‘Are those Ottolenghi’s courgette fritters?’
I try not to look surprised. ‘Err…’
I made them on the weekend for Sunday lunch. It’s a bit of a ritual we have, Beatrice and I. She listens to me whine on about how Man of The Moment and I belong together; I feed her Ottolenghi’s Green Pancakes. But it’s not Beatrice asking the question.
‘… yes,’ I say, ‘well, they’re Ottolenghi, but they’re err spinach. There are some good courgette ones I’ve made – but they’re not his. He probably does do courgette ones though.’
‘Yes, I’m sure there are a few variations floating around.’
‘Yes. They’re good…’
Tristan nods. ‘I’ve made them.’
‘Oh – right.’
Back at my desk, I tell Colleague. She laughs, or rather, we laugh.
‘He’s not a normal guy,’ I say, keeping my voice low. ‘As in, it’s not normal. I mean, is there anything the guy doesn’t know?! Is there anything he can’t do?!’
She smiles. ‘It’s quite sweet though.’
‘Tristan thought it was probably OK–.’
My manager stops me there. ‘If Tristan says it’s OK….’ She looks over at him. ‘You see, Tristan’s very careful.’
You’re telling me?! The guy’s fucking perfect! The other day I was reading one of those silly articles, ‘7 Habits of Very Happy People’, followed by ‘7 Things Very Giving People Do’. At the bottom of which I saw a link to – you guessed it – ‘7 Things Very Likeable People Do’, and below that, ‘7 Things Very Successful People Do’. I don’t bother with either of these. I know what the answer is: be more like Tristan. Very occasionally his tongue is too sharp for his own good and I fancy he gives offence, but mostly I just fancy him.
‘Yes,’ I say, following her gaze.
‘So,’ she turns back to me, ‘if he says it’s OK, I’m happy with that.’
I nod. ‘Yup.’