face I'd just about forgive him anything! And
I'm just about to start daydreaming when, from my
other side, I get a kick on my ankle. George. 'Ow!'
I whisper at her, but George just flicks her head,
gesturing to the row behind us. I glance back.
Melinda has moved on. But Ashleigh, it seems, has
not. One row behind me and two seats to my left,
her eyes are shooting daggers at me. Slowly, I turn
back around again to see a scribbled line or two
written on my notebook. He's hers it says. Problem
is, she forgot to cc him in on the memo.
$$$
I wake up at 3.17 am and can't get back to sleep.
I think I'm suffering from jet lag and it's hardly
surprising. Vienna, Sydney, NYC, Paris. My body
has no idea where it is and what it's supposed to be
doing. Right now it's telling me it's time to eat.
That is, my stomach is telling me it's time to eat.
Either that, or some alien-like animal is about to
burst out of my intestines, going by the noises that
my mid-section is making. I try to ignore it for a
bit, texting Steph back (finally) and reading for a
while, but eventually give up and get up. Trying to
be quiet so I don't wake JJ, or anyone else, I make
my way to the kitchen in the dim light available.
It gets brighter as I get closer to the kitchen and
I realise JJ must have left the lights on in there. I
keep going, thinking only about my stomach each
step closer I get to the fridge. And I'm just imagining
a second dinner of Thai green curry leftovers
when I turn the corner into the kitchen and ...
'Oh!' I say with a start, immediately forgetting
about my stomach entirely. 'Sorry, I'll just ...' I
turn to go.
'No. That's okay,' Romy says from where she's
perched on one of the island's super-cool stainless
steel bar stools, her cast sticking out at an angle.
'I can't sleep either. We may as well not sleep
together.' She gives me a sad little half smile. Her
eyes are sort of red, like she's been crying.
I take a few steps over. 'Does your foot hurt?
Did you want me to get someone?'
'No,' she shakes her head quickly. 'I'm okay. It
doesn't hurt any more. It's just that I slept all afternoon.
They gave me way too many painkillers at
the hospital. Complete overkill. I could barely lift
my head up.' She shrugs then. 'I bet that was some
great footage – stupid Romy does the emergency
room. How very funny.'
'I ... uh ...' I'm not sure what to do. With all of
JJ's other clients I've existed entirely on a don't be
either seen or heard basis.
'Come on then, pull up a stool. I don't bite.'
I want to add, 'No, that would be Anouschka',
but don't, of course (I'm sure George would have
kept going, however).
I take another step over. 'Can I get you something?'
I ask, falling into JJ's role.
'A new life?' Romy laughs a fake laugh, then
probably spots my freaked out expression. 'How
about a glass of water?'
A glass of water I can do. But then I take a
closer look at her – at those dark-ringed, slightly
red eyes and pale colouring. This is a girl who
needs comfort. 'How about a glass of water and a
cup of chamomile tea with honey?' I try.
Romy smiles a real smile at me then. 'Chamomile
tea with honey sounds perfect,' she says, with
a sniff. 'Hey, did you go to a park or something
today? You smell just like fresh-cut grass.'
$$$
I end up making Romy her tea and heat up a big
stack of crepes that JJ has left in the fridge with a
sign on top that says 'MIDNIGHT SNACK – EAT
ME!' Actually, that's not quite honest. The first
two words read 'MIDNIT SNAKE', but I know
what she means and I grab the note, crumple it up
and drop it on top of the plastic wrap that had been
covering the crepes before Romy, or anyone else,
sees it, reads it and starts to think that because my
mother is dyslexic, she's also stupid. JJ is one of the
most headhunted chefs in the world. She's many
things (including annoying at times), but she's
not stupid. The thing is, people tend to jump to
conclusions when they see her spelling. It's always
best for them to find out
I'm just about to start daydreaming when, from my
other side, I get a kick on my ankle. George. 'Ow!'
I whisper at her, but George just flicks her head,
gesturing to the row behind us. I glance back.
Melinda has moved on. But Ashleigh, it seems, has
not. One row behind me and two seats to my left,
her eyes are shooting daggers at me. Slowly, I turn
back around again to see a scribbled line or two
written on my notebook. He's hers it says. Problem
is, she forgot to cc him in on the memo.
$$$
I wake up at 3.17 am and can't get back to sleep.
I think I'm suffering from jet lag and it's hardly
surprising. Vienna, Sydney, NYC, Paris. My body
has no idea where it is and what it's supposed to be
doing. Right now it's telling me it's time to eat.
That is, my stomach is telling me it's time to eat.
Either that, or some alien-like animal is about to
burst out of my intestines, going by the noises that
my mid-section is making. I try to ignore it for a
bit, texting Steph back (finally) and reading for a
while, but eventually give up and get up. Trying to
be quiet so I don't wake JJ, or anyone else, I make
my way to the kitchen in the dim light available.
It gets brighter as I get closer to the kitchen and
I realise JJ must have left the lights on in there. I
keep going, thinking only about my stomach each
step closer I get to the fridge. And I'm just imagining
a second dinner of Thai green curry leftovers
when I turn the corner into the kitchen and ...
'Oh!' I say with a start, immediately forgetting
about my stomach entirely. 'Sorry, I'll just ...' I
turn to go.
'No. That's okay,' Romy says from where she's
perched on one of the island's super-cool stainless
steel bar stools, her cast sticking out at an angle.
'I can't sleep either. We may as well not sleep
together.' She gives me a sad little half smile. Her
eyes are sort of red, like she's been crying.
I take a few steps over. 'Does your foot hurt?
Did you want me to get someone?'
'No,' she shakes her head quickly. 'I'm okay. It
doesn't hurt any more. It's just that I slept all afternoon.
They gave me way too many painkillers at
the hospital. Complete overkill. I could barely lift
my head up.' She shrugs then. 'I bet that was some
great footage – stupid Romy does the emergency
room. How very funny.'
'I ... uh ...' I'm not sure what to do. With all of
JJ's other clients I've existed entirely on a don't be
either seen or heard basis.
'Come on then, pull up a stool. I don't bite.'
I want to add, 'No, that would be Anouschka',
but don't, of course (I'm sure George would have
kept going, however).
I take another step over. 'Can I get you something?'
I ask, falling into JJ's role.
'A new life?' Romy laughs a fake laugh, then
probably spots my freaked out expression. 'How
about a glass of water?'
A glass of water I can do. But then I take a
closer look at her – at those dark-ringed, slightly
red eyes and pale colouring. This is a girl who
needs comfort. 'How about a glass of water and a
cup of chamomile tea with honey?' I try.
Romy smiles a real smile at me then. 'Chamomile
tea with honey sounds perfect,' she says, with
a sniff. 'Hey, did you go to a park or something
today? You smell just like fresh-cut grass.'
$$$
I end up making Romy her tea and heat up a big
stack of crepes that JJ has left in the fridge with a
sign on top that says 'MIDNIGHT SNACK – EAT
ME!' Actually, that's not quite honest. The first
two words read 'MIDNIT SNAKE', but I know
what she means and I grab the note, crumple it up
and drop it on top of the plastic wrap that had been
covering the crepes before Romy, or anyone else,
sees it, reads it and starts to think that because my
mother is dyslexic, she's also stupid. JJ is one of the
most headhunted chefs in the world. She's many
things (including annoying at times), but she's
not stupid. The thing is, people tend to jump to
conclusions when they see her spelling. It's always
best for them to find out
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