Authors: Stella Newman
77
– Eels Flottante. ‘A mouthful of horror’ – again, this is not intended as a literal statement as horror
cannot be consumed orally.
78
– Our correspondent has not, to date, eaten a squash ball.
79
– Nor put their tongue in
fictional character
Dot Cotton’s mouth.
In relation to your client’s claim we accept the following:
76
– Scallop Sriracha Kiev – inedible.
The scallop did – in truth – make it as far as our correspondent’s stomach. However, once ingested, the aforementioned mollusc induced
severe cramps and violent nausea.
On the basis that point 76 is no longer in dispute, we are willing to print a brief paragraph of apology regarding the scallop, online, in terms approved wholly by ourselves. And as a gesture of our goodwill, we have removed the main article from our publication’s website.
Yours sincerely,
Roger Harris
‘The brownies are two pounds each, the blondies are a pound – and if you’re going to stand there eating all my samples, I’ll have to charge you a tenner,’ says Sophie to the two customers who’ve been circling her stall, snaffling freebies for the last three minutes.
‘Shameless!’ she says under her breath, as they walk away, showing no signs of embarrassment at all.
‘Shall I restock the
Black Forest and the Peanut Butter Caramel?’ I say, doing a quick count.
She checks her watch. ‘Yeah, go on – and maybe the dark chocolate and coconut – it’s doing better than I thought it would, I should add it to the list for Celina Summer’s party.’
‘How many flavours do you have so far?’
‘She wants six, but one has to be gluten free, one has to be Paleo. I had no idea cavemen were quite
so neurotic about their brownies.’
‘You should sign up Amber to help. She doesn’t have a real job, and she won’t eat all your stock while your back’s turned.’
‘Hell freezing over, Laura. Hey, if you’re going to the van, on the way back can you take Dominic half-a-dozen triple chocolate to trade for two steak sarnies, and swap some raspberry ones with Mauro for coffees? You know you really should
be selling coffee on the stand for me.’
‘It’s too much like hard work, Soph. I’m not a morning person, and I haven’t got the patience when it’s pissing down with rain.’
‘Nonsense, you do it for me.’
‘It’s fun when I’m helping you – I wouldn’t want the responsibility on my own.’
‘I’m not saying it’s easy – but being your own boss is the greatest luxury in the world. When I think about having
to work for anyone else, ever again—’
‘But you hated Devron – Roger’s a great boss . . .’ I say, my face creasing with anxiety as I think about the trouble I’ve caused him, and Adam. ‘Oh Soph, none of this would have happened if I’d just been happy with a bloody jam doughnut.’
‘That’s not true, you’d still have the lawsuit, you just wouldn’t care what happens at the Adam end.’
‘Roger thinks
they won’t take it all the way to court,’ I say, picking at a corner of the banoffee brownie I’m taking as today’s wages.
‘He knows what he’s talking about.’
‘But he can be so gung ho; Sandra wants me to confess to killing JFK.’
‘And what about Adam?’
‘What about him?’
‘Have you spoken to him?’
‘Since he called me a lying bitch?’
‘But you are a bitch,’ she says, laughing. ‘I mean – from
his point of view. You’ve royally screwed him at work. I know you didn’t mean to, but you’ve put him in a very compromised position.’
‘You’ve changed your tune!’
‘No – think about it: if they were relying on him to back up their legal threat, he can’t do that. So either he has to lie and cover for the guy who messed up—’
‘I don’t think he’d lie for Max.’
‘Right – so he’ll get aggravation from
his team if he shafts the guy below, and the fact he left the pass in the first place makes him look unprofessional, so he’ll get grief from above too.’
‘Yeah, but he did leave the pass, didn’t he?’
‘That’s a bit harsh, Laura.’
‘It’s the truth.’
‘You should call him.’
‘I’d rather wait until he’s calmed down.’
‘Face up to it, Laura – you’re in this together. Anyway, he’s got so much stress
on at the moment.’
‘I am not unstressed myself.’
‘If you want to be in an adult relationship with him, be the bigger person and apologise. Oh my God, look!’ she says, pointing towards the artisan cheese stall opposite. ‘Those two are actually sneaking back for more freebies!’
‘Ah, now if you watched
Game of Thrones
you’d know how to defend this cake stall to the death.’
