This Time Next Year(47)
‘Yes,’ Minnie said slowly, unsure where this analogy was going.
‘Leila’s born to live in Invincibility Mode, that’s what she’s like, it’s where she thrives – dashing about in a little bubble with the music racing, totally nailing everything. Right now, it’s like she’s been hit by a Badnik and lost all her rings – all her energy’s gone.’ Ian sighed then spoke more slowly, ‘I want to be her Invincibility bubble. I want to shield her, let her live in that mode for the rest of her life if I can.’ Minnie felt a tear roll down her cheek. ‘That probably sounds like total bollocks,’ said Ian, thrusting his hands deep into his pockets.
‘No,’ said Minnie, sniffing back a tear, ‘I think that’s one of the most romantic things I’ve ever heard. You should say that about the Invincibility Mode when you propose.’
Minnie hung her head; she felt a heady mix of emotions hit her all at once: fondness for Ian and how much he loved her friend, and sorrow for the fact that he might be right. If he was right, that meant the end of No Hard Fillings, the end of seeing Leila most days, four years of hard work wasted. Ian reached out to put both hands on her shoulders.
‘Minnie – I think it’s time for you to play one-player mode.’
15 January 2020
That evening, as Minnie walked along Upper Street towards Greg’s flat, she couldn’t get Ian’s words out of her head. She hadn’t even considered she might be holding Leila back. She’d been so busy worrying about her own career, she hadn’t stopped to consider if this was the right path for her friend.
Greg opened his front door and grimaced.
‘Clive is here,’ he hissed.
Minnie nodded. She had nothing against Clive, but Greg always acted indignant about his flatmate’s occasional presence in the flat. He never expressed an interest in coming to hers, even though it would mean they had the place to themselves.
‘Question for you, headline for my latest piece – I need an Africa pun. Kenya help me out?’
Minnie groaned and pushed him backwards into the flat.
‘I’m serious,’ said Greg, slapping the back of a hand into his other palm, ‘are you Ghana help me or not?’
They walked through to the kitchen, where Clive was making himself a coffee with Greg’s coffee machine. Clive had red hair, freckly skin and a warm, paunchy face. He made Minnie think of a young Fat Controller from Thomas the Tank Engine.
‘Bit late for coffee, hey Clive?’ said Greg, turning to face Minnie and giving her an overblown horrified face. ‘You’re going to be bouncing off the walls, my friend, and the walls here are none too substantial.’
‘I’ve got a presentation to write for tomorrow, I won’t be in the way of your romantic evening,’ said Clive. ‘PowerPoint and I will be reacquainting ourselves in my bedroom.’
Clive took his coffee mug and plodded back to his room with a backwards wave.
‘Space leech,’ Greg groaned under his breath. ‘Hey, did you read the paper today?’
‘I read your column on immigrant mice – very thought-provoking. I didn’t get the chance to read much else, I—’
Greg cut her off.
‘You didn’t see Lucy Donohue’s column then?’ said Greg, slapping a copy of the paper down on the kitchen table in front of her. His lips pulled into a Cheshire cat grin. ‘Hell hath no fury like a food writer scorned.’
Minnie picked up the paper and looked at the page Greg was pointing to. She clutched the paper with both hands, quickly scanning the words in front of her.
Dining with Lucy Donohue
This week I am supposed to be reviewing La C?te in Windsor, a restaurant The Times called ‘out of this world’, ‘the perfect place for a romantic meal’ and ‘love in edible form’. I was due to go with my boyfriend for a tasting menu that takes over three hours to consume. Reader, I dined alone. My boyfriend of over a year decided that his New Year’s resolution was to cancel his regular booking at the table of Lucy Donohue. I feel it only fair to La C?te to disclose this, as a seven-course tasting menu was not designed to be eaten alone, and it is a truth universally acknowledged that a broken heart doth dampen the taste buds.
So, rather than giving La C?te an unfairly miserable review, I thought this week I would review my ex – Q, in restaurant form, for any unwitting girl out there who might be considering making him her next meal.
Ambience: While the décor at Q is beautifully proportioned and the place appears brimming with character, don’t be fooled by this veneer of charm. This is a restaurant where you will never relax or feel at home because all diners are seated in the entrance hall rather than in the heart of the restaurant.
Food: The food at Q first appears beautifully seasoned with a delightful sharpness. In fact, it proves tough to get your teeth into and unevenly cooked, with patches of hot and cold throughout. (As an aside, all the dishes at Q are served with a little more spice than a well brought-up girl might be accustomed to.)
The dessert looked to possess the perfect sweet finesse to round off a meal, but in fact left a sour taste in my mouth. I fear Q was being overly ambitious in tackling this sophisticated dessert, and should perhaps stick to little tarts and light, airy sponges in future.