‘I didn’t mean anything by it,’ he shrugs. ‘It’s just very unusual for you to not order the chicken.’
‘I meant the first bit.’ Maybe Mimi was wrong, and Luc isn’t someone who can be trusted with something like this. There’s a vague embarrassment swirling somewhere in my bones. This is what my life has come to.
‘Oh, you’re telling me you go on dates? My mistake.’ Luc is holding back a laugh, and his back relaxes. ‘For the absence of any doubt, I am joking,’ he reassures.
I’m trying not to smile. Consider the ice well and truly broken.
‘This isn’t a date,’ I counter. ‘Not a real one.’
‘Yes. This is a Mimi-organised business meeting.’ He pushes his glasses up on his nose again and frowns at me. ‘So, let’s discuss the terms of our agreement.’ He raises his eyebrows. ‘Then I’ll decide if I’ll sign the contract.’
‘At least wait for the food to come before you start business talk.’
As soon as the words leave my mouth, a waiter comes in and leaves a small bowl of olives and peppers in the centre of the table. Luc picks up a toothpick and stabs it into a black olive.
‘Food’s here. Let’s talk.’ He places the olive on the end of his tongue. He chews the flesh from the pit and then removes it from his mouth and puts it into a separate bowl on the table. I stab a green olive with my own toothpick and do the same thing.
‘How have you been?’ I ask, picking up a second olive.
‘Changing the subject, I see. Maybe you haven’t changed,’ he says. ‘I have been well. I cut the mullet, left the cult. So now I’m just wondering what I’m doing here.’ He clenches his teeth. ‘You?’
‘I’ve also been well, thanks. Grampy aside. New album release is going well. Parties have been fun.’
‘And how is Jess?’
Another olive. I nod as I chew it and then place the pit in the bowl. ‘Jess is good, keeping her busy as always.’
‘I can tell. And Mauve? How is she?’
‘Mauve is Mauve. Critical, bossy, needs to know when to keep her mouth closed. Half the time I wonder why she didn’t want to be my manager.’
‘You’d hate each other even more than you do now.’
I laugh, despite myself. ‘Okay, Luc. We don’t hate each other.’ I stab a black olive viciously with my toothpick and hold it in front of my face, examining the flesh. ‘We just don’t always see eye-to-eye.’ I place the olive on my tongue and suck the salty coating from the skin.
‘Has she finally started to like the new house?’
I bought Mauve her first home nearly ten years ago, and she initially hated living there. She didn’t like the idea of me buying her one, she was happy where she was. But you can’treally keep your council house when your daughter is a millionaire. It’s, firstly, not fair on those who need them, and secondly, imagine those headlines.
‘I probably bought it at the wrong time,’ I admit. ‘Dad just died, and I think buying her a bigger place emphasised that loss. Made things feel a lot… emptier, you know?’ Another olive.
‘Can I get you something to eat?’ A waiter enters the room, no notebook in hand because they’re trained to remember intricate orders from memory, to make you feel like you’re the only person in the restaurant.
Ever the gentleman, Luc gestures for me to go first.
I stare at my menu, eyes zipping from corner to corner. I don’t want to order the chicken. I don’t want Luc to be right that I haven’t changed at all. The items on the menu all blur together. I’m hot under his gaze, the seconds passing like minutes. I’ve ripped off all the flesh from the olive in my mouth but can’t spit the pit in front of the waiter.
Luc clears his throat. ‘I’ll have the beef, please. She’ll have the coq au vin.’
My head snaps up.
‘What wine do you recommend?’ Luc asks.
‘For both of those dishes, they are well enjoyed with a Pinot Noir.’
‘Sounds good me.’ Luc looks at me. ‘A bottle?’
‘Sure,’ I croak.
