Page 59 of The Life-Changing Magic of Falling in Love

are perfectly acceptable clues in preventing a person from getting food poisoning, or worse, your cleaner wondering why you live on your own but buy food for two??

That part of her note made me think maybe she was a little judgy, but then I smiled again with what came after:

Waste is awful and you should give: Dutch Cheese, Red Rind, 4 letters, about it

I actually chuckled out loud as I wrote in the answer: Edam and then added my own note in the margin to say I did, indeed, give ‘a damn’ about waste, which was why I believed in writing in the margins instead of using another piece of paper.

The rest of her note says:

I’m very happy to stock your fridge with weekly essentials and as the service doesn’t kick-in for another week, could I take the opportunity to ask am I buying food for one? Or for two? Also, I get you’re probably busy with work and stuff, so can I suggest a few fresh things that are quick to make? Maybe a pasta dish? An omelette? I appreciate it’s none of my business but sometimes cooking a simple, healthy dish is really relaxing. Ashleigh.

PS I don’t mind weather if it’s changeable. That way if it’s the kind you don’t like you’re reminded “this too shall pass”, right?

I liked the sound of cooking something simple that would help me relax at the same time, so I added in between the lines of her note that that would be great – but could she also attach a recipe or two?

Tonight, I’d planned trying to make pasta arrabbiata – I think that’s what her recipe called it. After the day I’m having, I’m really looking forward to unwinding. Not thinking about work for a few minutes.

Guilt stabs at me.

Not thinking about work?

Am I insane?

But then I think of the trouble Ashleigh has gone to, to put food in my fridge and to write out a recipe for me, so I’m going to go ahead and treat myself to making the pasta and if I happen to think about work while I’m doing it, then I can call it working too, right?

I re-read Ashleigh’s postscript.

It’s very prosaic, especially if I take it in the context of this feeling of failure passing.

I breathe deep.

No tingling in my arm.

I remember Mrs. Lundy mentioning she was glad I had Ashleigh and that she was ‘so much more than just a cleaner.’

She is.

And her note has fired me up to go into my meeting with Anya where I’m going to turn this day three-hundred-and sixty-degrees around.

Chapter Seventeen

WHEN YOU FAIL TO PREPARE…

George

Anya is already sitting in the main pod with its see-through walls as I approach. I focus on her and not the fact that the last time I was in this room I had my first panic attack. She’s on her phone but as she sees me, she ends the call and smiles, beckoning me into the room.

Why does it feel like I’m about to tell my boss I’ve failed instead of telling my colleague or my girlfriend?

Do it quick, I tell myself. But I’ve barely stepped across the threshold when Tim bloody Duggins walks in right behind me.

‘I’m sorry, Tim,’ I want to turn to Anya and roll my eyes in a “Who does this punk think he is” kind of way but manage to stop myself. ‘Whatever it is will have to wait. Anya and I are about to start a meeting.’

He nods and grins in the most grating convivial way that he has. ‘About the Perfect Pies account, right? Anya copied me in on the invite.’

I pivot to face Anya. ‘You did?’

‘Of course,’ she says looking cool, calm and collected as always.

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