Lifesaving for Beginners

out of anyone, especially an accountant like Maurice. And I mean actually physically beaten it out of him. With the branch of a tree.
    I haven’t looked at the menu yet, so I just ask the waitress what today’s special is and she tells me, but I can’t hear her because Minnie is talking at the top of her voice about some hostile takeover or other she’s working on, and the waitress has the low voice of someone who has been told to SHUT UP all her life. So I nod and return the menu to her and take a huge slug of wine out of the carafe I’ve ordered and watch Minnie sip her sparkling water, and I wish that Minnie didn’t have to go back to the office and work on a boring bloody acquisition because then the two of us could go to Lincoln’s and get properly pissed, like we used to. Back when we laughed so hard, sometimes a tiny little drop of piddle would slip out and wet my knickers.
    She says, ‘Twenty-two minutes left.’
    I say, ‘Fuck.’
    She says, ‘What?’ She’s trying her best to sound impatient but I hear a sliver of concern in her voice.
    ‘Everything. It’s . . . everything. Everything is just so . . . flat.’
    ‘You’re just bored.’
    ‘I shouldn’t be. I’ve loads to do.’
    ‘Yes, but you’re not doing any of it. Just start doing the stuff that you’re supposed to be doing and then you won’t be bored and everything won’t seem so flat and I might get this acquisition sorted out and even manage to dodge the latest redundancy cull.’
    ‘They’d never make you redundant. They wouldn’t dare.’
    That’s when I see the blackboard where the specials are written and realise that today’s special is beef and Guinness stew and that if there’s one thing I hate it’s beef and Guinness stew; and that’s when the waitress whooshes out of the swingy door from the kitchen holding two plates, one of which is overflowing with beef and Guinness stew. I pick up my glass of wine. I don’t drain it but I nearly do.
    Minnie says, ‘You could go to your house in Italy. Have sex with your gardener, whatshisface? Pedro? Or Antonio? He’s a grand-looking fella. Strong as an ox. He’d keep you going, take your mind off things.’
    ‘It’s Stefano. And I can’t just rock up and have sex with him. What if it didn’t work out? Where would the garden be then? Those lemon trees aren’t going to prune themselves.’
    Minnie spears a piece of asparagus with the prongs of her fork, even before the waitress has guided the plate to the table. She’s like that, Minnie. Impatient. I look at the timer. I’ve twelve minutes left. With no plans for the afternoon. And beef and Guinness stew overflowing on a plate in front of me. It’s enough to make anyone have a nervous breakdown. God knows, I’ve time for one.
    Minnie bends her head to her plate and ingests at least a third of her lunch before she comes up for air, while the rest of the restaurant looks on and tries to work out exactly where she puts it or to see if she will belt to the bathroom immediately afterwards for a quick barf. She is smiling now. Food is the only thing that has a tangible effect – for the good, I mean – on Minnie. Food and maths. When she eats, or does maths-related things, there is a subtle shift and something slips into place; so, when Minnie looks at me, I know that she cares about me, even though she would never say such a thing out loud.
    It’s the same when she’s at a restaurant with a big group of people and the bill comes at the end. Minnie says, ‘I’ll do it,’ and her voice suggests she would rather be dipped in bloody fish guts and lowered into the Great White Shark-ridden waters off the Cape of Good Hope.
    But the truth is, she loves it. There’s no splitting the bill’s total plus tip by the number of people at the table. Not with Minnie around. No. Instead, she will work out – to the last penny farthing – how much everyone owes. Who had the early bird? Who said they were having the early bird but then went for the fillet steak with its sneaky little fifteen per cent supplement in tiny lettering underneath? Who didn’t have any wine? Who had more than their fair share? Who had two starters instead of the traditional starter and a main? Who insisted on dessert? Who ate some of the dessert that someone else ordered? The list of possibilities are endless at such a table but Minnie will tap-tap-tap at the calculator she carries in her bag at all times (the way most women carry a compact and a