely.
Yes, I definitely have a crush on this man. And maybe, just maybe, he has a little crush on me too.
Lunch with the ‘in-laws’
Text Message:
Delilah:
Going shopping with Lauren for an outfit to wear when I meet your mum and dad next week – can’t wait!
Ben:
Mum and Dad are pretty conservative so don’t buy anything too revealing. Plus Mum thinks really high heels are tacky
Ben:
I should mention that Mum doesn’t like girls who wear lots of makeup either. Or costume jewellery
Ben:
And she doesn’t like girls wearing trousers or jeans. Definitely no leggings!
True to her word, Mum spoke to Eleanor over the garden fence, which resulted in Eleanor inviting herself and Phil over for lunch. And, as if that isn’t bad enough luck, Ryan has left the kitchen duties in my incapable hands as an act of revenge for making him cook for my family.
‘At least there are only two of them,’ Ryan had said after dropping the Eleanor-sized bombshell. ‘You invited five people over.’
‘But my mum adores you. She thinks you’re the bee’s knees. Your mum thinks I’m the bee’s bum hole. She’ll be looking out for ways to pick at me.’
Ryan only grinned at me, the great git. ‘You’d better make lunch perfect then.’
So here I am, crammed into Ryan’s pathetic excuse of a kitchen, flitting from one work surface to another whilst trying my hardest not to panic. It isn’t as though I’m even making anything complicated. I’ve decided against a traditional Sunday lunch and will serve spaghetti Bolognese instead. The food is simple and nothing to panic over. It’s the company I’m dreading.
It’s a gorgeous day so I’ve decided it’ll be nice to eat out in the garden. I’ve given the plastic furniture a good scrub and the table has been covered by a tablecloth. I’ve even popped a few bright chrysanthemums in an old, thoroughly-cleaned Nutella jar for a centrepiece. The cutlery and what Ryan considers his posh glasses (i.e. not chipped) have been set and it’d look passable if we were dining with close friends or family and not Eleanor, who is sure to criticise everything.
‘This is stupid,’ I say as I place a jug of iced water on the table. It’s hit me again how silly this whole thing is – and not just because I’m dreading spending the afternoon with Eleanor. ‘We should tell our parents that our relationship isn’t real. It’s getting out of hand.’ This flash of conscience and common sense is partly due to Adam’s rather sweet hand-holding in the pub. Nothing more actually happened that evening but I’m hoping it will and that isn’t really possible when, to all intents and purposes, I’m living with another bloke.
‘And you think they’ll understand why we pretended to be together?’ Ryan asks. He picks up his basketball and tosses it towards the hoop at the bottom of the garden. He’s been casually practising his shots while I’ve been sweating and panicking in the kitchen.
‘We don’t have to actually tell them we pretended.’ I’d prefer it if we didn’t. Damage limitation and all that, plus it’d be less embarrassing. ‘We can say we made a mistake, that we’ve realised we’re better off just being friends.’
‘But what about our Facebook updates? Won’t it look strange if we suddenly stop posting them?’ Ryan asks. ‘Francesca’s already taken the bait.’
Francesca (quite rightly) couldn’t believe that Ryan and I were a couple after all these years but she thought it was fantastic, according to the comment she left on a recent photo of me and Ryan having a picnic.
‘Everyone will think we’ve stopped being smug, that’s all. Besides, my mum and dad don’t use Facebook.’
‘My mum does. Why do you think I keep posting all these cheesy selfies?’ I’d assumed it was to help fool Ben but clearly not. ‘She gets more and more irate with every one I post. Do you realise how much fun it is having her believe you’re my girlfriend?’
‘Why? What has she said?’
Ryan brings his hand up to his mouth as though to cover a cough as he masks a chuckle. ‘Nothing.’ Ryan struggles to keep a straight face. ‘Nothing at all.’
‘Liar,’ I say but I don’t have the chance to probe any further as I hear the faint sound of the doorbell ringing. I shoot one last, pleading look at Ryan but he simply shakes his head so I make a dash through the house and open the door to my ‘in-laws’.
‘Eleanor, Phil. Lovely to see you again.’ My butt-licking tone sickens me.
‘You too, Delilah.’ Phil smiles as he takes my outstretched hand and gives it a brief shake.
Eleanor ignores the hand I’m proffering and pushes her way into the hallway. ‘Where’s my son?’ Without waiting for an answer, Eleanor marches into the sitting room. It’s clearly empty but Eleanor doesn’t move on. This is the perfect opportunity for a snoop and a dust-inspection. She actually runs her finger along the mantelpiece so I’m thankful I gave the sitting room a thorough dusting this morning in preparation.
Eleanor inspects her finger, wrinkling her nose in distaste. Not because she has found a fingertip full of grime but because she hasn’t and therefore has nothing to complain about. She’s about to move on when something catches her eye.
‘What is this?’ She plucks a photo frame from the mantelpiece and peers at it, her lip curling at the sight. ‘How vulgar.’
‘That’s an early birthday present from Delilah.’ Ryan strides into the room with the basketball tucked under his arm. He slides his free arm around my waist, giving me a squeeze. I’ve never seen that photo frame before. I didn’t buy it and I certainly didn’t give it to Ryan as a present. I’ve bought him a mug with ‘Old Fart’s Drink’ printed on it and a Batman t-shirt for his upcoming birthday.
‘It’s…’ Eleanor flounders, searching for a word to replace vulgar but it seems she’s unable to come up with anything but a faint squeak. She places the frame back on the mantelpiece and that’s when I see the photo inside. It’s a selfie of me and Ryan at our recent picnic. We’re squeezed together on a blanket while our hands are connected to form a heart shape. Talk about cheese! Ryan winks at me before dropping a kiss on top of my head.
‘Shall we go outside?’ I ask. I can feel Ryan trembling beside me, desperate to laugh at his little trick.
‘Outside?’ Eleanor backs away from the photo, avoiding eye contact with it. ‘Whatever for?’
‘That’s where we’re eating.’ Ryan spins the basketball on his index finger for a moment before he starts to lead the way through the house to the garden. ‘Follow me!’
‘You know how I feel about eating outdoors,’ Eleanor says as we head through the tiny kitchen to the back door. ‘I don’t even enjoy picnics!’ Eleanor steps out onto the paving stones gently, as though she’s stepping onto quicksand that could gobble her up at any given moment. ‘Perhaps we should go back inside.’
‘And waste this day?’ Ryan holds his arms up to the sun, which is filling the garden with warmth.
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t know you didn’t like eating outdoors.’ I glare at Ryan, who had ample time to warn me about her aversion. ‘Is that why you never accepted Mum’s invites to our barbecues?’ Perhaps we’d misjudged her all this time. Perhaps she wasn’t stuck up at all but simply wasn’t a fan of the dining option.
‘No, dear. That is not the reason at all.’ Eleanor stalks across the garden and drops into one of the white plastic chairs. It doesn’t appear that she’s going to elaborate and I’m not sure how to reply to that so I scurry back to the kitchen to grab the food.
‘Is this what we’re having? Spaghetti?’ Eleanor widens her eyes at her son as I arrive with my culinary efforts. ‘Aren’t we having a roast? We always have a roast on a Sunday.’
‘I’m not a big fan of roasts,’ I say, which is big, fat lie. I love a roast with all the trimmings (the more trimmings the better, in fact) but eating a roast lunch and having to cook one are two completely different beasts. I scuttle back to the safety of the kitchen to grab the rest of the food, giving myself a pep talk before I return.