‘The thought of meeting all his friends at once is a bit. . . you know. . . yikes.’
I nod. ‘Understandable. They’re all terrible individuals. Right-wingers, Audi drivers and people who ask to speak to the manager on a daily basis.’
The look on her face makes me regret my last statement. ‘I’m kidding! They’re great. Mostly. I’ll shut up now.’
‘Are you bringing your skater girl? She seemed fun. We could hide in the bathroom together.’
She doesn’t do shared bathrooms, I think, smiling to myself. ‘Afraid not. I think that was just a one-off. A really fun one-off.’
Sarah sees my brazen grin and laughs.
‘Ah. . . the curse of the one-night stand. Never mind, plenty more fish in the sea. . . or reality stars in theBig Brotherhouse. . .’
‘IknewMatt would let that slip,’ I groan. ‘He’s such a bloody gossip.’
‘I think it’s brilliant! I had no idea who she was, but Google tells me she’s twenty-five, from Essex, swears by colonics and hates Santa.’
I start to laugh. ‘That’s nonsense – well, the age part, anyway; she’s twenty-nine. I’d rather not slag her off though. . . she has a decent heart under all that fake tan.’
‘A true gentleman,’ Sarah replies, looking at me thoughtfully. She glances at her watch. ‘Shit, I need to get back to work. You can finish my fries.’
Sarah pushes her chair out and grabs her bag from the floor. ‘Don’t forget the milk!’ she calls over her shoulder.
The rest of the week flies by, with Izzy in a surprisingly good mood as her boyfriend Antonio is flying over from Madrid for Christmas.
‘How long have you been together?’ I ask, fluffing up my beard.
‘Two years,’ she replies. ‘He must finish his degree at UCM and then he will live here with me.’
‘So, you left him all alone in Spain to come here and be a minimum-wage elf?’
I feel her eye-daggers pierce my face. ‘I no just elf. I do little jobs like this between gigs.’
‘Gigs?’
‘Yes, Mister Nosy, I play violin. I am session musician.’
‘I didn’t mean to be insulting,’ I reply, feeling more than a little embarrassed. ‘I was trying to be funny. You play violin? That’s amazing.’
‘I know,’ she agrees. ‘But musicians are not rich. We must also eat. Just like you. . . well, maybe not so much as you. . .’
‘Well, I hope you have a great time when Antonio arrives,’ I say, now feeling like a podgy idiot. ‘You must be excited.’
‘Very excited,’ she says, almost breaking into a smile. ‘Christmas is no good alone, you know? You are, how do you say. . .un fracaso. . . a failure.’
‘Right,’ I reply, unsure if that’s a dig at my current single status. ‘We should probably open up now. . .’
She nods and walks over to the front of the queue where a small boy is kicking the shit out of a plastic polar bear.
I’m happy to see Sarah at lunchtime. We grab a table at the new pancake stack place on her recommendation and I tell her about my faux pas with Izzy.
‘I didn’t mean to imply she was just an elf,’ I say as we take our seats. ‘God, she must think I’m a twat. She plays the violin and speaks two languages. I can barely speak one and have no musical ability whatsoever.’
‘Three.’
‘Three what?’
‘Languages,’ Sarah replies. ‘We have a Parisian barista. Izzy chats to her in French when she comes in.’
