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‘Fairly standard,’ she said, ‘two months’ pay.’
Oh God.
‘And then what?’ I said, more to myself than to Margot.
‘And then you’ll work somewhere else. You are very employable, Holly. You’ll get another procurement job in another company, and everything will be fine.’
I forced the rest of the whisky down. For the shock.
‘But I hate procurement,’ I said, my heart pounding in my ears, ‘the thought of another procurement job makes me feel sick. This one was bad enough.’
‘Ah. Then we have an entirely different problem,’ Margot said, putting one bottle of wine in the fridge and peeling the plastic top off the other. ‘One that needs wine.’
She glugged out two large glasses and looked at me with a serious eyebrow.
‘Is there any way to see this as good news?’ she asked. ‘A release from your torture?’
I took a moment to process that thought, along with a mouthful of wine. The silky combination of peachy flavours distracted me momentarily as I savoured its deliciousness. Yes, my job was monotonous torture at times, but it paid the bills and meant I could afford my Chez Margot treat once a month. It meant I could live in my beautiful flat and keep Basil in luxury, fish-flavoured treats. And my wine obsession wouldn’t pay for itself.
‘Good news how? That I won’t be able to pay my bills? That I’ll have to give Basil away and start living in my car?’ I said, feeling the panic rising back up.
‘In for four and out for four,’ Margot said, taking a deep breath in front of me.
‘How will I even get another job in two months with the market like it is?’
‘You’ve got your redundancy money to tide you over,’ Margot said, pointing to my letter, ‘plenty of time to have a look around. And if you hate procurement, then get a different job. Something that you like.’
‘Doing what?’ I replied, miserably.
Margot smiled gently. ‘What do you like doing?’
I swirled my wine and stared off into space. What did I like doing? Apart from cooking and eating. And drinking. Dancing? Walking? Having a bath. I liked my commute each day. Sticking my headphones on and bopping through London to work. It took almost exactly an hour to walk to the office in Blackfriars, cutting across Soho and through Covent Garden as the market came to life each morning. Dodging the runners on Embankment as the commuter boats honked along the Thames before the mayhem of work began.
‘Holly?’ Margot interrupted my thoughts. ‘You must know what you like? What is it that gives you pleasure?’
‘Nothing that I can make a living from,’ I said sadly. ‘Unless I open a vineyard?’
Margot nodded slowly. ‘Not impossible. You have a good nose for wine– and a qualification in it too,non?’
‘I wouldn’t go that far. We did a wine tasting course at work, and we all got the same certificate. It’s nothing official, I don’t know enough to get me a job.’
‘But you do, Holly. You recognise a quality wine immediately,’ Margot said, pointing at my glass. ‘You have a gift for it; your senses take over. You watch me pour and see the texture and consistency of the liquid. You smell the different scents and can tell the good from the bad, and then your tastebuds confirm what you already know to be true.’
She was right.
I gave a small nod. ‘I do like a wine, yes.’
‘And food too,’ she said. ‘You have an appreciation for quality ingredients and both simple and unusual taste combinations. A delicate palate should not be taken for granted.’
‘Yes, of course. I also like eating food. Especially your food.’
‘Don’t dismiss these talents as “eating food” and “drinking wine”. It is more than that.’ Margot stared at me thoughtfully. ‘In fact, I am looking for someone to help me here at the restaurant a couple of days a week if you are interested?’
‘Really?’ I said, looking around my favourite place and imagining working here. ‘Doing what?’
She gave a shrug. ‘A bit of everything. Prepping vegetables in the day and helping me with the customers at night. Welcoming them in, pouring the wine, bringing out the plates. I can teach you.’
I let the idea roll around in my mind for a second. Hanging out here with Margot and being paid for it would be amazing, but how could I make London-life work on restaurant wages? No. It wasn’t realistic.
