‘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.
‘We have no business with you. I will show you our rental agreement.’
‘Well, if you work for Roberto, then you owe me.’ He is inches from my face. I can smell his rancid tequila and cigarette breath.
‘Oh, your Mother must be so proud, you bloody bully!’ I look at him with disgust.
‘I am no bully,’ he looks wounded. ‘My Mama, she was proud of me. She tell me all time, Pablo, I proud of you, you good boy.’
I’m seeing an opening here.
‘Well, maybe I should pay her a visit. I would love to let her know how you came shoving your way into my restaurant and terrifying innocent people.’ Pablo crosses himself.
‘She is with the angels.’ He raises his eyes to the ceiling. ‘I frighten you? I’m sorry, I not mean to, I just want my money,’ he looks at the floor ashamed. I frantically indicate to Mike for the tequila bottle and a shot glass. He stumbles over, losing grip momentarily on the bottle before catching it again. I roll my eyes at him.
‘Sorry’, he mouths back.
‘Look, have a drink. Roberto seems like a decent guy. If he owes you, then I’m sure we can do something about it.’
Pablo nods, and sits heavily on a bar stool, shoulders hunched.
‘Service!’ I shout. Mike and Nick trip over themselves to get to us.
‘Wine please,’ I sigh. Nick passes a bottle and two glasses. Becky appears from the kitchen at the sound of the cork.
Thank God for my combined years of bar work and nannying.
Drunk men, kids.
Kids, drunk men.
Much of a muchness.
Turns out Pablo was ‘security’ for Roberto. Oh, how the irony pains me. He owed him one month’s wages and had buggered off to goodness knows where, without paying him. Pablo was desperate. He needed food for his wife and children and was behind on his rent. Not worried enough to actually go and buy food instead of fags and booze, however. But hey-ho, takes all sorts. I ask him how much Roberto was paying him? Not a lot. I inform him that if he works on the door for us, I will double that. It will do us no harm to have a meathead – albeit it a Mammy’s boy one – on the door. We leave the evening on a good note. I will get in touch with Roberto and insist on Pablo’s wages, or we won’t sign the lease for any longer than six months.
He seems happy with this. Well, if the fact he practically snogged all four of us was anything to go by.
‘No harm, no harm,’ he insists to Mike.
‘No!’ Mike laughs nervously. ‘Just havin’ a laugh, aye?’
‘Aye,’ confirms Pablo, mimicking Mike’s Scottish accent. ‘Just havin’ a laugh.’
Mike and Nick later relay the story as if they were moments away from whacking him over the head with a bottle, forgetting that I was actually present the whole time.
‘You, Lucy, hav
e just embroiled us in a protection racket,’ Mike announces.
‘Oh away and shite, Mike. I had to take him on because if we rely on you two pussies for security our establishment will be a target for any dodgy type on a daily basis. And, for your information, I was torn between lamping him one with an optic bottle and putting him on the naughty step. So, get over yourselves.’
And with that, I storm angrily upstairs to bed. Idiots – the both of them. We could have lost an entire day’s takings because of them. I don’t have the energy to take care of all this by myself. Thank goodness we have Pablo on board. He was our wake-up call. Better to have him with us than against us.
Chapter Seventeen
The next month passes in a blur. Who would have thought I would have given up a fifty-hour week, which feels like a part time job now, for a one hundred and twenty hour one catering for over a hundred people per day? The upside being, we are raking in an absolute fortune. We see the same faces for one or two weeks, and then they are replaced by new faces for another one or two weeks. Anyone who happens upon us seems to spread the word. Our profits are huge. We all seem to be getting along OK too. Bonded by the non-stop rush of our new lives. Well, when I say we are getting along OK, I mean Mike, Becky and me; and also the combination of Becky, Mike and Nick. Nick and I seem somewhat fraught. Probably the long hours, I think, and dismiss it to the back of my head.
Pablo is working out wonderfully. He hugs me every time he sees me and informs me: ‘Mama sent you Lucia. You! My gift from Mama! She was just like you.’ Not such a compliment as it appears, as he later told us everyone in the area was shit scared of her and she was as mad as a box of frogs. But, she could cook like no-one else he knew.
We have doubled his wages – they were horrendously low in the first place – we send home a share of leftovers every night for his family. I know there is not a single person on the island that will give us any trouble; his family are so well-known and many of the locals either feel they have to befriend them or give them a wide berth. The extra money we pay out to him is worth every penny. Maria and Gino get no leftovers and the basic wage. As a result of their cowardice on opening night, I now view them with suspicion. Not that I expected them to be have-a-go heroes, but they could have at least called the police before they scarpered. We could all now be dead, thanks to them.
Two months on, and we decide to take on cover staff so we can all have two days off a week. Probably a Monday and Tuesday, but who cares? At this point, an hour off would seem like bliss. Another four months of this before things even halfway begin to calm down. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining. I’d much rather be doing this than spend another second at Sylvia’s. We are making thousands of Euros in profit each month, and two thirds of that is mine.
One night after closing, we are all sitting around the bar. Nick has just cashed up.
‘Wow, Luce, we’re rich!’ he exclaims. We are? We, I think? Since when was this our money? I tell him as much. Nicer than I had said in my head, though.
‘What, you mean you don’t see this as ours?’ he asks, looking visibly shocked and more than a little pissed off.
‘Nick,’ I lean forward, ‘look, no offence meant here, but I have known you only a few months. I, via Maisie, have taken the biggest gamble on this place. If it had failed, do you assume you would be liable for a share of the debt?’