‘I cannot believe the
cheek of it!’ she says, grabbing the two trays of samples from the front of the stand and stashing them behind us: safe from the freeloaders, but not safe from me.
T
o his credit, he picks up on the second ring. I wasn’t expecting him to answer so quickly, and I apologise so rapidly, because of nerves, I get lost in my sentence. ‘Adam – I’m sorry about Thursday I said some stupid things I didn’t
mean I was just reacting without thinking what was coming out of my mouth and it all got a little heated but anyway, I’m sorry . . . I am, very.’
There’s a pause on the other end of the line. ‘I’m sorry too,’ he says, slowly. ‘Particularly the coffee thing . . . when I thought about it afterwards I realised how out of order I was.’
‘That’s OK . . .’ I say, relaxing. Gosh, being the bigger person
is so the way forward!
‘But I was angry,’ he says. ‘Very angry.’
‘Yeah, I understand that. Did you tell your mum?’
‘She was hoping to see you yesterday, for pastry class . . .’
‘Apologise for me would you?’
There’s another pause, so long it’s like a long-distance call. Eventually he makes a small noise of agreement.
‘So . . . Have you made any progress with Katie?’
He sighs. ‘I’ve spoken
to a solicitor, and I’m going to apply for a Declaration of Parentage, it’s the first step. The magistrates can then authorise the birth certificate being re-registered.’
‘That sounds like a positive start.’
‘Katie seems to be coming round to the fact I can make her life easier. She’s an idiot but she isn’t stupid.’
‘So does that mean you might be able to have access quite soon?’
‘Maybe, as
an extra pair of hands every once in a while.’
‘What do you think “every once in a while” might mean?’
‘Look, Laura – I have no idea at this stage. I have no idea if she’ll change her mind tomorrow. She hasn’t exactly
behaved reasonably in the past.’
‘Well, let me know if there’s anything I can do.’ I mean it sincerely but it sounds so hollow over the phone. ‘Listen, about work . . . I hope
you haven’t got into a load of trouble because of me, it’s just—’
‘Laura,’ he says, cutting me short. ‘The lawsuit is nothing to do with me, I’ve told them I can’t be involved – I absolutely do not want to discuss it with you.’
‘OK, fair enough – but I’m just saying I hope it doesn’t cause you extra stress.’
‘Right.’
‘I mean, I understand what’s happening now is rough – but I never anticipated
any of it. I was only trying to do my job properly . . .’
He lets my sentence hang in the air – the longer it does, the more pathetic it sounds.
Eventually he speaks. ‘When I first told you where I worked, that very first time we met, did you not think it would have been easier just to tell me then?’
I think back to camping out in the toilet in the Chinese restaurant, panicking. My gut was
to tell him – and then I bottled it.
No, that’s not true: my gut was
not
to tell him – partly because I was being professional, but also because
even then
I wasn’t willing to risk him rejecting me.
‘Adam, I’m genuinely sorry this is hurting you, but I did what I thought was right at the time.’ I catch myself as I realise I now sound exactly like my father trying to justify himself.
‘So you
still
think you did the right thing?’ he says, the edge in his voice sharp as a knife.
‘I’m not saying I don’t regret all this mess, but I made the decision based on the facts I had, and the way my mind thinks – how
could
I do it any other way?’
‘I cannot believe the arrogance of that statement! So in spite of everything – you’re still defending what you did?
‘I care about my anonymity enough
to want to protect it – yes. I know it’s not the Coca-Cola recipe of secrets, but it
really
matters to me.’
I can sense his anger bristling over the line.
‘But if I’m being brutally honest, Adam, the other reason I didn’t tell you was because I was scared you would walk away. I could easily give you a story right now about how I’d have done things differently, been more honest upfront – but
it would be a lie. I know it’s not what you want to hear – but I’m being entirely truthful with you.’
‘Laura? You’re about six weeks too late for that,’ he says, and leaves me listening to the dial tone.
It’s not been the best start to the week. My boyfriend of five and a half seconds (now ex) thinks I’m a lying bitch, but that’s OK because he has a baby with another woman who’s also sparing with the truth. My first lawsuit is ticking along nicely. And when I walk into the office on Monday, there’s a highlighted copy of the
Telegraph
on my desk:
Restaurant Critic in the Soup
The anonymous
critic behind The Dish is being sued by the owners of celebrity hotspot LuxEris. The restaurateurs allege the review, which has since gone viral, was defamatory and are applying for an undisclosed six-figure sum in damages. The scathing attack is at odds with otherwise unanimous acclaim from the capital’s reviewers who have praised LuxEris’s exquisite cooking and glamorous decor. Allegations of
malicious intent have been denied by the paper’s Editor in Chief.
