“Right,” said Dan, “it’s all perfectly solvable.”
They looked at him.
“It’s perfectly solvable, so no one needs to panic.”
“Oh my God,” wailed Patsy at the word panic.
“It’s all right,” said Katie. “All the stuff that we need for today is fine, so Nik—you just keep cooking like the star you are, while we worry about tomorrow.”
“Excellent, yes,” said Dan. “Nik, keep on cooking while we worry about tomorrow.”
“Let’s get some chips going,” said Katie.
“Excellent,” nodded Dan. “Let’s get some chips going.” Nik started pouring oil into a pan.
“Right,” said Katie. “Now we need to deal with the freezer.”
“Shall I buy a new one?” Dan looked at Katie.
“No!” she said. “It’s still under guarantee, I’ll phone the manufacturer.”
“Excellent,” said Dan. “You phone the manufacturer while Nik gets some chips going.”
“What shall I do?” asked Patsy.
“Er, the chip fryer’s broken,” announced Nik.
“What?” cried everyone except Patsy.
“What?” cried Patsy.
“I think the chip fryer’s broken,” said Nik, his face level with where the flame should be. He tried again and then stood up. “Yep,” he said. “It’s broken.”
“Right,” said Dan, pacing. “OK. The chip fryer’s broken.” He looked at Katie.
“That’s important, but not urgent, so I’ll call the repairers after I’ve called the freezer guys,” she said, looking at the fridge door. “Their number should be up here.”
“I’ll just keep on cooking till then, right?” asked Nik.
“Yes,” said Katie and Dan at the same time.
“Yes,” said Dan. “Carry on cooking while Katie makes the calls and the rest of us just get on as normal.” He looked up at the monitor and saw four people waiting to be served. “No,” he said, “scrap that. I’ll make the calls, Katie and Sukie serve the customers as usual and don’t let on anything’s up. For God’s sake don’t be polite or they’ll rumble us.”
“Dan, what shall I do?” asked Patsy.
“Um,” Dan was at a loss. “What do you normally do?”
“Um,” Patsy was at a loss. “Um…”
“Help anyone who asks you,” said Dan. “You can be the general sous.”
“What does that mean?”
“You’re under whoever asks you.”
There was much laughter at this which, credit to Patsy, she took very well as soon they’d explained it.
Katie and Dan spent the rest of the day phoning up the repairer and manufacturer on the hour every hour, which was why it only took until 3 P.M. for them to come and fix the problems, and by 4 P.M., Crichton Brown’s Café/Bar/Restaurant had a fully functioning kitchen again.
At the end of the day, when Crichton Brown’s had closed and the rest of the staff had gone, Katie and Dan sat down together and counted the day’s takings. Then they counted again. They dared smile at each other and, without a word, Dan went to the wine bottles and took out a good chardonnay.
“Dan!” she protested, laughing.
“We bloody deserve it,” he said, finding the corkscrew. “And we can afford it.” The bottle uncorked and they both laughed. He came over, sat down opposite her, poured out two glasses and handed her one. They grinned again and clinked glasses.
“To us!” he toasted.
She only hesitated for a second. “To us.”
“One hell of a team.”
“One hell of a team.”
They both drank down too much wine. Then he held up his glass again.
“To Katie Simmonds.” She laughed. He held up his hand to stop her. “I don’t know what I’d have done without you,” he said, softer. “And I’m sorry for being an idiot the other day.”
She pretended not to be as touched as she was. “It’s all right. And you’d have coped,” she smiled.
“I wouldn’t,” he contradicted. “And I’d have had a bloody heart attack trying.”
“Well, it is my job.”
He nodded and lifted his glass in the air again. “A toast! Thank God for Katie’s job!”
“I’ll drink to that!”
There was a little lull and Katie asked if now was a good time to make some suggestions.
“Always working,” murmured Dan, a lazy smile on his lips. “Always working.”
