Crappily Ever After (21 page)

The night of our leaving party comes around. We are having it at home, so I can show off our menu and have feedback from friends. I have spent all day in the kitchen and have prepared four of our dishes for friends to try.

Everyone is very enthusiastic about the menu and we have a bittersweet night; sad to be leaving London and all our friends, but very excited about the future. It’s unbelievable how quickly things have turned around for Becky and me since Christmas.

‘Can you believe it was only a few months ago that we were both single, hated our jobs and where we live, moaning about the weather and how crap London is?’ she asks.

It’s not that London is crap, of course. A very fun place to live if the truth be known. The downside is that, by the time you have paid your rent, council tax and bills (Water! In England you pay for water. That was a shock to me. Never heard the like) you really don’t have a lot of cash left with which to enjoy London. Friends from back home think we live a very glamorous lifestyle of non-stop shows, clubs and fancy restaurants. The reality is that, the week before pay day, Becky and I rummage through the dregs of our purses together and head to our local supermarket to stretch our funds as far as possible on ‘Buy One Get One Free’ items. I do find what has happened in the past few months very hard to believe. I’m taking a huge risk pooling finances, but I trust Mike. He was willing to invest in all of us with the money he had, expecting little in return. We would have really struggled without Maisie’s inheritance. I’m not sure Roberto would have taken us seriously if we didn’t have as much money as we do.  

Saturday arrives. Becky and I head to the airport with Nick and Mike. Becky is worried about coping with me on the flight without back-up. I will try to be brave this time, as it isn’t fair to put all that on her. My mobile rings. Amy‘s name flashes up on caller I.D.            

‘Hi Lucy,’ she says uncomfortably, ‘I need to talk to you about something before you go. Emily and I weren’t going to tell you, but Jill said we should. Look, we’ve all been really ill. Taking it in turns to throw up all night. We’re thinking it’s something we ate.’ Pause. ‘It must have been at yours. We all had lunch at different places. I think we have food poisoning!’

I have an attack of the horrors. This can’t be. How can I possibly run a kitchen if I can’t even cook four dishes for my friends without half killing them?

‘Oh my God,’ I bluster, ‘are you serious? I am so sorry. I was very careful and I passed my

course with a hundred percent…’

‘Joke!’ laughs Amy. ‘Becks just texted me and asked me to take your mind off the flight. Did it work? Did it?’

‘Yes, you absolute cow! Valuable lesson learned in how things could be worse – now bugger off,’ I laugh.

‘OK, but just wanted to say thanks for an amazing night. I’m sure you’ll all do very well. We’ll be over to see you in June. Make sure you keep in touch, now.’

‘Will do. Miss you all lots already.’

I hang up. Becky laughingly asks if I hate her?

‘Yes’, I announce, ‘but since I have to live and work with you, I suppose I will have to forgive and forget.’ After the food poisoning shock, I am surprisingly good on the flight. Of course, two double vodkas helped.

 We land and take a taxi out to the restaurant. It has been closed for the past week, awaiting our arrival. Roberto and his staff have cleaned until it gleams. We start by making a list of all we need to do, starting by finding a list of suppliers. Roberto has thoughtfully left us a list of the people he uses, and says to contact him for anything we need to have imported. He has lots of contacts and is proving to be a great help. He also had offered to sell us tables, chairs, crockery, glasses – basically any kitchen equipment we want – at a very reasonable price. We said we would take them. Everything seemed in good condition last time we were here, and we can always replace things as we go along. Becky has made up fliers for our launch on her laptop. We decided on buffet style for the party. Let them try a little bit of everything in the hope they’ll love it all and come back regularly. We plan to stand on the beach and hand out the fliers over the next few days. We settle into our accommodation upstairs and set about making it homely. It’s only a two-bedroom flat, but we are all so used to sharing that I’m sure there will be no problem.     