To: Heather, Sandra, Laura
From: Roger
Subject: Publicity whores!
I told you they were doing this for the headlines. Bloody PR company, leekier (Ed!) than a Welsh sieve.
To: Roger, Sandra, Laura
From: Heather
Subject: Next steps
We need a catch up asap – just been on the phone to their lawyers – this is not just going to
go away.
‘T
his is so entirely infuriating,’ says Roger, as we’re walking up to Heather’s office.
‘What is?’
He pauses to catch his breath, his knuckles taut as he grips the stair rail. ‘Having to pander to rich bullies and their lawyers,’ he says, irritably. ‘It’ll get to the point where you can’t say boo to a goose without Goosey Gander’s solicitors issuing a writ for traumatising one of the
flock.’
‘You’ve done quite enough to upset the poultry community for one month,’ I say, putting my arm out as he stumbles on the top step. ‘Are you all right?’
He takes a deep breath and puffs it out. ‘Legs are a bit stiff that’s all . . . shouldn’t have done that triathlon yesterday,’ he says, winking.
Heather hands us each a copy of the solicitor’s letter as we walk in. ‘VanRek have rejected
our defence,’ she says. ‘I counter-proposed an offer to make amends – we’d print the second review in full in May, with an introductory paragraph explaining there were two distinct visits.’
‘And?’
‘No dice. The way I see it, we have two options,’ she says, spreading the rest of the paperwork out on the boardroom table. ‘If you look at the substantiation documents, I’ve highlighted the areas
I’m confident we can argue in court.’
Roger and I move in for a closer look. At the bottom of a long list denying all my claims about the food is a signature: Max’s.
‘This is ludicrous,’ says Roger. ‘I was at the bloody meal! I’ll stand up in court and swear to these. Bloody ridiculous!’ His face has turned red and I slide a glass of water towards him.
‘That is one option, you can escalate
– but in my opinion there’s a reasonable likelihood they’ll call our bluff and take it to court.’
‘Which would be a disaster,’ says Sandra.
‘Or you can apologise in May,’ says Heather. ‘But it would need to be a general apology, an acknowledgement the food is high quality.’
‘I can do that,’ I say.
‘And you’re going to have to back down on the coffee point. It’s inflaming VanRek above everything
else. False sale of goods, makes them look very shoddy indeed.’
‘But I’m right.’ And I know it now for a fact.
Heather shrugs. ‘How are you going to prove it? VanRek have submitted delivery notes, clearly showing the Single Estate coffee was delivered to the premises the week before you ate there.’
I turn to Roger who’s looking ashen-faced.
‘Whatever you decide, Laura, you have to do it before
next Thursday’s deadline,’ she says. ‘If we don’t call it in May’s issue, it’ll cost us.’ She gathers the papers back into a neat pile. ‘Roger – do you want to go straight on to the SunFarms documentation or do you want a break?’
‘Let’s have a five-minute breather before TurkeyGate. Laura, we’ll spare you the feathers.’
‘Roger, I feel terrible,’ I say, as we’re heading out of the room. ‘I had
no idea it would cause this much grief – I want it all to go away.’
‘We’ll talk about it tomorrow. I may go and get some fresh air,’ he says, loosening his shirt collar. ‘It’s a little warm in here today.’
Funny, that. I was just thinking it had turned rather cold.
‘You’re definitely not going to like this one,’ says Azeem, beckoning me to his desk on Tuesday morning with a face I’ve only ever seen when Arsenal lost 6–3 to Man City.
‘What now?’
The toilets have reached new levels of ridiculousness in the last twenty-four hours. The latest is two toilets with two of Five Star’s heads (two-star review) singing ‘Cistern Addict’
,
and there’s been an extensive
Lou Rawls back catalogue.
‘Your bezzie,’ he says, nodding at Fergus Kaye’s headshot grinning from his screen – Fergus currently sporting a Bethnal Green hipster beard. ‘Same beard as that dude in
The Twits
, what’s he called?’