Lost and Found

by Natasha West

  Barry looked at her. ‘I don’t think there’s much more to say here, anyway. You start Monday.’ He got up and left without another word.

  After he was gone, Sophie was enraged. ‘What the fuck is his problem?’

  ‘He’s not Mr Sunshine, I know. But this is clearly the best he could do. So we’re gonna have to suck it up and do it.’

  ‘Easy for you to say. You’re not gonna have to deal with drunk people.’

  ‘It’s a family pub, not a student bar. People aren’t going to be getting hammered,’ April protested.

  ‘No?’ Sophie asked. ‘You wanna put money on that?’

  April was conciliatory. ‘Look at it this way; you never liked your old job. You complained constantly.’

  ‘Yes, I know but-’

  ‘You were always saying that if you could think of something better to do, you’d go and do it,’ April reminded her.

  ‘I was not referring to pulling pints,’ Sophie told her darkly.

  ‘Well, it’s a change. You never know. You might like it.’

  Sophie gave April the driest look her face could achieve. ‘Yeah? You’re right. Maybe it’ll be my calling. Maybe I’ll love saying, ‘We don’t have Coke, is Pepsi alright?’

  April laughed. ‘You’re gonna be fine. I mean, you can do the banter part of bar work already, can’t you?’

  Sophie forced herself not to smile. She wasn’t happy about any of this, and a compliment from April wasn’t going to change that.

  Sixteen

  April was peeling a potato, her thirty-first of the shift. She hated this potato in particular. It had eyes, and those eyes seemed to mock her. She thought perhaps it was time to put down the peeler.

  ‘Dan, can I take my break yet?’ she asked the kitchen supervisor, a dishevelled guy who had looked like the last person you’d want making your food. But he seemed nice enough.

  He glanced over at the pile of peeled potatoes. ‘Woah, that’s a lot of spuds. Yeah, go for it,’ he said with a thumbs up.

  April peeled off her rubber gloves and chucked them next to the sink. ‘What’s the protocol on going upstairs and having a drink in the bar?’

  Dan nodded. ‘Fine as long as you don’t wear anything that identifies as you as staff.’

  ‘Great, back in half an hour, then?’

  ‘Sure thing. Good work today, Mel,’ he said.

  ‘Cheers,’ April said. She hated that fucking name.

  Upstairs, April crept into the quiet bar. It was three in the afternoon; she’d started at ten, Sophie at eleven. April had been shown downstairs to the kitchen, and the last thing she’d seen was Sophie being told that if anyone asked for Coke, she was to apologise and say they only had Pepsi. Sophie had nodded and said, ‘Right.’

  Now, Sophie was being shown how to load the dishwasher under the bar. She looked ready to commit murder. It didn’t surprise April to see how much Sophie was hating this. She’d always thought part of the reason Sophie hadn’t left her old job, despite her lack of care about it, was the idea of having a first day on another job. She knew her old job, and people let her get on with it. That was all Sophie had ever really wanted, a quiet life. April had found that to be an appealing quality.

  When April was younger, a boring life had seemed like the worst thing that could happen to her. Until Uncle Johnny’s funeral. That had changed April’s perspective on mundanity quite a bit. She didn’t mind so much now that she’d never get a chance to pursue her younger dreams. There were worse things that could happen. She hadn’t drawn anything in years anyway. Now all April wanted was to settle in one place and find something to do with her time that wasn’t awful.

  Based on this morning, her job in the kitchen wasn’t any worse than the supermarket, which was the best she could really hope for. Sometimes it made her sad how small her dreams had gotten in the last few years. She could remember how that had changed when she’d first met Sophie, that she desired things again. Sophie, specifically. It had enlivened her heart for those precious few months. Made her happy. April had forgotten about happy until Sophie.

  And then the universe had said, ‘Don’t be a silly cow. You don’t get to keep anything nice for yourself, let it go.’ So she had. These last two years, that’s what she’d done. Let go of the dream that she could still be happy.

  But then Sophie had shown up again, and everything had gone mad, and now they were friends. And that little spark in April, she could feel it trying to reignite. She couldn’t have that. What if she started to rely on Sophie, began to feel comfortable and happy to have her around, and something happened, and they were split up? April couldn’t go through that again. Not with Sophie.

  But that didn’t mean she could completely shut down the warmth she felt watching Sophie examining glasses for breakage as though she were going to smash the lot herself any second. There was just something about the way Sophie did literally anything that it became comical. She was simply larger-than-life.

  April sat down at the end of the bar. Sophie still didn’t notice April as her boss left her to it. ‘Oi, I want an OJ, and I want it this second, bar skivvy!’ April called to her. She watched Sophie’s back tense up, and she turned slowly to the bar. Then she saw it was April and she grinned. ‘You arse,’ Sophie said.

  April smiled at her. ‘How’s your shift going?’

  ‘Well, I now know the difference between ale and lager.’

  ‘Oh, what is it?’ April asked.

  Sophie shrugged. ‘Some bollocks about yeast?’

  ‘Wow, real insider knowledge. You’re clearly an expert in the field,’ April said.