She started by suggesting her mother’s unique recipe, a delicious frittata—a special Spanish omelette—that she had learned how to make before she was out of ankle-socks. She didn’t know anywhere else where it was done and felt it would satisfy both healthy eaters and pie lovers. Then she decided to broach two subjects that had been concerning her: Nik was having trouble keeping up with the demands of a bustling Café/Bar/Restaurant now that the clientele had grown so significantly, so couldn’t be asked to do more, but she felt that the place had an obvious gap in its repertoire.
“Nik’s so busy, so is there enough money to find some local cook—maybe a stay-at-home mum—and ask her to make us two, maybe three, choice desserts throughout the week? Each slice will get us back more than the entire ingredients.”
Dan nodded thoughtfully. “Good idea. I’ll put an advert in the local press and see if anyone fits the bill.”
“The local council has a free magazine that’s a lifeline for mums in this area. I could see about putting an advert in there.”
“Brilliant.”
“And…”
“Yes?”
“It might be nice if there was room for customers to sit outside, especially with summer coming. But you know how mad the English are, they’d even sit out there in the winter. We can look into finding out if we need a license.”
Dan looked unimpressed. “We haven’t got enough room have we?”
She shrugged. “There’s enough for two tables, that’s all you’d need. You’ll get more money and it will show passers-by that there’s a café here. Just an idea.”
Dan nodded slowly. “Hmm. I’ll talk to Paul.”
Katie forced herself not to push it further. Instead she changed tack and asked how Paul was. Dan gave her a vague reply and she gave him a vague nod in return.
“OK, my turn now,” he said. “Can I ask something?”
“Am I allowed to say no?” she smiled.
“Of course!” He put his arms up in mock-arrest.
She shook her head. “Go on then.”
“It’s not a boss thing, it’s a…friend thing.”
She gave him a long look. “I don’t let many friends tell me what to do all day.” He gave her a small smile. “Or remind me that they pay my wages.” She took a sip of her drink. She looked up and saw an endearingly apologetic expression. She took another sip of her wine, so as not to hug him.
“OK,” he said quietly. “I deserved that. You’re right. I can’t have it both ways.”
“No,” she cut in. “Go on, ask the question. As a friendly boss.”
He took a deep breath. “I know you’re waiting…” he started.
She froze. “Waiting?”
“Yes. For the right job.”
“Ah.”
“And I just wondered why?”
There was a pause.
“And?” she asked.
“That’s it.”
“That’s it?” she repeated.
“Well, what I mean is, what are you doing wasting your time and your considerable talents, skills and brain-power, being a waitress?”
“I’m a manager,” she said in a hollow voice.
“Of course,” he said quickly, “manager.”
“Don’t patronize me.”
“I’m not!”
“I’m either a manager or a waitress. You’re the boss, so you tell me.”
“You are most definitely a manager. What I meant to say—and I don’t know why I’m suddenly sweating so much—” he gave a
quick laugh, “is that you could be a manager of somewhere massive. Or…” he trailed off into an uneasy silence.
“Are you asking me to leave?”
“No!”
“Are you telling me my job’s crap?”
He gave a big sigh. “I thought I was telling you I think you’re worth more than this job, but that does not make this job crap.”
“Hmm,” said Katie. “Have you met my mother?”
“No,” said Dan.
“Shame. I think you’d really get on with her.”
He grimaced. “That was below the belt.”
“I’m fine with this job,” Katie told him. “I’m good at this job.”
“I know—”
“And I will stay doing this job until I decide to leave this job. Unless you don’t want me doing this job.”
Dan shook his head furiously. “God no, I’d be lost without you.”
There was an uneasy silence. “You know…In this capacity.”
“I know perfectly well what you meant,” Katie gave him a long, kind smile.
Dan looked at her seriously, then looked down at his feet. Katie felt suddenly deeply depressed. Oh God, what the hell was she playing at? When they started making friends, she pushed for more. When they rowed, she behaved like they were having a lover’s tiff. It was not a good working relationship. She would start to look for a new job. The thought made her feel instantly even more depressed. No, she’d stay. No need to over-react. They were a good team. This was a celebration. She felt better. Not as good as before, but not depressed.
