Page 11 of Who’s That Girl?

A male voice next to me makes me turn round. Further along from me, sitting up at the bar, is a man eating alone. He’s got short, dark, curly hair and has little round glasses balanced on the end of his nose, which I can’t help noticing are all bent out of shape.

‘I’d recommend the fish.’ He gestures to his plate and smiles, revealing a faint scar running from nostril to lip, half hidden beneath his five-o’clock shadow.

‘Hmm, no, I’m afraid I can’t eat fish.’ I shake my head.

‘Oh, right. I didn’t realise you were a vegetarian.’ He nods and looks a bit embarrassed that he’s said anything.

And now I feel bad. After all, he was only trying to be friendly.

‘Well, I am, but I eat fish,’ I confess. ‘Only the thing is, I had fish the other day, so I can’t have it twice,’ I explain, and smile. ‘All that mercury.’

We both look down at his plate again. The half-eaten salmon looks back at us. There’s an awkward pause.

‘Well, I guess in that case there’s always the macaroni cheese,’ he suggests, reading off the blackboard.

I shrug and wrinkle up my nose. ‘Dairy.’

‘Is that bad?’ He looks puzzled.

‘I have to avoid it.’

He eyes me suspiciously. ‘Right …’ he says slowly, and suddenly I discern the corners of his mouth twitching slightly.

I feel my guilt at being dismissive dispersing. Hang on a minute, is he finding my food allergies amusing or something? Is he – I feel a prickle of indignation – laughing at me?

‘I was told to by a nutrionist,’ I protest defensively, remembering the conversation I had with Dr Bruce, Melody’s nutritionist, when I was doing a press release for one of her books. I’d complained of being tired and she’d drawn up a long list of things for me to avoid.

Saying that, I’ve been avoiding them for six months and I still feel exhausted.

‘I’m not supposed to eat wheat or refined sugars either,’ I add defensively. ‘I’m intolerant.’

‘You don’t say?’ he replies, clicking his tongue sympathetically, but his eyes give him away. Yup, he’s definitely laughing at me.

Riled, I return my attention to Miles. ‘What are you getting, darling?’ I say pointedly, turning my back to the man at the bar. Honestly, it’s not like I asked him to talk to me. He talked to me first!

‘Well, actually, I think I’m going to go for the Thai green vegetable curry,’ he muses.

‘Ooh, yes, that sounds delicious,’ I agree, a little louder than necessary. ‘I’ll have that too.’

Huh, that’ll show him. Feeling a beat of satisfaction that I’m choosing something entirely different to his suggestions, I try attracting the attention of one of the bar staff so we can order.

‘Gosh, it’s really busy, isn’t it?’ I tut, waving futilely at someone pulling a pint while Miles sits next to me, waiting patiently. ‘It’s going to take forever to get served.’

‘Well, lucky for you I’ve finished my break,’ says a now-familiar voice. I turn sideways to see the man next to me getting up from his stool, empty plate in hand, and lifting up the hatch to access the bar. At the same time I notice he’s wearing an apron. ‘Go ahead,’ he says, picking up a pad and pen.

Oh, no. I feel a mixture of dismay and relief. He works here.

‘Well, I’d like the Thai curry,’ Miles is saying pleasantly.

‘Righty-ho.’ He smiles, scribbling it down. ‘And for you?’ He looks up at me and I could swear he’s still got that amused expression in his eye.

‘I’ll have the same. Please,’ I say decisively.

‘You sure?’ He cocks his head, eyes twinkling, pen poised.

‘Absolutely,’ I say firmly.

‘OK.’ He sucks air in through his teeth and writes it down.