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The ski shop is on a retail estate outside the town, so we decide to have lunch at the coffee shop on the same estate. As we chat over paninis and coffee, I realise that he’s quite shy. I do manage to glean that he’s an only child like me, that his parents still live in the house he grew up in, and that he’s currently renting a room in a house-share with three other people who he hates.
‘It’s the mess more than anything else,’ he tells me. ‘The kitchen permanently looks like a war zone, and the less said about the bathroom the better. Thankfully, I’m in the process of buying my own studio in Sevenoaks, and it’s got a flat attached, so, if that all goes through, I’ll be able to move out soon.’
I imagine him and his boyfriend choosing curtains together, and I can’t help asking the question.
‘So, is there anyone special in your life right now? How do they feel about you being kidnapped for a week by a strange woman?’
He shakes his head. ‘No, I’m happily single. To be honest, I’ve been so focused on getting my career up and running that there hasn’t really been room for anything else. What about you?’
‘Also single,’ I tell him. ‘I’ve had a few boyfriends over the years, but it’s never been serious. I’m not sure relationships work very well with this job.’
As we finish our lunch, the conversation limps along. It’s not awkward exactly, but I feel a little like I’m dragging information out of him, rather than him volunteering it. In a funny way, it’s rather refreshing. I’m so used to guys who drone on about themselves without asking any questions about me that I’m pleasantly surprised by Toby’s modesty. I study him as we talk. He is good-looking, with deep chocolate-coloured eyes, high cheekbones and a strong jawline. I reckon he would get plenty of interest if he were to put himself out there, but I suspect his shyness makes him hide behind his work. Shame really; he’d make someone a lovely boyfriend.
5
JANUARY
Toby and I spend a very pleasant afternoon getting him kitted out for the slopes and, by the time I drop him back at his car, any lingering reservations I have about working closely with him have evaporated. He’s still courteous and very reserved, but I learn that he has quite a wicked sense of humour on the rare occasions he lets his guard down. At one point, he tells me a story about one of his flatmates having a row with his girlfriend about something he said to her parents, and he mimics his broad Geordie accent so perfectly it’s as if I’ve met the guy. As we part, I remind him about the dress code for the Michelin-starred restaurant and we agree to meet at the airport.
Once I get home, I ring my best friend Charley. She and her husband, Ed, are expecting their first baby imminently, and I haven’t spoken to her since nearly getting dropped byVoyages Luxes, so a chat is long overdue.
‘Fat and fed up,’ she tells me when I ask how she’s feeling. ‘Honestly, Mads, I just want the bloody thing out now. I’m eating the spiciest food I can bear, and Ed thinks Christmas has come because I keep demanding sex in the hope that it will encourage things along. I know the whole concept of growing another person inside you is incredible, but what with the vomiting in the first trimester, the kicking at all hours of the day and night, and now being uncomfortable all the time, I just want my body back. Does that make me a bad person?’
Charley and Ed’s first indication that their attempts to conceive had been successful was when she woke up one morning and promptly had to dash into the bathroom to throw up. Their euphoria at the positive pregnancy test had been short-lived, as she struggled to keep anything down for weeks, and started to feel quite low about it. Things weren’t helped by the fact that Ed, a divorce lawyer, had been in the thick of a hugely complex case and was working all hours. Thankfully, her parents live quite close by, so her mother had stepped up, popping round regularly with small meals for her and keeping her company in between vomiting episodes. Things did improve after a few months, but it was a grim time for her.
‘You’re pretty much due though, aren’t you?’ I ask her.
‘Another week to go. They say they’ll let me go up to two weeks overdue before inducing me, but I hope it doesn’t come to that. I’ll be climbing the walls if I have to endure another three weeks of this. Anyway, enough of me. What about you?’
I fill her in on theVoyages Luxesdebacle, and she’s suitably outraged by Peter Smallbone’s attitude. When I tell her about Toby, she giggles in delight.
‘Is he hot?’ Her first question catches me off-guard.
‘Charley, you’re about to have a baby, for goodness’ sake! Turn the libido down a notch.’
‘I didn’t mean for me, dummy. I wondered if you fancied him. It’s been ages since you’ve had a boyfriend.’
‘Two years isn’t ages,’ I retort. ‘I told you, I’m bored of wasting my time on immature boys who can’t cope with a real woman. Anyway, he’s shorter than me, and gay, so I think that kind of rules him out, don’t you? He’s also very shy, which I think is partly why he’s single. It’s not my job to sort out his sex life though, this is a professional arrangement.’
‘Of course. You’d never meddle in anyone else’s relationships, would you?’ she laughs. She’s referring to the fact that I stalked Ed, accosted him in his office lobby, and brought him back into her life after a series of mishaps meant they lost contact with each other. Given how things turned out for them, I reckon I can be justifiably proud of that particular intervention.
‘Do you think he’ll end up being your GBF?’ she continues.
‘My what?’
‘Your Gay Best Friend,’ she explains. ‘Obviously he can’t be your BFF, because that’s me, but every girl should have a GBF, and he sounds like he could be perfect. Shy where you’re extrovert – a yin to your yang, you know?’
‘I’ve never heard of such a rule, and it sounds like some nineties anachronism straight out ofFriends,orSex and the City,’ I tell her, frankly. ‘Who’s yours then?’ I’m trying to work out which of her male friends it could be, but I’m drawing a blank.
‘Sam Carter, obviously!’ she replies, laughing.
‘Sam?’ I ask, incredulously. ‘Sam’s nothing like Toby. Toby is a painfully shy gay man, whereas Sam is a full-on, in your face, frankly terrifying lesbian!’
‘Aww, she’s a pussycat when you get to know her,’ Charley laughs. ‘You just have to see past the piercings and angry tattoos.’
‘Whatever,’ I reply. ‘I’ll keep you posted on whether Toby makes GBF status, or whatever other hideously dated label you want to pick out of the ether. In the meantime, try not to have the baby while I’m away. I want to cuddle it the moment they’ve wiped all the yuck off it.’
‘What yuck?’
