custards. I want to see if we can do something original with the packaging, so that the product stands out on-shelf. Will and I have discussed squeezy tubes, spherical packs with a small flat bottom, and triangular pots. I want the product to be fun but not too childlike – the flavours are relatively sophisticated.
‘We’re still having a few problems with the plastics,’ says Will. I watch as a long metal arm drops a tablespoon of crunchy nut granola into a pale pink translucent pot, then another robot arm deposits a teacup’s worth of raspberry custard on top, a third arm squirts a light layer of Madagascan vanilla cream and then the final arm sealsplastic over it and the pot whizzes along to the end of the line and drops neatly into a tray. God, I love dessert factories.
Will buys me lunch in the canteen, and then we go to his office and talk through all the costs, macrobiotics and life tests on every product. The meeting is overrunning. It is now 5.09pm. I have been checking my watch every ten minutes since 3.30pm. I’m desperate to know if James is outside, and if he is, how long will he wait? I can barely swallow my throat is so dry. My nerves can’t take it any longer and I apologise to Will and say I have to pop out for a minute. I dash to the loo and with trembling hands wipe the slightly smudged mascara from under my eyes, and powder the shine from my nose and when I finally do step outside, my heart racing, I see James, leaning against his car, arms folded. He holds up a little white flag and I can’t help but laugh.
‘Two minutes,’ I say, trying not to skip back into the factory and up to Will’s office.
‘Will? My friend’s here, sorry, but I have to go,’ I say, as I feel my heart doing cartwheels.
‘Already?’ he says. ‘Oh … okay …’ Maybe I imagine it but he seems a little peeved. I guess it is bad form to walk out mid-meeting.
‘I’ll call you about everything tomorrow,’ I say. He escortsme to the front door, and as I turn to wave goodbye I see him checking out James’s car with a slightly raised brow.
‘Nice dress,’ says James. Ah, the dress! I think. Not me, the dress. Will said I looked gorgeous, James instead comments on the packaging.
He holds the car door open and I get in. He sits looking at me, grinning, for a full minute.
‘Drive, please,’ I say. ‘It’s hot in here.’
He turns the CD player on and I press stop. ‘I’ve had enough Dido for one lifetime thank you. I’ll plug my iPod in.’
‘Feisty today, aren’t you,’ he says, smiling.
I put on my playlist that I’ve been listening to for the last week. First song, The Beatles, ‘And Your Bird Can Sing.’
‘I like this,’ he says.
‘You would – it’s about you,’ I say.
‘Huh?’
‘Listen to the lyrics,’ I say. He does, then says, ‘but you’re my bird, and you can sing.’
‘I’m not your bird anymore. And you’re entirely missing the point.’
Next up comes Willy Nelson, ‘Always on My Mind.’ He listens for ten seconds, then tries to flick forward.
‘That’s a beautiful song!’ I say.
‘No,’ he shakes his head. ‘It’s sad. What a waste, spending all that time thinking about someone.’
‘That’s why it’s beautiful, dummy,’ I say. ‘Not as beautiful as Flo Rida I know …’
He laughs. ‘I watched a DVD the other night, Being John Malkovich , have you seen it? It’s your sort of mad, artsy thing,’ he says.
‘Brilliant film,’ I say. That and Eternal Sunshine …’
‘Is that where they’re trying to turn the sun out?’
‘No, that’s Sunshine. Eternal Sunshine is about love and memory – if you could, would you zap away all your painful memories. You should watch it, even Jim Carrey is great in it.’
‘Doesn’t sound as good as Dumb and Dumber ,’ he says, laughing.
‘I love John Malkovich,’ I say. ‘He can do Con Air and Dangerous Liaisons and be entirely seductive in both.’
‘ Dangerous Liaisons ! I love that
‘We’re still having a few problems with the plastics,’ says Will. I watch as a long metal arm drops a tablespoon of crunchy nut granola into a pale pink translucent pot, then another robot arm deposits a teacup’s worth of raspberry custard on top, a third arm squirts a light layer of Madagascan vanilla cream and then the final arm sealsplastic over it and the pot whizzes along to the end of the line and drops neatly into a tray. God, I love dessert factories.
Will buys me lunch in the canteen, and then we go to his office and talk through all the costs, macrobiotics and life tests on every product. The meeting is overrunning. It is now 5.09pm. I have been checking my watch every ten minutes since 3.30pm. I’m desperate to know if James is outside, and if he is, how long will he wait? I can barely swallow my throat is so dry. My nerves can’t take it any longer and I apologise to Will and say I have to pop out for a minute. I dash to the loo and with trembling hands wipe the slightly smudged mascara from under my eyes, and powder the shine from my nose and when I finally do step outside, my heart racing, I see James, leaning against his car, arms folded. He holds up a little white flag and I can’t help but laugh.
‘Two minutes,’ I say, trying not to skip back into the factory and up to Will’s office.
‘Will? My friend’s here, sorry, but I have to go,’ I say, as I feel my heart doing cartwheels.
‘Already?’ he says. ‘Oh … okay …’ Maybe I imagine it but he seems a little peeved. I guess it is bad form to walk out mid-meeting.
‘I’ll call you about everything tomorrow,’ I say. He escortsme to the front door, and as I turn to wave goodbye I see him checking out James’s car with a slightly raised brow.
‘Nice dress,’ says James. Ah, the dress! I think. Not me, the dress. Will said I looked gorgeous, James instead comments on the packaging.
He holds the car door open and I get in. He sits looking at me, grinning, for a full minute.
‘Drive, please,’ I say. ‘It’s hot in here.’
He turns the CD player on and I press stop. ‘I’ve had enough Dido for one lifetime thank you. I’ll plug my iPod in.’
‘Feisty today, aren’t you,’ he says, smiling.
I put on my playlist that I’ve been listening to for the last week. First song, The Beatles, ‘And Your Bird Can Sing.’
‘I like this,’ he says.
‘You would – it’s about you,’ I say.
‘Huh?’
‘Listen to the lyrics,’ I say. He does, then says, ‘but you’re my bird, and you can sing.’
‘I’m not your bird anymore. And you’re entirely missing the point.’
Next up comes Willy Nelson, ‘Always on My Mind.’ He listens for ten seconds, then tries to flick forward.
‘That’s a beautiful song!’ I say.
‘No,’ he shakes his head. ‘It’s sad. What a waste, spending all that time thinking about someone.’
‘That’s why it’s beautiful, dummy,’ I say. ‘Not as beautiful as Flo Rida I know …’
He laughs. ‘I watched a DVD the other night, Being John Malkovich , have you seen it? It’s your sort of mad, artsy thing,’ he says.
‘Brilliant film,’ I say. That and Eternal Sunshine …’
‘Is that where they’re trying to turn the sun out?’
‘No, that’s Sunshine. Eternal Sunshine is about love and memory – if you could, would you zap away all your painful memories. You should watch it, even Jim Carrey is great in it.’
‘Doesn’t sound as good as Dumb and Dumber ,’ he says, laughing.
‘I love John Malkovich,’ I say. ‘He can do Con Air and Dangerous Liaisons and be entirely seductive in both.’
‘ Dangerous Liaisons ! I love that
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