The next day we are up bright and early to visit the suppliers. We arrange the deliveries for the day before opening and head down to the beach to promote our launch night. It is already absolutely sweltering in the April sun. Many people body swerve us, insisting that they are not interested in a time-share. I’m not surprised. I’d do exactly the same. It takes some convincing to get people to take one. Five Euros off their meal if they bring the flier on the night and a sound promise that it won’t turn into a surprise time-share meeting. Luckily, we won’t be suffering from this heat in the restaurant, as it has air conditioning. By 6pm Becky and I are practically walking blisters and so we head off to a ‘Taverno’ for tea. As we clink glasses and toast our new venture, neither of us can quite hide our excitement.

‘Mike has been talking about us getting married,’ squeaks Becky.

‘Bloody hell! It’s only been a few months,’ I reply, incredulously.

‘I know, I know,’ she replies, ‘but you can’t deny things have moved really fast for us all. It just feels… well, right, I suppose.’

‘Well go for it,’ I reply. ‘Good for you! I mean, OK it’s fast, but then so is all this.’ I indicate our surroundings. ‘I just hope Nick doesn’t go getting any funny ideas. I’m not ready for all that yet. So, Bob? Is he firmly in the past, where he belongs then?’ I ask.

‘I would say so,’ Becky shrugs. ‘I’m hardly likely to bump into him out here now, am I?’

‘Becks, you need to be sure you are completely over him before you make that kind of commitment with Mike,’ I anxiously explain. ‘It’s not fair on him if you feel you are “settling” for what he can give you.’

‘Luce, chill! Of course I love Mike, he’s adorable and gorgeous. What girl wouldn’t want to be with him?’

I watch Becky suspiciously. I’m not convinced she does want marriage and kids with Mike. She loves him, definitely, but he’s not Bob. God knows what she saw in Bob, but each to their own.

Becky interrupts my thoughts.

 ‘Stop scowling,’ she scolds. ‘You’ll make your wrinkles worse.’

The day of the boy’s arrival is upon us. Becky is beside herself with excitement. I am looking forward to seeing Nick, but seem strangely detached in this relationship. I have no idea why. Probably, it’s nothing more sinister than the fact that he has been unlucky enough to come along at the tail end of a bunch of losers. I’m kind of over men. Same kind of thing with kids. Well, not all of them, obviously. I know lots of lovely little ankle-biters, but the last lot certainly poisoned any remaining maternal instincts I possessed. I could practically feel my ovaries shrivel to raisins every time I came into contact with one of them. I expect I’d be desperate for my own by now if I hadn’t spent years looking after other people’s kids. I think back to my last week as a nanny, and shudder. What possessed me? I would have been deliriously happy cleaning toilets compared to that. Funny how we do things we hate on a daily basis just to prevent a change to our routine. I was constantly running around in those days. I was late for everything, and not once actually my fault. The second last day, I had to apologise to Katie’s teacher for my tardiness, the third time that week. I swear Georgie repeatedly chose that precise moment to fill his pants. I dashed into school, tipping the buggy dangerously round a sharp bend and through a muddy puddle. Mrs Gray towered over a bored-looking Katie, looking tiny in her hat, coat and scarf.

‘Mrs Gray, I am so sorry, again!’ I breathlessly explained.

‘What’s the excuse today, Lucy?’ she glanced at her watch and sighed dramatically. Is it just me or do teachers retain the power to terrorise the crap out of you, even in your thirties? It’s like when you see a policeman. You automatically feel guilty despite doing nothing wrong. Teachers always manage to make me feel naughty and ashamed.

‘Last minute poo,’ I announced.

She looks at me with undisguised disgust.

‘Oh no! not me!’ I stutter. ‘Georgie! I never, you know, well rarely…’ Oh Christ! Shut up! Now! She looks at me with pity, as I point lamely at Georgie.

‘If it happens again I will have no choice but to inform Katie’s parents,’ she informs me, turning away. I laugh and look at Katie.

‘If it happens again…’ I mimic quietly. Katie giggles.

‘Something you’d like to share with me, perhaps? Lucy, hmmm?’