Dan suddenly gulped down the last of his wine and sighed. “Excellent,” he said. “Perfect. Right. That’s all good then. I’m so glad we had this little chat.”
“Was there anything else?”
Dan shook his head.
“Oh and by the way,” she said, getting up. “I’m going to Sandy’s wedding with Hugh, so I won’t need a lift, thanks all the same.”
He looked up at her. “Oh,” he said softly. “OK. That’s a shame. I mean,” he looked down, “Geraldine was looking forward to it.”
Katie gave him a very sweet smile. “I bet she was,” and turned and walked away.
Wednesday morning, the day of his date and first day of the rest of his life, found Matt staring in wretched disbelief at his reflection in the mirror. Here was proof that his worst fears were true. There was no longer any doubt: God—if there was one—really, really hated him. Maybe in another life Matt had killed His favorite pet or something. Eaten His favorite baby. Maybe, due to the Chaos theory, he had inadvertently started a natural disaster and thousands of innocent people had died senselessly. Whatever it was, Matt now knew with absolute certainty, as he stared in the mirror, that whatever he’d done was celestially unforgivable. He would not know redemption. For behold, there in front of him, clear as a pillar of salt, radiant as the sun, glossy as Pegasus’s mane, shone a spot on his nose the size of a frigate.
He closed his eyes (which hurt) and then slowly opened them again. Same face, same nose, same overnight mountain on it. It was practically waving at him. What the hell was he going to do?
There was no way round the problem. He would have to cancel his date with Jennifer. She was not a girl who should know such things in her life. She was a creature of love and beauty and light. Not of infected pus.
Yes, he would cancel, he told himself as he squinted painfully at the spot, revelling in its revoltingness. It had its own sick beauty; a Saturn-shaped ring of boiling scarlet throbbed round a rigid white planet and at the pinnacle perched a black hole the size of a pinprick. Right on the top of his hooter, like a flag. He might as well wear a placard that read Danger, Testosterone.
He tried rearranging his nose, ignoring the pain and stretching his face out of all recognition. He knew from bitter experience that the nose was the worst place for this to happen. It was nothing less than a bull’s-eye from up above. He could almost hear the archangels chanting out “One hundred and eight-eey.”
He perched on the edge of his bed, trying to work out what to do, but instead merely sank into depression. Why the hell didn’t old people get spots, people who didn’t need to find lovers any more because they were too busy shopping for thermal underwear? Why give it to adolescent boys, the only members of the human race for whom spots could literally mean the end of all their hopes and dreams? Sometimes he had so many spots he wouldn’t have been surprised if his forehead spelled “virgin” in braille.
Yes, he would cancel. It had all been too good to be true. Life stank and he would die a virgin. Thank you, God.
Then he realized that he didn’t have Jennifer’s phone number. He didn’t know where she lived. Or even what her surname was. He sat in an increasingly panicked daze hoping an answer would come to him soon.
Eventually, he realized there was only one possible solution. It was simple, effective and left him with some dignity. He would turn up at the Gnat and Parrot at the appointed time in a balaclava, tell Jennifer he had a summer cold and go back to his room, never to leave, dying a long and lonely death. But first, he had to sort out a convincing way to avoid her at the café. He’d ask Katie for help. She was always full of good ideas.
He leapt up off the bed and found the only scarf he had, a thick red number—perfect for the mid-summer heat. Deftly, he wrapped up half his face and then left for work.
Half an hour later, he passed the coffee queue and beckoned frantically to Katie.
“Hi Matt,” she said, hardly glancing at him. “Another spot?”
Matt furiously yanked down his scarf, careful to hide his nose with his hand.
“I need to talk to you,” he hissed.
He ran into the kitchen, followed by Katie while Sukie kept Patsy away from them with her arm.
Truth to tell, Katie wasn’t fully sympathetic to his situation until she realized its gravity, when she saw Matt’s nose. Her eyes widened. Nik took a look too. They both stared at him in awe.
