didn’t like it …
‘No,’ he says. ‘I thought it was over-rated. I meant
True Grit
, also with Jeff Bridges.’
‘Oh I loved
True Grit
, with the young girl with the plaits. So great!’
OK, enough of this time-wasting. I need to find out if he has a girlfriend. We’re now entering the canteen. Tom’ll be at his desk already, I haven’t got much time. I’d better ask some smart, open questions.
‘Do you go to the cinema much?’ I say. See if he replies with a ‘we’ …
‘Not as much as I’d like,’ he says. ‘You?’
‘Same. I don’t seem to have much time, you know, day job, and then I’m quite busy. With
my friends
…’
‘Yeah, I know what you mean. Work seems to take up far more energy than it used to when I was in service.’
‘The army?’ I say, looking at his chest. He’s so broad-shouldered, I could totally see him running through a muddy field in camouflage, carrying an injured colleague on his back to the medi-tent …
‘The army? God no. Why would you think I was a soldier?’
Because I’m totally carried away in some insane fantasy based on your fit body?
‘Me?’ he says. ‘I’m a total wimp. No, I meant service, as in restaurants. I used to run my own pub up in Suffolk. Local, seasonal food, nothing fancy. So, what coffee would you like, young lady? You’re not into this soy chai malarkey too, are you?’
‘Black coffee, thanks.’
‘Good, a proper drink. And any cake or a flapjack?’ he says, eyeing up the selection of goodies on the counter.
In all the years I’ve worked on Fletchers, neither Devron nor Tom has once offered me a piece of cake. I think I love Jeff. Or maybe I just don’t love Devron and Tom. Or maybe I just love cake.
‘That chocolate sponge looks delicious,’ I say. ‘But I can’t be eating cake for breakfast, it sets a bad precedent, don’t you think?’
‘Nonsense. A girl like you should totally have cake for breakfast! Besides, it looks like a giant Suzy Q.’
‘A what?’
‘A Suzy Q! Your name’s Susie and you’ve never heard of a Suzy Q?’ I shake my head. ‘Little American cakes, cream in the middle? Mos Def name-checks them? Go on, get the Suzy Q. You have to, it’s practically named after you. It’s your namesake. Your namecake.’
I let out a pathetically girly little giggle.
‘Go on, it’d be rude not to,’ he says.
‘Really?’
‘Tell you what, if I share it with you does that make you feel any less naughty?’
DO YOU HAVE A GIRLFRIEND? I sincerely hope not, because this conversation amounts to more foreplay than I’ve had in a year.
‘Deal,’ I say, grinning, and then rapidly not grinning as I see Tom waving to us from across the canteen. ‘Tom’s just walked in.’ I feel like we’ve been caught mid-snog.
‘He’s here already?’ he says. ‘Oh. Right, well I guess we’d better get back to work …’
The man behind the counter comes over to us and gives Jeff a broad smile and a high five. ‘
Hey amigo, qué pasa?
What can I get you guys to drink?’
‘Hey Miguel, how’s it going?
Me pones dos cafes solos y un
“soy chai” por favor
?’ he says, rolling his eyes as the man laughs. ‘Miguel’s teaching me Spanish, and I’m teaching him knife skills. That’s a good deal, isn’t it?’ he says to me.
‘Knife skills! Did you learn those in combat too?’ I say.
‘Those training kitchens at the Little Chef can be deadly!’ he says.
‘I’m terrible at chopping,’ I say. ‘Whenever you see chefs on the telly and they’re looking at someone else while they’re chopping an onion at a hundred miles an hour – it makes me break into a sweat. I’d have my arm off if I did that.’
‘Nonsense, it’s dead easy. You just need to practise. It’s all about confidence. I could teach you some basic skills, it’d take me half an hour?’
‘When?’ I say, too quickly.
‘Anytime. You’ll have to give me your number,’ he says, grinning.