Bloody hell! She’s back. She hands me Katie’s forgotten reading book.

‘No,  nothing.’ I mutter, and turn the buggy around, quick smart.      

The night of our launch has arrived. Becky and I have sweated our arses off all day in the kitchen. We have pre-cooked everything that we can, ready to go at a moment’s notice. We have wheeled out a couple of Bain Maries to serve from as people queue. The place is filling up slowly but surely; a combination of curiosity at the newbys and the promise of a discounted ‘all you can eat’ meal have proven a strong temptation. We have kept on a waiter, Gino, and a waitress, Maria, from Roberto’s old staff. They are ridiculously fast and efficient compared to us.

We fire out the buffet platters as fast as we can. The atmosphere is great fun out in the restaurant, but it’s a different story behind the scenes. Becky and I are screaming at each other across the kitchen, dropping food, pots boiling over. I’ve burned myself twice already. Maria and Gino do nothing to help. They simply look on with a disapproving, stony glare. That’s the thanks we get for saving their jobs, is it? A Spanish band plays out front and are actively encouraging the tourists to get up and sing, karaoke style. At the moment some florid-faced, large English guy, with a peeling sunburnt nose and Hawaiin shirt stretched over his beer gut, is murdering
Viva, Espana
.

Amazingly, we receive no complaints. Lot’s of praise, however, and promises of,

 ‘We’ll be back tomorrow night!’ We’ll see.

Closing time, and the boys take an unnecessarily long time saying goodbye to our new clientele. I am desperate for bed. Finally, they see off the stragglers at the door and begin to scrub down the bar. They definitely have the best end of the deal. Both are hammered, having drunk loads of shots with the punters. Becky and I have managed one cup of espresso each, and even then it was thrown down our throats in an attempt to liven up our reserves.

‘Mike, lock the door,’ I shout, ‘It’s never a good idea to cash up in an empty pub with an open door.’

‘Yes, in a minute,’ he is leaning against Nick and laughing loudly about one of the customers. The bell rings, signalling someone coming in.

‘Sorry, we’re closed,’ Mike shouts cheerfully.

Silence. Even from the kitchen I can tell it’s an uncomfortable silence. A look of concern flashes between Becky and me.

I walk out from the kitchen, Becky closely following, and almost trip over Gino and Maria hiding behind the counter.

‘What the… get up! What are you doing?’ I ask.

‘Sssshh!’ Gino pulls me down. ‘It is Pablo. He want money. Roberto, he no pay.’ I stand and walk round to the bar, looking back to see Maria and Gino disappear through the kitchen doors. Becky looks from me to them and back again, uncertain what to do.

‘Call the police,’ I hiss. Becky shrugs. Shit! I don’t know the number either. I gathered that much from one shrug. I gesture to the kitchen. She nods, understanding that I am telling her to ask the Spanish ones. She reappears and shrugs again. From the sea breeze blowing through, I realise they have done a bunk through the back door.

This can’t be good. I walk round to the bar, bravado taking over. Bravado – Becky would be proud that I thought of that as my dying thought. Shame she won’t know since, in five minutes, I’ll probably have a bullet through my skull. Bravado aka foolishness. I see Mike shoved against the back of the bar. A huge man is dwarfing him and menacingly informing Mike that he owes him. Eyes bulging and swallowing repeatedly, Nick looks like he’s swallowed a frog.

‘We owe you nothing.’ Is that really my voice? ‘Take it up with Roberto. We took this place over. Now get out of my restaurant!’ He walks towards me, leering and swaggering.

‘I like a woman with spirit,’ he says in a thick Spanish accent.

‘Yeh? Well, you’ve come to the right place,’ I inform him, regaining a little bit of courage. Four of us and one of him. I reckon we could take him. Of course, I’m absolutely terrified, but someone has to do something. Since Mike and Frog Boy are otherwise occupied, and none of us know the number for the Policio, I refuse to let this idiot away with our night’s takings. I can tell from his skin-tight vest and jeans that he doesn’t have a weapon on him.