  ‘What can I say? I love my work.’ Sophie began to wipe down the bar with a towel.

  ‘That’s already bone dry,’ April noted.

  ‘I know. But the one real thing I have learned this morning is that if I look like I’m at a loose end, Janet will come over and start teaching me shit. And my brain is pretty much full at this point. I can’t hear any more health and safety regulations, or I’m going to actively poison someone for fun.’ She finished wiping and tossed the towel away. ‘Did you say something about an OJ?’

  ‘I was kidding.’

  ‘But you need a drink, right?’

  ‘I dunno. Feels weird ordering a drink from you,’ April told her.

  ‘Then what did you come up for?’ Sophie asked.

  ‘See how you were getting on,’ April said.

  Sophie gave a nod. ‘And now you know. So, drink?’

  April rolled her eyes. ‘OK, fine.’

  Sophie went into the fridge and fetched out a bottle of orange juice, popping the cap off, and handing it to April.

  ‘How much?’ April asked.

  Sophie snorted disdainfully. ‘Stop it.’

  ‘If Janet catches you…’ April warned.

  ‘Then I’ll bend over and let her smack me on the arse with a bar towel,’ Sophie smirked.

  April nearly choked on her drink. ‘Not completely lost your sense of humour yet, then?’

  Sophie sighed. ‘It’s only halfway through the shift. Give me time. How’s it going downstairs? Been watching food come up. Looks alright.’

  ‘Having seen the state of the fridge, I wouldn’t eat it,’ April told her.

  ‘That bad?’ Sophie asked.

  ‘If Gordon Ramsey ever sees it, he’ll do his nut.’

  Sophie snorted with laughter.

  ‘Hey, can I have a pint of Captain’s Bottom?’ asked a guy with a big red nose at one end of the bar.

  Sophie put away her smile immediately. ‘Why do these cask ales all have such stupid fucking names? I swear you could have one called Panda Analingus and no one would turn a hair,’ Sophie muttered to April, who was almost successful at not laughing. Aloud, Sophie said, ‘Coming right up, Sir.’ April watched as she tilted a glass underneath a tap and poured a beer for the man. When she lifted the glass, it was half head.

  ‘I’m not drinking that, love,’ the man said.

  �
�Yep, sorry, first day,’ Sophie apologised, pouring the drink away and starting again. It was worse the second time, three-quarters of pure froth.

  ‘Bloody Norah!’ the man cried. ‘That’s not a pint; it’s a war crime! I think it’s time we got Janet out.’

  As if summoned like a genie by the very speaking of her name, Janet, a sixty-year-old lady with a beehive hairdo, popped her head out from a door. ‘Someone ask for me?’

  ‘This young lady hasn’t really got the hang of pouring pints,’ the man informed her. ‘And I’m gagging, Janet.’

  April noted Sophie’s subtle embarrassment, and she wished she hadn’t come up. It was no big deal, but Sophie didn’t like being bad at things. Probably another reason she’d stayed in her job. She was good at it. ‘I’m just gonna drink this over there,’ April said as Janet ran her through beer pouring techniques. Sophie gave her a quick nod and watched Janet pour the pint.

  ***

  The kitchen was closed for the day at long last. April was thrilled. Her hands still felt like she was working a peeler even after she’d walked out of the basement kitchen. But it was all about adjustment, she reminded herself. Dan wasn’t a bad guy, and everyone else in the kitchen was pretty nice. That made it all a lot less horrible.

  She wondered how Sophie was getting on. She still had an hour left on her shift. April considered going home, but she couldn’t quite seem to leave. Then she remembered that upstairs, they had fruit machines. She could easily waste an hour while she waited for Sophie. She just hoped Sophie wouldn’t think it was weird that she was hanging around. April was just trying to be nice. That was all. Nice.

  Seventeen

  ‘No, it was a twenty,’ the guy with the receding hairline and the bad moustache said.

  ‘I’m afraid it was a ten,’ Sophie said with all the politeness she could muster.

  ‘No way. I gave you a twenty,’ the man said, his nostrils flaring.

  It was evening now; the place was busier, and Sophie had other customers waiting. But she was stuck talking to this dickhead who was as good as calling her a liar. On top of that, her feet were killing her. She’d never stood up for this amount of time in her life. And she wasn’t allowed to wear trainers to ease her suffering. Only proper shoes. Flats, but still. ‘Sir, I’m pretty sure it was a ten. But I’ll check the tens pile in the till and if there’s a twenty on it, then it’s yours,’ Sophie said, with waning patience.

  The guy crossed his arms. ‘Go on, then.’

  Sophie knew what was going to happen next, and she wasn’t up for it. Because he was a drunk middle-aged guy talking to a young woman, so he was sure he was right. But Sophie went through the motions anyway, opening the till and checking the stack of tens. ‘Nope, there’s no twenty.’

  The guy’s jaw tightened, and then he cried, ‘Janet!’

  Janet was on them in a second. ‘S’up, Larry?’

