Brendan was nervous. He clutched the bunch of red roses close to his chest. He hoped no one else would enter the lift and squash the flowers. Or worse, ask him who they were for, at which point he would be tempted to enter into a lengthy description of his beloved and the ensuing drama attached. The lift doors opened. He walked onto the shiny reflective tiles leading to the restaurant. It was close to lunchtime and the place was bustling. Trolleys of bamboo steamers swished past containing exotic delicacies like marinated chicken feet, translucent dumplings and assorted offal. Yum Cha had evolved from being a trophy of the Asian communities to a regular darling of the general diverse culinary public.
There she was, dressed in a pink tunic with her trademark double strands of pearls, laughing at some witty repartee from her neighbour. “Happy Birthday, Gloria.” He gave her the enormous bouquet of 12 red roses, fit for a pop princess at her sold-out concerts. She smiles at him, flashing her million dollar white teeth and flicking back her hair. She puts the flowers on a table behind her, already overflowing with presents. Normally in such a social situation, friends greet each other with a hug and kiss on the cheek. Brendan was so anxious that he just froze, standing there like a statue, until his friend tugged on this sleeve and told him to sit down.
