‘I like the South Bank in the mornings on the weekend. But really early morning – I’m talking five o’clock in summer. I miss the bustle of the markets in Borough. I was just thinking about them yesterday. You can get anything.’
‘Anything?’
‘Well, most things,’ I say. ‘Not chef-level anything, but civilian-foodie-level anything. You know, Jerusalem artichokes and porcini – that kind of thing. My flatmate, um, used to love it. I find it all a bit intimidating, actually. My dad had a fish-and-chip shop, for fuck’s sake.’
‘Nothing wrong with a chippy. Anyway, that can’t be true. You can’t work in wine and not know about food. All this joking aside.’
‘Of course,’ I say. I get this wave of disappointment as I realize I’ve got to beonat all times with James, or I risk giving too much away. ‘I mean, I guess I know more than most. It’s the cooking part I’m hopeless at.’
I look across at him, and he smiles at me, and I feel that little flutter in my stomach once more. I think of Tim, and it’s hard not to compare them. If Tim is loud, manic and erratic, James is calm, consideredand deliberate. And I like it. Why can’t I just have a fling with James? He’s a nice, decent guy with a full set of teeth. He knows I’m leaving in a couple of months. I’m not the first seasonal worker he’s hooked up with. But for some reason it feels like a lie too far. And then I think of Anis saying that his heart was broken.
‘But what about you? What’s the story? Why haven’t you left home?’ I laugh, though if Irene was my mother, perhaps I’d never leave home. ‘I know what I want to know! How come you’re both working here – like, how did that happen?’
‘She worked all over the west coast when I was little,’ James begins.
‘Where was your dad?’
He turns to me and laughs. ‘Straight to the point?’
‘Well, I’m fascinated is all.’
‘He and Mum weren’t together.’
‘Where was he?’
‘He was with someone else. Another woman, I think, though Mum never says this exactly.’
‘What a creep,’ I say, staring at a particularly spectacular beech tree with an almost-black trunk and bright-green leaves. ‘I mean, I’m sorry, your dad’s trash. So why’d you stay here anyway?’
‘Well, Mum got a job at Loch Dorn. We used to live in the cottage we’re in now. Mum was in your room actually. Then we moved to another cottage at the edge of the estate. That’s where Mum is now. The owner, MacDonald, he looked after me a bit when I was little. But when his wife got ill, he started coming less and less, and the hotel got really rundown over the years. Then she died and he was going to sell, but Mum begged him to let her bring it into the twenty-first century. It’s like home now.’
‘Oh, so the renovations were her idea?’
‘Yes, but Russell, the designers – all of that was not. She hoped MacDonald would let her do it, and he was going to, but he got some advice from his lawyer.’ James pauses for a moment. ‘And, well, it turns out that was Russell’s lawyer too, so I guess he put them together? And of course Bill vouched for Russell, and so here we are.’
‘How did the place get so rundown? It seems impossible to imagine it that way, when you look at it now.’
‘Well, it was expensive to run. Expensive to maintain. And Mr MacDonald lost heart for it. I don’t want you to think he’s some arsehole. He’s been really good to us. It’s just if you don’t invest and update, it’s impossible to stay fresh. The people who come to Loch Dorn every summer are getting older. Rich, but older and older. And the outside catering jobs are drying up. There is one coming up, though.’
‘What are the outside catering jobs?’
‘Like, big parties, weddings. Film premieres. The one coming up is a film event, in fact.’
‘Oh, now we’re talking.’
‘I have no idea what film it is, or who is in it, before you ask. But we’ve got to make it work – they pay way more than we’d take even in a month. Anyway, what I want to know is whyyoucame here.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, I saw your CV: you could have worked anywhere.’
I scramble my brain for something to say, and in the end just tell him the truth. ‘I needed a radical change. My other life choices were not, um, satisfactory.’
‘What’s next?’ he asks.
‘France,’ I say woefully, sliding back into Heather mode. Does he look disappointed? ‘What do you think about Russell? Why did they bring in another head chef over you?’
‘I’ve never been head chef. There was a guy called Peter Pierce before Russell, and another guy called Mick Williams before him. They never last long. Either their partners are unhappy here or they get bored. Russell is happy because he’s been able to step back and executive-chef the restaurant, but live in Glasgow.’
