Page 12 of Who’s That Girl?

I watch him, feeling a tweak of irritation, but as he turns to ring it up at the cash register, I suddenly have a thought. ‘Hang on a minute, does that have nuts in it?’

He pauses from punching in the total and looks up. ‘You’re allergic to nuts too?’

My earlier twinge of irritation now goes up a notch to full-blown annoyance.

‘Yes, very,’ I snap, looking at him tight-faced. ‘I could go into anaphylactic shock.’

‘She has to carry an EpiPen,’ adds Miles, sliding his arm round my waist protectively. ‘A single nut could be lethal.’ He looks at me, his face suffused with concern. ‘Couldn’t it, darling?’

I meet his unwavering gaze and for a moment I forget my annoyance and feel a rush of love towards him. Gosh, I am so lucky to have Miles as a boyfriend. He is so supportive and understanding.

‘Wow.’

Unlike some men, I think, flicking my eyes back to the barman, who’s just standing there, barely keeping a straight face.

‘Yeah, I know. Pretty scary, huh? It’s life-threatening on a daily basis.’ Miles nods, thinking he’s being genuine and not hearing the sarcasm in the barman’s voice.

Blatantly ignoring the barman, I pick up the evening paper and pretend to be engrossed in an article about house prices. Hopefully he’ll get the message.

He doesn’t.

‘That’s terrible. Every meal must be terrifying.’

‘I manage,’ I snap from behind the paper.

‘Yes, but we have to be extra vigilant,’ confides Miles. ‘Remember that time when we were having drinks at that new bistro, darling? And you ate the pretzel that had been contaminated by salted peanuts …’

I feel a clench of irritation. And now it’s directed at Miles. Honestly! Does he have to tell this guy everything? Can’t he just ignore him like I’m doing?

‘… and it was pretty scary there for a moment, I can tell you. Poor Charlotte’s throat swelled up, her lips went all puffy, and she got this horrible rash.’

Oh, God. Please. Shut up, Miles. I shoot him a sideways look to silence him, but he’s so absorbed in telling his story and defending my honour that he doesn’t notice.

‘Really? A horrible rash?’ repeats the barman, pulling a face. ‘Ouch.’

And you can shut up too, I think, looking daggers at him.

‘I mean, can you imagine? Using the same bowl for pretzels that you earlier used for salted peanuts? Without washing it first?’ Miles looks aghast. ‘I wrote a pretty stern letter to the management afterwards, didn’t I, Charlotte? Obviously they refunded our bar bill, but that wasn’t the point.’

‘Oh, look, there’s a table free over there,’ I pipe up, suddenly seeing a couple standing up to leave in the far corner of the pub. ‘Let’s grab it before it’s taken!’

Jumping up from my bar stool, I scoop up my bags and coat and hurry over to it. Anything to get away from that annoying barman. Honestly. Interfering like that.

I look over at Miles and wave. Abandoned at the bar, he seems a bit confused as to where I’ve suddenly disappeared to. As he spots me, he starts politely saying goodbye to the barman. That’s the thing about Miles – he’s so well mannered. It’s like when we have sex. He always asks permission and afterwards he says thank you, which I think is taking your pleases and thank-yous to the extreme, but that’s a public-school education for you.

Tucking the newspaper under his arm, he picks up our bottle of wine and glasses, and makes his way over.

‘Don’t worry, I’ve sorted it all out,’ he says, sitting down. ‘It doesn’t contain nuts and the barman says he’ll be sure to warn the kitchen of your allergies.’

‘Great, thanks.’ I smile, taking the glasses from him and pouring the wine. ‘So how’s work?’ I ask, swiftly changing the subject. Despite our false start, I’m determined to have a nice evening with Miles. We barely saw each other last week because we were both so busy. And the weekend before that, come to think of it.

‘Oh, you know, the usual.’ He shrugs, settling back into his seat and taking a glug of wine.

Miles develops and invests in property – both here and abroad – and has what he calls ‘quite a portfolio’. He’s a real expert when it comes to house prices, and up-and-coming areas, and mortgage rates. That’s one of the reasons we don’t live together. He says we should be sensible and wait till the market levels off before we … How did he put it? Ah, yes, that was it: consolidate.

I remember because he got this meaningful look in his eye and reached for my hand, which is really unlike Miles as he never wants to hold hands. He gets all self-conscious at what he calls PDA or ‘public displays of affection’.

‘I signed the Aquarius deal. They start building next month.’