Crappily Ever After (26 page)

‘Stay safe,’ I give her a squeeze. ‘Let me know how it goes.’

She shuts the cab door and waves tearfully. I see her pull out her phone and hold it to her ear before she even rounds the corner. I wave, but she doesn’t see. I have lost her already. I walk back towards the restaurant – and Mike.

And then there were two.

                                 
Chapter Twenty-One         

With Becky gone, Mike sets about the task of finding us new staff. I leave him to it. He’s really not been himself since she left. Gone are his cheeky smile and the sparkle in his eyes. His work behind the bar is fulfilled in a purely perfunctory fashion. The punter asks for a drink, the punter receives a drink. Mike isn’t being rude, but the banter is gone. He is polite enough to ask the usual questions, such as:

‘Are you enjoying your holiday? Which resort are you in? Which part of the UK are you from?’ Just the basic niceties. Even Pablo can’t make him smile with his ‘Scotticisms’. He told Mike he had a face on him like a cat’s arse – not even a flicker of a smile. Poor Pablo stands on the door all night and then disappears home at closing time with just a dejected wave goodbye. Gone are the late-night drinking sessions with him and Mike and the card games on the bar during the slow afternoon slump. I leave Mike to handle all the new staff’s interviews and induction. The distraction is good for him.

I receive a text a month later from Becky saying she had moved in with Bob and things are going well. Fast work, I think, but good for her. I mean that. I really do hope she’ll be happy. I just wish it wasn’t to Mike’s detriment, but she would only make him more unhappy in the long term by stringing him along. I knew she wasn’t over Bob. Maybe he has changed, but I have my doubts. I have always assumed, once a cheater always a cheater, leopards can’t change their spots and various other clichés. It’s almost like she’s condoning his past behaviour by taking him back. But, in spite of my true feelings towards Bob, I text back to tell her that I’m glad things are going well, that we are all fine

and I miss having her around. She thanks me and says she’ll leave it up to me how much I tell Mike about her life. After giving it some thought, I decide to tell him she got back safely and leave it at that. There’s no point in embellishing the tale, it’s not going to make him feel better, nor will he really be interested. He acknowledges my information with a grim nod and we say no more on the subject.

Mike has taken on two new waitresses to help with the workload. They are fast and efficient, flirty enough to keep the lads happy, but not in an inappropriate way that would upset the oldies. It has cooled down dramatically since we left Tenerife for our trip home. Still T- shirt weather, but gone is the intense heat. This temperature is so much nicer to work in, for us at least. The Spaniards complain about the weather and wrap up warm. I’ve even seen a few in hats and gloves.

‘Fucking freezing,’ declares Pablo.

‘Try living in Scotland,’ I retort. He shudders.

‘I will come see you, after Christmas. I need to see this Scotland. Feel what cold really is.’

‘Oh, you’ll feel it, mate. Our summer is like your winter most of the time,’ I reply.

The Christmas and New Year season takes us by shock. It’s almost as busy as the summer months. I decide Pablo’s bonus will be a trip to Scotland for him, his wife and three kids. They have enough money to get by on now and live a very comfortable lifestyle. I’d like to give him something with more thought put into it than money.

Mike agrees, but says we must keep it quiet from the other staff because they are receiving a much lesser amount. As Pablo does a completely different job to the rest, I

don’t feel bad that he’s on much more. He is security after all. Where is the risk in carrying plates to and from a table? Besides, Pablo is a friend to us. He stays late and comes in early, often sitting around on his days off just to keep an eye on things over the more busy periods. He also found us an equally reliable doorman for when he is off. Pablo most definitely goes the extra mile.

The hectic atmosphere has speeded Mike’s recovery from Becky leaving. Daily, he slowly but surely gets back towards his usual self. It starts with him cracking a joke at my expense. Teasing me about the fact I had muddled orders for the third time that day and sent them out to the wrong tables. It’s nothing major, but enough to turn Pablo and my heads. In fairness to me, it wasn’t entirely my fault as the new staff hadn’t quite got the hang of writing in English yet. Popping in the odd Spanish word for things if they had forgotten the English translation. By the time I’d deciphered it all, I had to ask them to point to the menu at what they were trying to describe, occasionally incorporating an impromptu game of charades.

I knew Mike was definitely on his way to recovery when I discovered him loitering in the doorway, cracking up at me trying to explain that we did not have Sophia’s customer’s request for ‘chicken’s legs’ in a cream and tarragon sauce, only chicken breast. I strutted around doing my best impression of a chicken, then pointed to my right boob, before blushing furiously as I noticed Mike watching me with great amusement. He said nothing, just smiled, shook his head and walked away. Then, the day after, he asked

Pablo for a game of cards. Pablo smiled affectionately at him, like a proud father.

‘Wur wee boy’s coming back to us,’ he told me later.

Within another two weeks, he was back to goofing around with me and the other staff – just like the old days. It also appears that he has a bit of an eye for the ladies. I’ve never known him as a singleton, since he was with Sam on our train home when we met, then immediately after with Becky. I know so much more about him since Becky left. We spent a lot of our off time together, chatting and eating restaurant leftovers, or on the beach on our days off. Of course, I still miss Becky, but the old dynamic seems to still work; from four of us, to two.                       

