We can’t have been quiet for more than a minute before another email pops up.

Just to be clear … can I jump him while I’m not at work?

‘No Risky. Please. Don’t jump our clients full stop, OK?’ I say, standing up.

‘OK. Absolutely boss. No problem.’

‘Good. Now, can you find me the contracts for the magicians please?’ I need to double-check they know not to bring any doves. Mayra is scared of birds.’

‘Sure boss.’

She does as I ask. I sit at my desk and wonder if I will ever experience the thrill of spontaneous rampancy ever again. I am pretty sure I won’t with my husband.

But what if I could with someone else?

8

Ruby

I like to squeeze every avocado and smell every lettuce, which is why online food shopping will never work for me. I take my time selecting my produce. I think that is important when you eat as little as I do. My basic diet consists of boiled eggs, green leafy vegetables, occasional slices of high-quality brown bread, homemade soup and fish. Of course I eat other things, but rarely do I veer far from this list. I buy a much more exciting and child-friendly list of foods for Bonnie – sausages, fish fingers, pizza, I’ve even given her the occasional Pop-Tart. I have two reasons for this. As much as I care for her health, if I offer her anything that doesn’t have melted cheese on it, or come with a sweet sauce, or involve a little icing sugar sprinkled on top, she will throw it on the floor and put herself on hunger strike. And second, I feed her delicious food now because one day she will become a teenage girl, and if she is branded with the same affliction as me, food will become the enemy. And that might take the form of her self-denying, like I do. Or she might overindulge in it, like my mother. Either way, these few years of prepubescent eating will be the best of her life, before vanity, weight management or health inevitably ruin her relationship with food forever.

Eating ice cream on the beach with my dad is one of my favourite memories. The luscious taste, abundant joy. I can take myself back there if I concentrate hard enough. The sound of the ocean, happy families on the beach. Me and my dad licking our ice creams, catching the drips that run down the cones with our tongues. Not missing a single morsel of the heavenly sensation of our sweet treats or the joy we found in each other. I can still taste the ice cream. For me it was always vanilla, for him chocolate. He’d say, ‘Don’t tell your mum I got you two scoops.’ And I’d keep that secret like a love note stuffed into my pocket. My dad was fun. Somewhere inside of me, his influence still shines.