‘Well, no,’ he manages to get out, ‘but I just thought…’
‘Well no, Nick. Just un-think that. We are not married. Mike and I pay you the same hourly rate as you were making in London, which means, on the hours you are working, you are raking it in. I am not about to hand over half my profits to someone I have known five minutes and may not be a permanent fixture in my life.’
‘Fuck, Lucy. You never used to be so bitter and money-grabbing,’ he sneers. ‘I work my ass off for you every day and for what? Nothing!’
‘Nick, I never had any money to grab. I was only crap with money because I had more money going out than coming in. This is the first time, ever, that I have had a chance to make something of myself. I’m not saying there is no “us”, but when I was on five hundred pounds per week in London, do you think I had rights to the fact you earned seven hundred? And besides, you are not obligated to me. You’re a free man and if you wish to quit and go back to London, then you hand in your notice like any other job.’
‘Point taken,’ he smiles sarcastically, and heads up to bed. There seems to be a lot of that with us these days.
The following week again passes in a blur. Our week is punctuated by:
Monday: Karaoke.
Tuesday: Spanish night. Food, drink, dancers and band.
Wednesday: Quiz.
Thursday: Family night. Kiddies disco.
Urgh! That’s what I would have said a few months ago, but they are now strangely cute again.
Friday: Party night for grown-ups only. Though it doesn’t start ‘til ten. We know a lot of our business comes from family meals.
Saturday: Another party night, but for the leaving/arriving crew. Spanish-themed and much like a Tuesday, but with extra Sangria.
Sunday: UK day. Traditional roast with football and rugby on the big screens.
Monday comes around again. Thanks to the fact we finally have staff to take over on a Monday and Tuesday, we are all very excited at the prospect of two days off. We plan a morning on the beach near the restaurant, so we can be close at hand to help with any problem that may occur. Nick rolls his eyes at this suggestion. I ignore it, but Mike notices.
‘Everything all right, mate?’ Becky gives a concerned look. Nick nods seriously.
Oh, Purrleeeease! The only thing wrong with him is having the hump over the fact he can’t get his mitts on my cash. Funny, you never know someone until money is involved. Becky and Nick disappear to the beach bar for more drinks. My first in over a week; I haven’t had the energy. Fell asleep with a glass of wine in my hand last night – the shame! I grab the opportunity to ask Mike if he thinks I am being unreasonable. He thinks for a moment, looking into the distance at a palm blowing in the breeze.
‘Depends, Lucy. I mean, Becky and I, well, we want to get married and have babies. I see what’s mine as hers. It’s fast for us, though and may be too fast for you and Nick’s speed. What do you see for your future together?’
I think about this. Nothing. I see nothing for us as a couple. Where do you go when you’re not fussed about marriage and kids? In a way it punctuates everything and speeds things along. There’s no rush if your biological clock seems to have run out of batteries years before. I remember having these marriage and baby instincts. But now, it just seems to complicate everything. I see so many bedraggled women, very unhappy and desperate to get out. It’s like a life sentence. This man, who wined and dined you, indulged your desire for a huge wedding in a Scottish castle, listened intently to your tales of woe from work. Then, a year into marriage and a newborn baby later, this same man suddenly develops selective hearing to the constant squalling through the night – and any tales of woe become nagging. No, it’s not for me.
But what do I want? For me? The freedom of choice to take off around the world at a moment’s notice? The choice to be with a man because we want to be together and not because we’re bound by a mortgage or child? Mike is looking at me intently.
‘I guess, I’m not sure, Mike. I just want to have security. With money for me and my family, travel and a nice house. And a cat, oh yes, a cat. And a Jack Russell! A herb garden. To be able to do my weekly shop in Marks and Spencer without worrying about having an overdraft on my overdraft,’ I smile wistfully.
‘Just answered your own question then, Luce.’
‘How so?’
‘Nick didn’t feature in any of your dream.’
Chapter Eighteen
And so it was out there. I didn’t see Nick as part of my future. Now for the hard part., why? Did I not want Nick because of a spate of idiots in my past? Did I not love him? D
id I detect something in him that raised the hackles? Is it a disaster waiting to happen? I have no idea. I decided I’d ask him what he wanted, keeping in mind that I was getting wealthier by the day. Would I believe him regardless of what he said? OK, not me. Someone though. Who was this a job for?
Mike? No.
Becky? Yes!
I gave her the low-down. She was great at this kind of thing. Becky was an undiscovered treasure. She should have worked for the Secret Service. With her inquisition techniques, she could leave a grown man crying within ten minutes. She was similarly good with females. Within five minutes she knew what colour of pants they were wearing and their menstrual cycle. Mike and I did the next bar run, leaving Nick and Becky alone. I could almost feel the tension from across the five-minute stretch of beach. I see Nick, leaning forward, talking urgently. Becky laid back in a relaxed pose, luring him in like a silent spider on the outskirts of her web.
‘What are they saying? I hiss to Mike. He looks incredulous.
‘Lucy! How the fuck would I possibly know that?’
‘It was a rhetorical question, Mike,’ I tut.
I watch anxiously. I can almost see a trickle of sweat run down the side of Nick’s face. We return to the beach.
‘Oh Lucy, I need the loo. Come with me,’ says Becky. Nick throws her a suspicious look.
‘Fine, I’ll go in the sea. Coming with me Nick?’
He screws up his face at her in disgust and glances at Mike, who shrugs and twirls his finger at the side of his head.
‘I’ll come along,’ I say, ‘the sea could do with being warmed up a bit. Coming boys?’
Mike and Nick shake their heads at us exchanging a strange look. That’s another good trick of Becky’s. Add a random comment and a bit of confusion into things and people forget their initial suspicions and just think, you’re bats. Works particularly well on men, I find.
Crappily Ever After Page 16