He nods. ‘Eighty years we’ve been going. It’ll be here long after I’m gone.’
It’s very strange sitting in front of the man who is partly responsible for your current weight problem.
‘And you, dear?’ he asks. ‘I imagine your life is far more interesting than mine.’
I feel a bit sad for him. It appears even millionaires get lonely.
‘Well, I have a daughter and I run a café, so it’s really not that exciting, to be honest. I do like—’
‘Single mum, then?’
‘Yes, for a few years now.’
‘Dad not in the picture?’
‘Um, yes, he is, but I’d rather not discuss—’
‘Well then, you’re not a single parent, are you? If he sees her, he’s involved.’ Tim’s startled look has changed to one of mild contempt.
‘I’m not really looking to discuss my custody arrangements but—’
‘He contributes financially, yes? Then you’re not doing it alone, are you? By saying you’re a single mum, you imply that the father doesn’t care.’
Now my back is well and truly up. I cross my arms and glare at this rude old bastard. ‘Yes, his seven pounds a day helps enormously, Tim. But he doesn’t do doctors or dentists, or daily school runs or take time off work when she’s sick or do homework or any of the important stuff. He cancels when he has something better to do, won’t budge outside his routine if I need him to and will never, ever give me credit for the bright, happy girl she is and continues to be on my watch. But unlike you, she will never know any of this.’
He sits there, mouth open and face flushed. ‘I didn’t mean anything, I just—’
‘Just what? Thought you’d campaign on behalf of Fathers for Justice? You don’t know my life and you have no right to assume anything.’
As he glares at me, I notice his very weak chin. It’s practically non-existent. I wonder how he folds towels.
‘Time’s up, everyone. Gentlemen, move to the right.’
Tim stands and shuffles to the front of the group while Russell with the fedora scooches over into his seat. I write ‘misogynistic old git’ beside Tim’s name and take a deep breath.
‘This is weird, innit?’ Russell announces with a big grin. ‘Like trying to impress people you don’t even want to fire into. No offence.’
‘None taken,’ I reply. ‘Though maybe if you’retryingto impress, that wasn’t the best opener?’
‘Aw, shit, man! I didn’t mean I wouldn’t… cos I would; you’re fit, innit? It’s just, like, you’re not my type.’
His London slang is bugging me already. ‘Russell, it’s fine. You’re not my type either.’
‘You go for the rough types, eh?’ he replies, looking down towards Will. ‘I’ve seen you guys… little looks, quiet chats. You got cosy quickly, girl.’
‘What? Him? No! I have no idea what you mean. Anyway, shouldn’t we be—’
‘Honestly, man, we’ve all noticed it,’ he continues. ‘Like, you know when you just click with someone. You guys are clickin’ hard!’
‘Do you work, Russell?’ I ask, determined to steer the conversation away from whatever this is.
‘Yeah, man. I work in retail.’
‘Nice! Anywhere interesting?’
‘Radcliffe Menswear. You know it?’
‘Sure,’ I reply, thankful he’s moved on from my non-existent clicking with Will. ‘They have a big store in Edinburgh. Do you work on the shop floor or are you—’