One Friday evening, at the end of the lull between lunch and dinner, I was sitting tallying up our lunchtime takings. Things are good for the time of year. We knew Christmas would be reasonable for takings, but it seems we’re on a par with last year’s Easter break. Not bad, not bad at all. Mike had looked out the box of Christmas decorations that Roberto had left in the cellar. We planned to go through it this afternoon to check they were tasteful and not tacky; then, we could either put them up or head into town for some new ones tomorrow. I look up as the door swings open. I thought the place would be empty for at least another hour. We’re off the main drag, so rarely get the passers-by popping in for a drink like many places do. Also, being more a restaurant type, people will be more inclined to come into eat than to drink. But, nevertheless, we have a customer. In walks a pretty girl with long, white blonde hair and the kind of perfectly honed look of someone who has a lot of beauty treatments. I run my finger self-consciously over my eyebrows and smooth down my hair. I’m aware I could do with some urgent attention in the personal grooming department, but I just don’t have the time and, if I‘m being honest, the inclination. She walks confidently to the bar, swinging what

looks like this season’s most lusted-after Balenciaga bag from her finger. Up close she is stunning, if a little over-manicured. Too perfect and too intimidating. Trailing behind her is a thirty-something man several notches down from her league. He must have a large appendage of some sort – be it his wallet or otherwise, I think unreasonably.

‘Can I help you?’ I smile, attempting to match the confidence she exudes.

‘I’m not sure.’ She casts a critical eye around the bar before giving me a quick once over.

‘Is your boss Michael Johnston?’

‘Well, we are both the boss, but yes, he’s here. Would you like to speak to him?’

She attempts to furrow her brow in confusion. Botox. OK, so she may not have a wrinkle on her pretty little face, but give me them any day over looking like a constipated gerbil every time you try to pull a facial expression. A few of our regulars – well about as regular customers as you can get on a two-week holiday – look on with interest. Jean, of Jean and Phil from Stockton, raises her eyebrows questioningly at me. I shrug in reply. ‘Obviously,’ she gives me a sarcastic half-smile. ‘I didn’t come all this way for nothing.’

‘I’ll go get him for you,’ I reply, with just a hint of the irritation that I feel at her attempt at superior behaviour.

‘Cool,’ she drawls. ‘Just tell him it’s Sammy-babes.’

Terrific!

‘Mike,’ I yell down to the cellar. ‘Visitor.’

He appears at the bottom of the steps, wiping his hands on his jeans.

‘We need to order more Bud. Only twenty crates down there and it seems to be our biggest seller at the moment.’

‘Never mind that,’ I hiss. ‘Sam’s here – or should I say Sammy-babes?’

‘What does
she
want?’ He easily takes the steps two at a time and pulls me to the side, as an impatient-looking Sam tries to peer through the door to the back.

‘No, in fact, I know what she wants. Sammy-babes is the name she gives whenever it means she wants something. Usually money for some must-have Jimmy Choos if I remember correctly. Shit, what’s she playing at?’

‘Well, go and see,’ I reply impatiently, giving him a shove.

Mike walks through the door and nods nonchalantly at Sam.

‘Oh darling, look at you, all grown up with your own restaurant,’ she baby voices, coming around to his side of the bar and slinking her arms around his neck.

‘Sorry, going to have to move you out of here,’ I say officiously. ‘No customers behind the bar – Health and Safety regs,’ I smile a sarcastic apology.

Jean from Stockton makes an impressed O with her mouth and bites back a smile.

‘What can I do for you, Sam?’ Mike is straight down to business. ‘We have a large selection of cocktails: Sex on the Beach; a Slow Comfortable Screw; or a Screaming Orgasm.’ I choke back a laugh. I hope he’s trying to imply that she meant nothing to him, just a conquest, but maybe that’s just my claws coming out.

‘Our Special dishes on the menu today are Toad in the Hole or battered sausage,’ Mike continues. Oh, stop already! I laugh out loud, that is so not our Specials! Credit me with a bit of class. Sam shoots me a look that would curdle milk, while her boyfriend shifts uncomfortably and squints at the TV, taking a sudden interest in a tampon advert, before realising what it’s for and staring safely at his feet. Sam bristles with indignation.

‘Actually, Michael, I only popped by to say that I accidentally packed some of your CDs when I left. I just wondered if you wanted them back? I called your Mum, she said you were out here, so I thought I’d pay you a personal visit,’ she beams widely as if this makes Mike the most honoured man in Spain.

‘Yeah, sure. You got them in there?’ he indicates to Sam’s over-sized bag.  ‘I’m impressed you felt the urge to come all the way out to Tenerife just to give me a few CDs, but cheers.’

‘Oh no, silly,’ Sam laughs, ‘I don’t have them in here. I need room to take back all my purchases. But I’ll send them on to you.’

‘Natch, when would you ever come on holiday and go home without at least a grand’s worth of presents for yourself? Anyway, will that be all?’ Mike asks.

‘We were thinking of having an early supper,’ she casts a critical eye over our menu.

‘Fine, I’ll send the waitress over for your order. I have work to do in the cellar. Enjoy your meal, and your trip.’ Mike nods an acknowledgement to Sam’s boyfriend, then heads off back towards the stairs.

Sam fumes silently in her seat and stares after Mike’s retreating back.

‘I cannot believe I did not notice before,’ declares Jean. Phil rolls his eyes in a ‘here we go’ manner to me.

‘Notice what?’ I say distractedly, watching Sam and her still nameless boyfriend bicker amongst themselves. Sam slams her bag down on the seat next to her and folds her arms defiantly.

‘You and Mike,’ says Jean, in wonderment.

‘What about us?’ I look at her in confusion.

‘You were
jealous
. Your face when she hugged Mike was a picture. I take it that’s the ex then?’

‘Yes, and no way was I jealous,’ I retort. Phil smiles and nods slowly.

‘For once, she’s right Lucy.’ Jean kicks him on the shin with her flip flop.