Lottie discreetly took a few photos, glancing around for chef Joseph Wilde. He was as famous for his pop star looks as for his signature dish of Beetroot and Truffle Éclair with Wasabi Custard and Olive Dust.
When Lottie put down her phone, Greta saw her screensaver was a photo of a boy and a golden Labrador. She tried not to let it bother her, but she didn’t even know this lad.
‘The Coconut Curry Burrito with Pineapple Salsa sounds good,’ Lottie said. ‘Is that okay? It’s kind of expensive.’
Greta tried not to cough at the thought of the bill. ‘It’s your birthday, sweetheart. Choose whatever you like.’
Her gaze drifted across the room, where a group of glamorous women in small black dresses were seated. Their honey tresses were piled high, their lashes were impossibly long, and their lips were full, just like hers used to be. Greta ran a hand down her neck, feeling suddenly frumpy in her favourite dress. She didn’tneedcompliments from Jim or Lottie, but the occasional one wouldn’t hurt.
To distract herself, she focused on Lottie’s wrist. The simple silver bracelet she’d given her as an extra birthday gift glinted under the lights. It had once belonged to her mum.
Finding a meaningful gift for a sixteen-year-old had been tough, especially one who shunned make-up or anything too feminine, and so close to Christmas, too. Greta had been thrilled when Lottie’s eyes lit up at the sight of her grandma’s bracelet nestled in its pretty box. Her chest warmed even more when Lottie asked for help fastening the clasp.
The bracelet was at odds with the rest of Lottie’s outfit. She wore a black jumper with a skeleton ribcage on the front (a birthday present from Jim), lace fingerless gloves, ripped jeans and three tiny gold hoops in each ear. Greta had hoped Lottie would wait until she was older for the piercings, but she’d arrived home after shopping one Saturday, a year ago, with sore, pink earlobes and a bottle of saline solution. A nose piercing was apparently next on her agenda.
‘Hey there.’ A waitress appeared, sporting a red skirt and matching bow-tie. She stood poised with a stylus and tablet. ‘Are you guys ready to order?’
Greta looked up and immediately recognised her. She was a pretty blonde in her mid-thirties, a former runner on a show Jim had starred in about supercars. Greta had been in the audience a couple of times.
‘Jim, right?’ The waitress’s eyes twinkled at him. ‘I worked onLife in the Fast Lane.It was such fun to work with you.’
‘Oh, yeah.’ Jim beamed. ‘I remember you. Um . . .’ He struggled for her name.
‘Tina.’ She swirled a strand of hair around her finger.
‘Of course.’ He snapped his fingers. ‘Tina. Absolutely. The show would have fallen apart without you.’
Lottie rolled her eyes.
Unease brewed in Greta’s stomach. Jim was an expert at turning on the charm, though at times it could come across as flirting. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Lottie sliding down in her seat, toying with her bracelet.
‘Wow, I can’t believe it’s you. Small world, huh?’ Tina said. ‘Are you guys celebrating something?’
‘Our daughter’s birthday. She’s sixteen today,’ Jim said.
‘Really?’Tina’s gaze settled on him. ‘You don’t look old enough to have a teenager.’
Lottie folded her arms tightly. ‘Well, he is,’ she muttered. ‘He’s very,veryold.’
Greta tried not to laugh. ‘Thanks, Tina. We’re ready to order now.’
‘Okay, sure.’ Tina’s smile slipped. ‘What can I get you? I can recommend the coconut curry burrito.’
‘You’re the expert. I’ll give it a try,’ Jim said, snapping his menu shut.
Lottie glowered at him. ‘I was going to have that,’ she said under her breath. She stabbed a finger at something else instead.
Greta placed her order quickly. ‘Well, that was awkward,’ she said as Tina glided away.
‘I don’t even remember her,’ Jim said. ‘I was just trying to make her feel good about herself.’
‘Sure.’ Greta smiled tightly. ‘Good job.’
Jim picked up the menu again. ‘Hey, aubergine cooked three ways,’ he muttered. ‘Who needs that many aubergines?’
The three of them made stilted chat about school, films and the best-ever gigs they’d been to, with Lottie scoffing at Jim’s choices.
When the food arrived, Jim took lots of photos, turning his phone this way and that. ‘This is what you teens do, right, Lottie? Post every meal online?’
