The Dish by Stella Newman Page B

fourteen year olds bunking double physics, and step in, standing side by side, arms touching. I press the ground floor and down we fall, oohing and aahing at the speed and the view and thesheer sensation of it all. We ride down and up and down again seven times before he looks at his watch and panics.
    ‘Laura, I’m so sorry, I have to be at The Needle in . . . minus ten minutes.’
    ‘Of course,’ I say, though my heart continues to descend even as the lift slows to a halt. We walk together out to the street and I feel an overwhelming desire to follow him all the way to work – I wantto keep talking to him, I need more than one hour . . .
    We say a brief goodbye before he dashes twenty metres down the road and unlocks his bike. He looks over his shoulder and I give a little wave, but instead of returning it he checks his watch, then looks back in my direction. For a moment he hesitates. And then he turns his bike around and quickly pedals on the wrong side of the road backtowards me, coming to a stop beside me as I feel my heart rise again, up and up and up.
    ‘What’s wrong?’ I say, as he leans forward, one foot resting on the pavement.
    ‘I can’t believe I was in such a rush, I forgot,’ he says, looking sheepish. ‘I’m an idiot.’
    ‘Adam – the bill’s on me.’
    ‘I took care of that already.’
    ‘Oh, you shouldn’t have . . .’
    He shrugs unapologetically. His eyes lockon mine and I have to force myself to breathe out.
    ‘Well . . . then . . . Why did you come back? What did you forget?’
    ‘I forgot to do this,’ he says.
    And he pulls me gently towards him.
    And kisses me.

10
    ‘Parker, what are you up to?’
    Sitting at my desk, replaying that kiss. That was a good kiss, a properly good kiss.
    ‘Roger – I’m sitting at my desk, changing your Eurostar tickets, and if you took ten whole steps from your desk, you’d see that for yourself. What is the point of wearing a pedometer if you’re not going to move?’
    ‘It has a jolly nice little digital clock on it.’
    ‘How manysteps have you done this week?’
    ‘No idea . . .’
    ‘Let me log in for you . . .’
    ‘Don’t bother . . .’
    ‘You told me to keep on top of it . . . six thousand, three hundred and four! You’re about four thousand short already.’
    ‘Six thousand, three hundred and four? Sounds rather a lot to me.’
    ‘Roger – I’m going to stop ordering cabs to take you to lunch . . .’
    ‘Well, you’ll have to do the stepsfor me today, I’m afraid.’
    ‘What’s wrong?’ I walk into his office and nearly fall flat on my face over a golf bag. I haul it off the floor and drag it to a sliver of space in the corner.
    ‘So? How was it?’ he says. ‘Nice dress by the way, very South Pacific. ’
    ‘The date? Oh,’ I say, flopping down in the chair opposite him. ‘It was a bad idea.’
    ‘Was he different to how you remembered him? Didhe look like the Elephant Man?’
    ‘Worse – a bit like Paul Newman, those beautiful pale blue eyes but a slightly less perfect nose.’
    ‘I can see why you’re so upset . Oh come on, Laura – stop this nonsense, you’re being neurotic. You have my blessing.’
    Maybe Roger’s right and I’m worrying about nothing . . . I was just doing my job . . . still, I fear it may all end in tears.
    ‘Is that March’sissue?’ I say, noticing a copy of the magazine in front of him.
    ‘Checking the type on the classifieds – I woke in the middle of the night with palpitations about the overlap –’
    ‘They’re fine, I already checked. Have you taken your meds today?’
    He waves his hand at a stack of papers on his desk. ‘I took whatever was in Tuesday’s slot.’
    ‘But it’s Thursday!’ I say, scrabbling under the pile tofind his pill box. Monday to Thursday’s compartments are now empty, the rest of the week’s days still have a little pink statin and a red and white anti-hypertensive, nestling side by side. ‘Roger, I do not appreciate you winding