The Dish (47 page)

He rubs the back of his shoulder slowly. ‘So . . . the thing is, I still don’t know yet how it’s going to pan out with Katie. I’m asking for access every other weekend and one night a week but he’s so young it might not be
practical till he’s at least a year old. I might just get once a month till then – I don’t know. And she could so easily turn round at any point and say I can’t even have—’

‘Look, don’t bother explaining,’ I say, biting my lip as I summon up all the courage I can muster. ‘It doesn’t matter what access you end up getting. It makes no difference at all.’

His face falls. ‘But Laura – surely if
I can—’

‘Adam, what I said just now – about having things worked out logically in my head . . .’ I pause and take another deep breath. ‘When I saw you with Josh, my overwhelming thought was: I can’t do this. But sitting here with you now – I know in my heart I can’t
not
.’

He reaches out slowly and takes my hand, and his thumb gently rubs mine. We sit quietly, neither of us moving. I feel almost
dizzy with the possibilities of what might yet be. After a minute he glances at his watch and tips his head back in irritation.

‘You’ve got to go back to work again?’ I say.

‘Only one more bloody week, I swear.’ He sighs apologetically.

‘Adam – are you looking after Josh this Sunday?’

‘I’m not sure yet – if I do, it’ll be in the afternoon. Why?’

‘Well, how’s this for a plan? I’ll give you
the fiver – in sterling – on Sunday morning and the two of us can sew ourselves a little white flag out of the bread in a bacon sandwich?’

‘Now you’re talking. At yours?’ he says, grinning, and edging his chair closer to mine.

‘Nope, no bread allowed. But I know this great little place where they do a mean bacon sarnie, and if we get there early enough they might even have a custard doughnut
left . . .’

‘A bacon sarnie, a custard doughnut and a new beginning?’ He strokes his chin as he considers it. ‘Hmm. I’m not entirely sure I can do that . . .’

‘Why ever not?’

‘Well, it’s nothing personal, Laura, but I think I know the place you mean, and the last time I went there I was accosted by a lunatic who stole half my breakfast.’

‘Is that so?’

‘It is! In fact I think this woman was
borderline insane – she actually pulled her own tooth out in a pub.’ He clicks his fingers, ‘Like that – didn’t even flinch.’

‘Why would she do that?’

‘I believe just for the hell of it. And then she rained down a world of pain on me at work, and she slightly broke my heart,’ he says, lifting my hand to his lips, softly kissing my wrist, and then moving my palm to his chest. He places his other
hand on top of it and holds it close.

‘It’s still beating, Adam. They’re stronger than you think.’

‘And the worst part,’ he says, resting our hands back down by his side, ‘is that in spite of all those things – or perhaps it’s because of them – I’ve grown rather fond of this creature.’

‘You have?’

‘I have.’ He stares at me with an expression full of hope, then shakes his head in wonder. ‘In
fact I can’t imagine being quite this fond of anyone else in the foreseeable future.’

He looks back down at our entwined fingers, then turns to me and smiles, and I know with my whole heart, whatever happens next, whether we make it or not, it won’t be because we didn’t try.

For starters, many thanks to the fabulous Victoria Hobbs, Pippa McCarthy and Jennifer Custer for good humour, wise counsel and all round brilliance.

I am immeasurably indebted to Mari Evans for insight, ideas and gentle guidance. And über thanks to the magnificent team at Headline – Vicky Palmer, Frances Gough, Frances Edwards, Katie Bradburn, Katie Corcoran and Frances Doyle.

This book was so much fun to research, thanks in no small part to the supremely talented chefs who shared their time, passion and knowledge with me: Pete Begg, Marianne Lumb, Dan Doherty, Shams at Patogh, Frankie at Fiendish and Goode, and the greatest baker in the world, creator of
The
Custard Doughnut, Justin Gellatly at Bread Ahead.

Thanks to all my friends, always, for love, comedy, fun and
games – in particular my early readers – Joy Cotterell, Kathryn Finlay, Belinda Kutluoglu, Felicity Spector, Michelle Grose, Dalia Bloom, Susie Aliband, Bobby Sebire, Phil Thomson and Anna Hayman. And also to Adam Polonsky for Italy and beans, car-aoke, illegible notes and letting me win at Trivial Pursuit that one precious time. Ali Bailey – inspirational beauty and provider of dodgy wasabi peas.
Andrew Hart, always there in my many hours of need. Rachel Swift, burger-partner extraordinaire. Gerry Katzman for putting up with my writer’s block grumpiness. Jenny Knight for infinite wisdom and patience. Ann Farragher and Massi Passimonti for Italian lessons, Nima Amjadi for Persian lessons, Baykar Tafi for your nafas. Dominic Fry for advice about a dog, Andy Pullen for your charming bedside
manner, Simon Doggett for bringing editorial meetings back to life. Graeme Dunn, superstar, man of many hats, medical-guru extraordinaire, James Harris for bike advice and sartorial inspiration, Eli Dryden for generosity and kindness.

Clive Jones, curry partner on those dark winter nights and the hot summer ones too,

Lexie Emerson-White for saving me from my bad self over and over, and for
coming to Wolfies with me. Cassie Suddes, canapé-chaser extraordinaire, for helping me research more than a few of the meals in this book – I’m still not mentioning
The Notebook.
Laura John for schooling me in the finer points of libel law, Elizabeth and Laura Watkins and David Staples, for giving me a room with a fabulous view. Dan ‘Zvuv’ Simmons, for that loving slap in the face, Keren Levy
for the date-from-hell story and more, Russell Hardiman – restaurateur extraordinaire – for insider info, Toby Finlay for your helpful feedback, Mum and Dad, for pretty much everything.

And finally – a huge thank you to my readers for your support and kind words – the icing on my cake.