Free Who's That Girl by Alexandra Potter Page A

unidentifiable in the blender until it resembles orange gloop. 'Though I must say, I've seen that Larry Goldstein being interviewed on Oprah and he's bloody handsome.'
    'So what if he is? In a plastic sort of a way,' I can't help adding. 'That doesn't mean he can make a pass at me in a restaurant. It was a business meeting.'
    She pauses from feeding Sam, a spoonful of orange gloop held suspended in the air. ' And ?' she teases. Distractedly she puts the spoon in her own mouth. There's a loud squawk. 'Oops, sorry, darling,' she coos, remembering herself. 'Silly Mummy is hungry too.' Hastily she shovels up another spoonful.
    ' And that's not acceptable!' I admonish. 'It's sexual harassment. Have you never heard of equality in the workplace?'
    She screws up her forehead and pretends to think. 'Vaguely. I'm a stay-at-home mother who lives in a world of bathtimes, tantrums and dirty nappies. I gave up my job and my life to breed. Need I say more?' A spoon in each hand, she smiles wryly, then continues alternating orange gloop and pasta between two hungry mouths.
    'Yeah, but you love being a mum,' I counter.
    'True.' She smiles, turning to me, her face lit up. 'My kids are the best thing, I can't imagine life without them…' She breaks off uncomfortably as she catches my eye, and the smile slips from her face. For the briefest moment, a look passes between us. 'But I'm glad I waited until my thirties to have them,' she adds quickly.
    She glances away and there's an awkward pause.
    I fill it by changing the subject. 'Anyway, you hated your job,' I point out. Vanessa used to work in the solicitors' firm next to my office. That's how she met Julian, her husband. 'You said you couldn't wait to leave.'
    'True.' She nods, breaking into a huge smile at Ruby, who's laughing hysterically as she smears orange gloop over her brother.
    'You threw a resignation party,' I continue.
    'And you couldn't come,' she remarks, shooting me a look.
    'I was on a deadline.'
    'When aren't you on a deadline?' she counters.
    I open my mouth to protest, then close it again. Actually, come to think of it, I can't remember a life before deadlines.
    'Gosh, that was a great party.'
    I look back at Vanessa, who's gone all dreamy-eyed. 'We had over a hundred people squeezed into the old house. I was pregnant and couldn't drink and so Julian made me Virgin Marys and we played UB40 all night to celebrate my unemployment - you know, UB40: unemployed.' She smiles wistfully, her mind wandering back to that night over three years ago. 'Anyway, it's not as if you're certain this Goldstein chap even made a pass. It seems very unlikely. Like you said, you probably made a mistake.'
    'True,' I admit. In fact, the more I think about it, I'm almost certain I made a mistake.
    'And you got the contract, which is what you wanted, isn't it?'
    'True.' I nod.
    'So don't look so worried,' she reprimands.
    'I'm not,' I reply, quickly uncreasing my forehead.
    Well, OK, I am a bit, but I'm not going to admit it.
    'Really?' Vanessa looks surprised. 'That's not like you. Usually you worry about everything.'
    'I wouldn't say everything ,' I say, a little miffed.
    'You worry about being worried,' she points out, smiling.
    'That's not true!' I say defensively.
    'What about when we were celebrating your birthday and we bought all that champagne? And as we were about to open it, you got worried the cork was going to pop out and blind someone… ?'
    'Well, it could have,' I protest. 'I was just being careful.'
    'Yelling, "Duck!" and diving for cover?'
    I blush. 'OK, so maybe I was a little overcautious, but those corks can be dangerous. They can take an eye out,' I argue, but I don't think Vanessa is listening.
    'And what about the time we went to that spa hotel for my hen weekend and we are all having fun by the pool and you lay in the shade and refused to join in because you were worried you were going to slip and bang your head and be paralysed?'
    'It happens a lot!' I admonish. 'Haven't you