  ‘I’ve been short-changed is what’s happened,’ he told her with almost palpable delight. The guy was enjoying his little moment. Sophie was far less interested in the manufactured drama. ‘He gave me a ten, and he thinks he gave me a twenty,’ Sophie told Janet in a bored voice.

  ‘I did give her a twenty,’ the man roared. ‘Honestly, Janet, where do you find these bloody-’

  ‘Tell you what, Larry; I’ll have to do a count. If the till comes out with an extra ten in it, I’ll give it back to you, alright?’ Janet asked sweetly.

  Larry nodded. ‘I suppose.’

  Sophie was mortified. Janet thought she was a total incompetent. Counting out the till in the middle of a packed bar, she’d have to.

  But eventually, the count was done, and Janet looked at Larry. ‘It’s come out right.’ Sophie tried not to let Larry see how smug she felt. ‘Larry, I’ve no doubt you had a twenty in your wallet, but maybe you broke it earlier and didn’t realise?’ Janet said tactfully.

  Larry should have known when to call it a day. But he was five pints deep, and a sense of injustice had risen in him that he felt only he and Batman shared. ‘She must have pocketed it.’

  Sophie’s head whipped to Larry. ‘What?!’

  Larry glared at her. ‘Yeah, I don’t think this was an accident. You nicked it, you little crim.’

  Sophie considered launching herself over the bar and ripping Larry’s throat out with her bare hands. Instead, she started turning her pockets inside out, showing their lack of contents. ‘Go on, then. Where’s this tenner? Did I put it up my arse?’

  ‘I don’t know, do I?’ Larry spat back. ‘All I know is, I had a twenty, and now I don’t!’

  Sophie opened her mouth to retort, but Janet put a hand on Sophie’s shoulder, and Sophie suddenly realised she was at work and tried to regain some composure. Janet spoke over her shoulder to Larry. ‘Larry, I think that’s where we’re gonna have to leave it. We’ve checked the till, and this young lady has shown you the contents of her pockets. You didn’t give her a twenty.’

  ‘Janet!’ he exclaimed, shocked.

  ‘No, Larry. You do this about twice a year. Every time, it turns out, you left for a kebab, came back and forgot you had it. I’ve indulged it as far as I’m willing tonight.’

  Larry’s eyes were wide with hurt and shock. ‘Twenty years I’ve been coming here, Janet. But this is it, the last straw. I’m never coming in here again.’

  ‘Yeah, you always say that as well. I’ll see you Friday for the quiz.’

  ‘You won’t!’ Larry vowed.

  ‘I will, Larry. Go home and sober up.’

  Larry picked up his pint, downed it in three heroic gulps, slammed the glass down on the bar, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, gave Sophie one last glare, and marched out.

  Once he was gone, Sophie turned to Janet. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘It’s alright. But you’re gonna have to find a bit more patience with the tougher customers. It’s part of the job, alright?’ Janet said kindly.

  Sophie nodded. But she really didn’t know if she could do what Janet was asking. She hated this job. She hated the smell of old beer. She hated Larry.

  The only thing that was slightly soothing about the situation was that April was under her feet, cooking bad food. Which was kind of funny. She’d gone from being the woman who’d vanished on her to the only constant left in her life. Sophie didn’t really know what to do with that. Anyway, she wasn’t downstairs now; her shift had finished an hour ago. Sophie wondered if she’d still be up when she got home. It might be nice to complain about their respective days over a cup of tea.

  At the end of the shift, Sophie took her name tag off, said goodnight to Janet, and walked out of the bar. Standing outside was April.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ Sophie exclaimed. ‘I thought you’d gone home.’

  ‘I was in the bar, playing on the quiz machine. Did you know that the fear of the number thirteen is called triskaidekaphobia?’

  ‘Yes, of course I did. It comes up constantly,’ Sophie said dryly. ‘But why did you spend your evening on a quiz machine?’

  ‘To wait for you, silly,’ April said with a light shrug. ‘I thought it would be nice, first day and everything. We started together; we should end it together.’

  Sophie was touched. April could have had her feet up by now after a long day of kitchen work. But she was here, for her. ‘OK, thanks,’ Sophie said, flustered.

  They walked home through the dark night together without speaking much. Once they were in the house, April put the kettle on and said, ‘Cuppa?’

  ‘You read my mind,’ Sophie said, slumping onto the sofa and putting her feet on the coffee table. A cup of medium strength tea with half a sugar was in her hand a minute later, exactly as she liked it. She blew on its contents and sipped it, making a satisfied ‘Aaaahhh,’ noise. April sat down next to her with her own cup. ‘What a day,’ she said.

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘How was the rest of your shift?’ April asked.

  ‘I was accused of theft by a customer and considered comm
itting serious violence on his person. Other than that, pretty boring. You?’

  ‘Well, I was going to complain about the fact that I spilt an entire korma down my front, but it feels a bit tame now. Did Janet see these wild accusations being flung about?’

  ‘Yeah, she sorted it. She’s not so bad, I suppose. But I don’t know.’

  ‘What don’t you know?’ April asked gently.