Page 45 of The Wedding Game

‘There’s been rather a lot of them,’ he says quietly. ‘I’m working my way through them, taste-testing what to put on the pub’s menu. Currently we buy in from out of town, and it’d be nice to outsource it to someone local. Also … have you seen the flavours? Tamara’s so creative.’

We get the tubs out and I marvel at some of the hand-scrawled labels. ‘Blueberry pie,’ I say.

‘There’s flakes of real pie crust in there,’ Tamara comments proudly. ‘And blueberries, obviously.’

‘Rhubarb crumble,’ I go on, as I pass one to Josh for him to take the lid off and put on the table for us all to dig into.

‘There’s home-made crumble pieces in there,’ Tamara says.

I see where this is going, and so I don’t comment when I take out apple strudel. I’m secretly impressed. If I saw these in the supermarket, I’d buy them, which is a comment I make aloud, and I find Mark is very invested in the blueberry pie. ‘It’s addictive,’ he says. ‘Tamara gave me a taster pot for the kitchen brigade and I had to ask for another because I ate the whole thing.’

I like Mark. He seems less high-octane than Tamara, the Yin to her Yang.

‘Try the mint-choc chip,’ Tamara instructs Josh, and he pulls the tub towards him and serves some out into his bowl. ‘It’s got locally grown mint finely diced and swirled in,’ she continues. ‘Although I’m concerned it’s not minty enough. I think it might be too subtle, while also looking violently green …’ She talks on and on about ice cream, and I wonder if this is what I sound like when I start on about interiors, although it’s a rarity that I get onto the topic like this. Tamara’s not qualified in ice-cream-making. She’s just having a go. But she’s doing it with far more confidence than I am with my interest. Perhaps I should be more like her. It’s good to have a passion. Tamara’s found hers and can run with it. She’s pushed herself into a new territory. Good for her.

‘So you’ve tried a few,’ Josh says to Mark. ‘Any other feedback?’

‘Yeah, I’m trying to convince Tam to make salted caramel.’

‘Ugh!’ Tamara says.

‘I know,’ Mark defends his choice, ‘I thought it’d be a flash in the pan too, but everyone orders it when it’s on the menu, so …’

‘OK, OK,’ Tamara concedes, touching his arm. ‘I’ll work on a recipe and see what I can do. I’ll make my own caramel, not one of those jarred sauces swirled in, and I’ll use Maldon sea salt …’ She talks on and Mark looks animated. Tamara looks animated.

I watch Josh as he watches them.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Chris

I find our Head of Design, Max, in the pantry kitchen, eyeing up a fresh box of doughnuts that comes weekly and that no one eats, other than him. I’m making it a personal mission to eat everything in this pantry at least once, other than the vegan items. I’m not too fussed about those. We get so much food delivered daily, and I wonder if it’s a ploy to keep us here rather than having us venture out for a proper lunch or coffee break. It works.

‘If a résumé’s landed in your inbox from a woman called Lexie, will you take a look at it?’ I ask. Even though whatever was between Lexie and me seems to be no more – as I am 99.9 per cent sure that ‘friend’ comment was a thinly veiled hint to send me on my way – I still like her. And I know she wanted a job in design, so I will put in a good word and see this through to its conclusion. Whatever that may be.

Max and I are quite good mates. We bonded over our shared annoyance that there’s no kettle for a proper cup of tea in this office. Americans don’t do kettles. While Max is a dyed-in-the-wool New Yorker, his grandad was English andgot him hooked on Yorkshire Gold. I have to buy him a big box whenever I go back to the UK. Max doesn’t look up at me, so intent as he is on his doughnut selection. ‘I’ve been looking at every résumé that’s come in,’ he says absently. ‘Why’s this one special?’

‘She just is,’ I say, grabbing an almond croissant. I can’t eat doughnuts for breakfast. It’s simply wrong. I’ve worked this much out about myself.

Max swivels his head and looks at me. ‘Ohhh.’

‘That’s not what I mean. I’m recommending her … as part of the recommend-a-friend scheme.’

‘All right,’ he replies, turning back to the doughnuts. ‘I’ll go and look for her in my inbox. What’s her last name?’

‘No idea.’

‘You know her well, then …? This friend you’re trying to get me to hire?’

Ah, shit.

Max smiles to himself, reaches forward for a glazed doughnut.

‘How do you know her?’ he probes.

‘We met at a wedding when I was back in England and she’s keen to get into design. I think she’d be good for the job. But I’m not begging for her to get the job, I’m just letting you know that if she sends a CV – résumé – which I assume she has done by now, that I referred her and … well, that’s kind of it.’

I can see Max digging around in his mind, trying to find a way to ask me more about why I want Lexie to be considered,while also trying to stay within the realms of what’s allowed to be discussed in the workplace.

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