Spray Painted Bananas

Chapter 4

‘Go on then, email him,’ she says.

I’m surprised she doesn’t want to write to him herself.

Dearest Elliot

I quickly delete ‘Dearest’ and replace it with the more contemporary ‘Hello’. His very name, Elliot, transports me into a BBC period-costume drama, something by Jane Austen. Oh what a handsome couple we would make! I close my eyes and loosen my neck before turning back to the mail.

Hello Elliot

Sorry to hear you are so busy.

How Sorry? Very sorry or plain sorry? Just sorry. Being over sorry might sound unprofessional.

I understand your concern about messy eaters, however please be assured our canapés are made with that very thought in mind and can be consumed in one bite, if not less.

I consider this last statement and decide it gives the impression our canapés are a bit on the mean side.

... and can be consumed in two bites, at the very most. With regards to fragrance, I imagine you don’t wish for any of our squid or prawn delights. Below is a list of less aromatic options, which I hope will prove suitable for your environmen[JG2] t.

The End.

I delete ‘The End’ as I’m not writing a novel and round it off with the standard ‘Kind Regards’, which to me sounds like another phrase dragged out of an Austen novel. Then, feeling impressed by my own efficiency, I press ‘Send’ and abandon my desk in search of lunch. Vicky acknowledges my departure with a grunt about wishing she had time to eat.

Lunch on my first day was intimidating because the kitchen was full of men who all stopped what they were doing to stare at me as I picked food from the staff buffet. My nerves meant I ended up eating a mixture of mango chutney, pork chops and ice cream. I felt so sick. Since then I’ve grown in confidence and am now able to walk into the kitchen with my head held high.

Before I even make it to the kitchen, I come across Andrzej. He’s squatting beside a bulging hessian sack, smoking a roll-up and rubbing his face in his customary anxious way.

‘What’s the matter?’

He looks up and his eyes are red, as if he’s been working in a mine. He shakes his head, too emotional to speak and my eyes rove towards the sack.

‘What’s in there?’

‘That woman...’

‘What woman?’

There’s no way a person could fit in there, unless they were chopped up.

‘Not a bloody woman!’ he growls. ‘Bananas are in there. Fucking bananas that Vicky is telling me I’ve got to throw away.’

I regret stopping to talk to the chef now. I’m not quite sure how to round off the conversation. It doesn’t seem right to mutter, ‘Oh well, never mind,’ when he’s so clearly upset. For some reason I feel compelled to offer him a solution. How bad can these bananas be anyway?

I gently tug a corner towards me and peer inside, expecting the pungent stink of overripe fruit. But no, I’m greeted by bunches of friendly, yellow bananas that look just right to be eaten and smell distinctly of...lemons, actually.

‘But they’re perfect.'

Andrzej nods his head furiously. ‘That’s what I told her, but she says they are too risky.’

The only way a banana is risky is if a bank robber pretends it’s a gun and everyone believes him.

‘Don’t throw them away, I’ll take them off you.’