The Dish by Stella Newman Page A

fork. ‘They’re absolute . . .’
    ‘You do what I do,’ I say. ‘You try to get an equal bit of everything into each mouthful.’
    ‘A nightmare with roast dinners.’
    ‘The peas always fall off at the last moment.’
    ‘Doesn’t everyone do that?’
    ‘My flatmate doesn’t, she never “cross contaminates ” .’
    ‘That’s the stupidest thing I ever heard,’he says.
    ‘She tried to throw away my toaster when I moved in – she’s scared of bread . . .’
    ‘I thought being scared of clowns was weird.’
    ‘Clowns are terrifying; scared of buttons is the weirdest.’
    ‘You’ve obviously never been alone in a dark alley with a sewing kit.’
    ‘She was slightly chubby as a teenager so now she won’t allow bread in the flat. No bread, no bread-enablers . . .’
    He shakeshis head in confusion. ‘Lunatic!’
    ‘Oh she’s fine, really – she’s out loads. And her dog’s adorable, when she’s not pooing in the kitchen. The antidepressants disagree with her.’
    ‘The dog’s on Prozac?’
    ‘You would be too, if you were forced to wear a leopard print onesie in public.’
    ‘She sounds crackers . . . ooh, can I say crackers or do they count as bread? Sorry, terrible joke . . .’ he says,his cheeks turning pink.
    ‘Honestly, I quite like Amber, we’re just different. My room literally was her walk-in shoe cupboard, but then my salary’s pretty compact too – and it means I can afford to have a job I love that doesn’t pay six figures.’
    ‘Most people are stuck in jobs they don’t like because of their mortgage,’ he says, wistfully.
    ‘I used to have a mortgage,’ I say. ‘Up in Manchester. . . And a husband . . .’ There it is.
    ‘Oh right.’ He nods. Hurrah, hurrah! A gold star for you Adam! Unfazed I’m a secretary, interested in where I work and not bothered by the fact I have a failed marriage.
    ‘You’re not from Manchester though?’
    ‘Muswell Hill, near Ally Pally – over the other side,’ I say, looking down on to the curve of the Thames.
    ‘Let’s go see,’ he says, standing and headingto the bar. I check my watch with a twinge of sadness, 8.28 a.m. ‘I should pay.’
    ‘Don’t worry, Olly knows we’re not doing a runner.’
    ‘I’ll see you there.’ I need a make-up re-touch. In the ladies’ the face in the mirror frowns back at me. Why do people moan about bad hair days? What about bad face days? This Boots Instant Radiance balm may help, if only psychologically. I do a quick primp andhead back out.
    Adam’s standing looking down at the view. ‘Prettier close up than from a distance,’ he says turning and smiling.
    ‘Me? You’re joking,’ I say, caught off guard by the compliment – well, half compliment. Bloody hell, though, that Boots cream is totally as good as Clarins!
    ‘I meant the Gherkin,’ he says, laughing. ‘You’re pretty either way.’
    I turn to the window so he can’t seeme beaming.
    ‘This building is about two hundred and thirty metres,’ he says, then points to The Needle. ‘That one’s mine; it’s two hundred metres but only because they stuck a spire on top for extra height, so they could be seventh tallest.’
    ‘Urgh, some egomaniac property guy cares enough to compete to be seventh? It’s pathetic. Skyscrapers – just boys and their willies at the end of the day.’

    He laughs. ‘Maybe I should get them to rename it The Dick – the place is full of them.’ He sighs and turns to me. ‘What’s your office like?’
    ‘It’s lovely, it’s an old Victorian warehouse. We have half the building, and a TV company has the top floors. Every so often you’ll smile at someone in reception you vaguely recognise; it’s only once you get to your desk you realise they were actually theknobhead from last season’s The Apprentice .’
    ‘Come ride the lift and show me,’ he says, a twinkle in his eye.
    ‘You’ll never see it.’
    ‘Come anyway, they’re so much fun.’
    We race to the lifts like a pair of