Grimacing, I turn very slowly to see Jamie strolling towardme wearing a stunned expression. The good news is: he doesn’t look horrified to see me. The bad news is: he’s now seen me like this. He looks good in light blue–washed jeans and a colorful open shirt over a white T-shirt. His beard is more like stubble now and he’s had a haircut.
“Hey,” he says, a smile spreading across his face, which makes me feel at once comforted and terrified, “what are you doing here?”
“Jamie! Hi!” I begin, doing my best to seem startled at his appearance. This reaction, of course, makes no sense. We both know that I know he works here. “I was just passing and I thought… you know…”
I wave my hand about as though that gesture might perfectly explain what I mean. I don’t even know what I mean, so I highly doubt Jamie does.
“Sure,” he says, bemused. “Well, it’s really good to see you. I’m glad you were just… passing.”
He gives me a knowing smile. Oh, hang on. I see. Now he thinks I’m making this up and that I’ve come all the way to East London to bump into him and pretend I was in the area.
“I was trapezing.”
He hesitates. “Sorry?”
“I really was just passing. I was doing a trapeze class nearby,” I explain, making sure that he knows I haven’t made the effortjustto see him, and also that I only look like this after strenuous exercise (even if it was only five minutes of it).
“A trapeze class. Really?”
“Yes.”
“Interesting. Any good at it?”
“Yeah, not bad actually. It’s definitely not the easiest of hobbies. I mean, it requires alotof strength and balance and dedication. And it’s not easy to do it in front of other people watching. You know, because someone has to be there to make sure you don’t fall off and break your neck.”
He nods slowly as I speak. “It would be bad if that happened.”
“It would be. Luckily, I’m all in one piece.”
“That is lucky.” He gives me a full-on grin as though he’s been trying to hold it back. “Want to try some Dancing Bear beer?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Come with me,” he says, leading the way to the bar at the back of the room. “We have a few core beers—pale ale, lager, bitter—and then we have the small batches and the summer ones. There’s a citrus one you might like. You want to taste a few, I’m guessing.”
“I’m here for the full experience,” I inform him.
“That’s what I like to hear.”
I pull myself up onto a stool at the bar as he slides behind it, dodging round the other staff who are busy pulling pints for the majority of customers sitting outside in the sunshine.
“Let’s start with the flagship pale,” Jamie states, reaching for a glass on the shelf under the bar.
“Sounds good. Thank you.”
“So, how have you been?” he asks, preparing my first taster in a small glass and leaning out of the way as another staff member reaches round him for something. “Obviously you’ve been busy trapezing…”
“That takes up a lot of my time.” I lean forward, resting my arms on the bar. “It’s Ruby’s hen do this weekend, so I’ve been organizing that. And work has been crazy. I’ve actually been working on this new advertising campaign for Bodacious, one of our gins. You may have heard of it?” Jamie nods. “It’s distilled in Shropshire and they still follow this traditional recipe from the 1920s. Isn’t that cool? They’ve had to move their production site a few times since it was first produced, of course, due to growth, but they’ve named each new headquarters ‘Poppycock Lane’ after the road their first distillery was on, so that they keepthat sense of heritage. Anyway, we’ve been speaking to the family members who still work there, and we’re going to do this whole campaign around its history and fantastic sense of humor, because obviously Poppycock Lane is a hilariously silly British road name and… and… oh my god, I’m so sorry. I’m rambling on and boring you.”
“You’re not!” Jamie assures me. “It all sounds really cool.”
“Oh good. Well, I’ve been meaning to thank you, because you put the idea in my head at the Swill Awards.”
He looks surprised. “I did?”
“You did. You took the time to get to know the family behind that to-die-for olive oil. And hearing you talk about what you’re doing at Dancing Bear, the passion and knowledge of the people actually crafting the beer—that’s what makes a product special. Anyway, all that gave me the idea.”
He grins. “I had no clue my words carried such weight, but I’m pleased they’ve sparked something good.”