Tom is hovering a few metres away
‘No,’ he says. ‘I thought it was over-rated. I meant
True Grit
, also with Jeff Bridges.’
‘Oh I loved
True Grit
, with the young girl with the plaits. So great!’
OK, enough of this time-wasting. I need to find out if he has a girlfriend. We’re now entering the canteen. Tom’ll be at his desk already, I haven’t got much time. I’d better ask some smart, open questions.
‘Do you go to the cinema much?’ I say. See if he replies with a ‘we’ …
‘Not as much as I’d like,’ he says. ‘You?’
‘Same. I don’t seem to have much time, you know, day job, and then I’m quite busy. With
my friends
…’
‘Yeah, I know what you mean. Work seems to take up far more energy than it used to when I was in service.’
‘The army?’ I say, looking at his chest. He’s so broad-shouldered, I could totally see him running through a muddy field in camouflage, carrying an injured colleague on his back to the medi-tent …
‘The army? God no. Why would you think I was a soldier?’
Because I’m totally carried away in some insane fantasy based on your fit body?
‘Me?’ he says. ‘I’m a total wimp. No, I meant service, as in restaurants. I used to run my own pub up in Suffolk. Local, seasonal food, nothing fancy. So, what coffee would you like, young lady? You’re not into this soy chai malarkey too, are you?’
‘Black coffee, thanks.’
‘Good, a proper drink. And any cake or a flapjack?’ he says, eyeing up the selection of goodies on the counter.
In all the years I’ve worked on Fletchers, neither Devron nor Tom has once offered me a piece of cake. I think I love Jeff. Or maybe I just don’t love Devron and Tom. Or maybe I just love cake.
‘That chocolate sponge looks delicious,’ I say. ‘But I can’t be eating cake for breakfast, it sets a bad precedent, don’t you think?’
‘Nonsense. A girl like you should totally have cake for breakfast! Besides, it looks like a giant Suzy Q.’
‘A what?’
‘A Suzy Q! Your name’s Susie and you’ve never heard of a Suzy Q?’ I shake my head. ‘Little American cakes, cream in the middle? Mos Def name-checks them? Go on, get the Suzy Q. You have to, it’s practically named after you. It’s your namesake. Your namecake.’
I let out a pathetically girly little giggle.
‘Go on, it’d be rude not to,’ he says.
‘Really?’
‘Tell you what, if I share it with you does that make you feel any less naughty?’
DO YOU HAVE A GIRLFRIEND? I sincerely hope not, because this conversation amounts to more foreplay than I’ve had in a year.
‘Deal,’ I say, grinning, and then rapidly not grinning as I see Tom waving to us from across the canteen. ‘Tom’s just walked in.’ I feel like we’ve been caught mid-snog.
‘He’s here already?’ he says. ‘Oh. Right, well I guess we’d better get back to work …’
The man behind the counter comes over to us and gives Jeff a broad smile and a high five. ‘
Hey amigo, qué pasa?
What can I get you guys to drink?’
‘Hey Miguel, how’s it going?
Me pones dos cafes solos y un
“soy chai” por favor
?’ he says, rolling his eyes as the man laughs. ‘Miguel’s teaching me Spanish, and I’m teaching him knife skills. That’s a good deal, isn’t it?’ he says to me.
‘Knife skills! Did you learn those in combat too?’ I say.
‘Those training kitchens at the Little Chef can be deadly!’ he says.
‘I’m terrible at chopping,’ I say. ‘Whenever you see chefs on the telly and they’re looking at someone else while they’re chopping an onion at a hundred miles an hour – it makes me break into a sweat. I’d have my arm off if I did that.’
‘Nonsense, it’s dead easy. You just need to practise. It’s all about confidence. I could teach you some basic skills, it’d take me half an hour?’
‘When?’ I say, too quickly.
‘Anytime. You’ll have to give me your number,’ he says, grinning.
Tom is hovering a few metres away
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