Food Fight Read Online Free PDF Page A

waterboarded, submerged to the point of drowning, then spluttering and gasping for air, only to be forced down again.
    “It’s tough.” She pretended to scrutinise the menu, glancing sideways at Ellen who was searching for her phone.
    “In case the twins are rioting.” She placed her mobile on the table. “How long were you married?”
    “Eleven years.”
    “Eleven,” Ellen said, shaking her head. “And how’s your daughter?”
    “Mimi? Taking it hard, probably harder than she admits to me. But it’s difficult to tell with her. She seems to blame me for what happened, as though sending him out for a newspaper was, I don’t know, selfish. She hasn’t said anything, but it’s there.”
    “Poor you,” Ellen said. “I’m so sorry.”
    “I feel guilty enough as it is.” Susan sensed she wanted to ask her something.
    “Was she a problem child?”
    “No, not really,” Susan said, defensively. “Mimi was always going to be a handful for anyone. She was born screaming and hasn’t stopped since. It wasn’t easy bringing up a baby on my own, on a tight budget, rushing round the country before I joined DeKripps.”
    She couldn’t help envying Ellen and her supportive husband who could afford all the domestic help they needed. They’d met at Yale, the corporate ladder seeming to stretch directly from their freshman dormitory window.
    “Maybe there’s something more to it,” Ellen said, breaking into Susan’s reverie. “It strikes me she’s always been pretty aggressive. Have you considered anger management?”
    She said nothing. Mimi had been a full-on teenager turned rebellious adult, that was all. Susan was the one with a psychology degree – she knew her daughter didn’t need therapy, and neither did she for that matter.
    The waiter was standing beside them, pen in hand. Susan chose patatas bravas , squid in ink and beans with sausage. “Anyway, enough about my worries,” she said. “Tell me about you? How are you coping with the twins?”
    Ellen was finding motherhood rather exhausting, as she was breast-feeding both of her baby boys and had a long commute from Chevy Chase.
    “I bet your hormones are still berserk.”
    “How did you guess?” Ellen said. “I sure had baby brain after the birth. But I figure it’s under control now. Of course it’s not something I’d even mention at work.” Then she asked, “How do you feel about working with Barney?”
    “Nervous. I’ve got so used to Frank that a two-toed sloth would seem dynamic. But it was a little dangerous, in its way. Possibly too comfortable. Mimi used to call Frank my partner in crime.”
    “I’m starting to like this girl,” Ellen said. She took out her powder case and pursed her bee-sting lips in the mirror, freshening up with a dash of scarlet.
    “As you’re probably aware, Barney doesn’t take any prisoners, by the way.” Then she frowned as though she’d said too much, and added: “I’m sure you don’t need to worry.”
     
    Susan’s new home was a DeKripps apartment a short walk from work. It reminded her of her office, with all the charisma of an airport lounge, furnished entirely in beige, reproduction Modiglianis on the wall.
    Standing in the gleaming white-tiled shower, she missed her daily soak in the bath in London, and Marmite on toast. At this time of year, the sun would have been streaming through her French windows, a posy of fresh flowers from the garden on her kitchen table. She’d brought family photographs with her but already regretted leaving her favourite glass ornaments packed away in the attic.
    Everything about Penn Quarter was grey. Its anonymous blocks of uniform height cast a dark shadow over the streets and towered over characterless bars, expensive restaurants and cut-price basement stores. It turned out to be the dead heart of Washington, its streets deserted after office hours. And that meant after 6 p.m.
    In the mornings, she’d amuse herself by opening the bedroom curtains with a