“I think,” said Katie slowly, “don’t get too excited, but I think this one is even bigger than the Summer of 03.”
Matt leaned heavily on the dishwasher. “Leave me alone,” he snivelled. “Just leave me alone.”
Katie examined a picture on the fridge. “No, maybe not,” she said.
Once Matt had explained that tonight was his first date with Divine Jennifer and his life was doomed to failure, he finally felt they understood his plight. Nik started laughing and Katie let out a long low whistle and shook her head sympathetically. “You are stuck, my friend,” she whispered.
“I know.”
“I mean, if it was just another spot and she was just another girl, there might have been some hope.”
“I know.”
“But it’s an alien life form hatching its young on your face and she is the Goddess of Light.”
Matt frowned, which hurt his nose, so he stopped. “You’re not helping.”
“Matt,” Katie said quietly. “It’s just a spot. And she’s just a girl.”
“Nobody understands,” he groaned and opened the dishwasher.
Nik swung round suddenly. “Nutmeg or parsley?” he asked Katie.
“What’s this?” she asked. “Naming the children?”
“In the pasta?”
“Nutmeg.” She turned to Matt. “Would you like me to have a word with Jennifer? Ask her to postpone. Say you’re off sick?”
Matt stared at her. Would she? Could she? Was it that easy to save his life? He nodded frantically (which hurt) and they worked out his story. Thank goodness for that—now he wouldn’t have to buy a balaclava. The story was that he had caught the bug that Nik had had and was off today. Nik was only too delighted to provide Matt with every gory detail of his food poisoning, should he need to know.
At lunch-time Jennifer and Eva came in together as usual and Katie went to take their orders.
“Lover boy not here then?” Eva asked her.
“No, he phoned in sick this morning.�
��
“Oh,” said Jennifer, more surprised than sorry. “OK.”
“He asked me specially to say sorry to you. He won’t be able to make tonight. It’s some 24-hour bug thingie. Can he call you?”
Jennifer shrugged sweetly. “I’ll be in again tomorrow.”
“Is he really bad?” asked Eva.
“Nah,” said Katie. “Just some upchucking and stomach pain.”
“My kid brother had that last week,” said Eva. “There’s something going round. Was he sick all night?”
“Um, not sure really.” Katie was surprised at how bad she felt lying. With any luck Matt would get the bug. She turned to Jennifer again. “Does he have your number, so he can call you.”
Another sweet shrug. “No need,” she smiled. “I’ll be in again.”
Katie had just finished taking their order when Hugh almost ran up to the counter to check she was still going to the wedding with him. He’d found a great pub to stop at on the way there, and wanted to show her the write-up in his national pub food guide. Katie didn’t know why, but she wanted to get him far away from Dan, who had obviously heard this. She sat him down at one of the tables furthest from the counter, but was disconcerted to find Dan approaching, and unnerved not to know why.
“Hello there,” said Dan.
Hugh looked up at him, surprised.
“Dan Crichton.” Dan put his hand out and Hugh shook it. “We met briefly when—”
“Yes. Hugh Penrose.” They nodded at each other.
“So,” said Dan. “You off to the wedding too?”
“Oh! Are you going?”
“Course!” said Dan. “My life wouldn’t be worth living if I wasn’t there. I’ve known Sandy for years. My girlfriend was her flatmate all the way through Oxford.”
Hugh suddenly clapped and laughed. “That’s where I know you from! You were at the party!”
“Yep,” said Dan swiftly. “So which way are you travelling up?”
Hugh was only too delighted to fill Dan in on his choice of A-roads and motorways while Katie tried to work out what Dan was playing at. She listened to their conversation as tense as a poised Slinky on a top step. Hugh suddenly stopped mid-sentence. “I’ve got an idea!” he said. “Why don’t we all go up together?”
“I’m sure Dan and Geraldine will be leaving later than us,” said Katie, her Slinky collapsing at the bottom of the stairs. “I mean, we are making a day of it.”
The Waitress Page 23
